“Connor!” I scream as loud as I can. “Connor, help!”
“My name is Dusty. I’m a friend of Connor’s,” the man explains, as he moves toward me, his hands still in the air. I rush around the table and grab the butcher knife from the block and whip around on him.
“Stay where you are,” I yell. My head is pounding, and I still hadn’t quite managed to rub the sleep from my eyes this morning, but if he gets near me, I will whip this knife around wildly until I hit something. Hopefully an artery or something that will make him bleed out fast. “Connor!”
When I hear the screen door creak open, I almost collapse in relief. Connor rushes in and stops in the doorway taking in the scene.
“She just freaked out. I tried to tell her we’re friends, but she wouldn’t listen,” the man explains defensively.
I look at Connor, wide-eyed. “You really know this guy?”
“Demi, babe,” Connor says, softly, as he approaches me. “Can you put the knife down? Please.”
I’m so amped up on adrenaline I can’t seem to make my arm move. Connor grabs me by the wrist and wrenches the knife from my hand, tossing it in the sink, before pulling me in his arms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you would be up for a while, and I was going to surprise you with breakfast.” He kisses the top of my head and continues petting my head, attempting to calm me. “This is my friend, Dusty. He’s the one that showed up on the bike last night.” I pull my head from his chest and look at Dusty as he runs a hand through his shaggy hair and smiles.
“I’m sorry I scared you. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he offers.
I back away from Connor until my back hits the corner where the two sides of the counter meet. I place a hand on my chest as I try to calm my racing heart. “I am way too hung over to be that scared,” I grumble. Then, looking up to Dusty, I try to give a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I apologize for flipping out.”
“No need. I reckon if I were you, and I’d walked in to find . . . well . . . me sitting at my kitchen table, I’d about have a heart attack myself.”
“Why don’t you sit down, Demi. I’ll make you some coffee.” Connor motions for me to take a seat at the table and after a moment I force myself away from the counter.
“So, Dusty,” I begin awkwardly. I feel bad for almost chopping him into bait and hoping I’d hit an artery so he’d die quicker. “Where are you from?”
He takes his seat beside me and sips his coffee before answering. “I was born in Texas, but I hail from Tennessee these days.” Now I know where his epic Southern accent comes from.
“And how do you and Connor know one another?” I ask as Connor sits a mug in front of me. I sip it without thinking, but can’t help looking at him after I do.
“Did I get it right?” Connor asks with a smirk.
“Yeah, you did.” He made my coffee just the way I like it. He’s never made it before, and I’ve never mentioned how I like it, which means he must have watched me make it several times. I stare up at him and despite my feelings of regret from the events that transpired between us the night before, I want so badly to stand up and kiss him. Then I remember myself.
Wasn’t Roxy here last night, too? Didn’t I see her?
“Thank you,” I say, my voice husky. “So how do you two know one another?” I turn my attention back to Dusty, hoping it’s not too obvious to Connor that I did so.
Dusty gives Connor a sideways look as if asking permission to tell me. Connor sighs and moves to the counter and starts cracking eggs over a bowl. “We were cell mates, Demi.” He doesn’t turn around, and I wonder if he thinks I’ll judge Dusty—or him.
“Ohhhh.”
“I got out three years before Connor,” Dusty notes. “If it hadn’t been for him, I would’ve never made it out.”
“How so?” I ask.