Conor Thames 2

  CONOR THAMES 2

  R.J. Lewis

  Copyright ©2020 R.J. Lewis. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.

  The setting of this story is completely fake, derived purely from the imagination of the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.

  It is the absence of hope, which equals the despair that is the punishment – James Fox

  PROLOGUE

  Time

  Charlotte

  He kissed me softly while his hand lay over my bulging stomach. His forehead pressed against mine. In the darkness we held each other, absorbed in our own little world.

  “I like the name Blodwen,” he said, gauging my reaction with a hidden smirk.

  I gaped at him in shock. “I don’t even know what gender that name is.”

  “A male.”

  “I hope you’re joking.”

  He feigned dismay. “I’ll have you know that Blodwen is fit for a stud.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “He would disarm the ladies.”

  “He would make them gag.”

  “With lust.”

  “Ew, no. Blodwen is out of the question.”

  “Then Reginald.”

  I smacked his arm. “Now, you’re really pushing it.”

  He took the hand I smacked him with and kissed it. “Reginald Thames. Come on, dove. You can’t deny the ring to it.”

  “Just watch me.”

  “You wound me.”

  “You’re throwing names like Blodwen and expect me to be chill? What was the other name you threw at me the other day –”

  “Godfrey.”

  I cringed. “Oh, my God, yes, that one.”

  “It’s fierce.”

  “You’re such a troll, Conor. I’m the only person taking this seriously, I can tell.”

  “I’m very serious about this baby, Charlotte, but we don’t even know the gender yet, and you’ve been rattling names for hell of a lot longer than me. It’s my turn now.”

  “Ah, so I’m being punished.”

  “Yes.” His hand rubbed my stomach. He smiled softly at me before landing another chaste kiss on my lips. I shut my eyes, accepting his mouth greedily.

  “What if it’s a girl?” I asked.

  To my surprise, his face gentled. Any sign of humour disappeared, and he gave me the most tender look I would never forget.

  “Can you imagine?” he replied, mesmerized.

  “Imagine what exactly?”

  “Loving another girl as much as I love you.” He looked like it was incomprehensible to fathom. “I don’t know if it’s possible, but god, I’d love to be tested.”

  I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat as I lazily drew a circle around his bicep. “My mom never cared for me. What if I don’t know how to love her the way she needs to be loved?”

  He kissed me softly, peering into my eyes with sincerity. “Dove, if you loved me through all my faults, your love for Penny will know no bounds.”

  I smiled softly, feeling my eyes ache with tears. “Penny, huh?”

  He gazed too deep into me – into my soul – to smile back. He brushed the strands of my hair from my face and traced my jaw. “You’re going to be the best mother, Charlotte. Mark my words.”

  Time happens in a sequence that is irreversible. It is the most mysterious thing about our cosmos, and yet we are bound to it, imprisoned by the motions. You can’t go back in time. You can’t change the events from the past that have set the course in front of you.

  Everyone experiences time differently. There’s an interesting study about it, a general sense that time goes by faster as we age. I kept waiting for that to be true, but so far, I felt like each day was slower than the last. I kept waiting for that instant in the future, when the organized series of moments in our time-prison aligned to bring him back to me.

  A heart beats a couple billion times in a single lifespan. I felt this. I felt every beat as though my soul was tethered to the thumps. Every beat was an ache within an ache. My heart was hurting at the same time as it was growing. Growing with the love I felt for a tiny human being that I felt grow inside me. A being that transformed my body irreversibly. A being that gave me purpose in my time-prison.

  In retrospect, the moments in time flashed through me, as though I were living them all at once.

  I felt her leaving my body on that driveway. It was grief but reprieve at the same time. I felt sorrow she had to come like this. Torn from my womb, the labour traumatic, the events unforgettable. When the ambulance came to take us, we left behind a puddle of my blood and… Billy’s.

  They rested her little screaming body over me on the way to the hospital, and I sobbed down at her. I couldn’t believe how fragile she was. So little, so innocent.

  I stared into her eyes, smiling and crying, and sad but happy. Happy because she was finally here, and she was more beautiful than I ever imagined possible. And sad because he was gone, and he had deserved this moment. We had deserved it together.

  He didn’t get to touch her. He didn’t get to hold her. He didn’t get to cut the umbilical cord. He didn’t get to kiss me and smile proudly at us, at his daughter, at the piece of him we waited for. Where one life had begun, his had been robbed from him. At the end, Billy got what he wanted, even in death.

  He destroyed my life and Conor’s.

  He left a bloody footprint in time. An irreversible moment that I would spend countless nights begging the world to rewind.

  Because this couldn’t be real, could it?

  I had to wake up eventually.

  And cruelty took form in my dreams, haunting me, rewinding those moments. My mind erased the event, pieced together a reality where Billy had not come to take me, and it was Conor instead. It was Conor who drove recklessly through town, who took me into the hospital room and held me with warmth, giving me cherished kisses as I gave birth to our baby.

  The dream was endless. Every night it continued. We left the hospital and he fitted her into the baby seat. He held my hand the whole way home, looking at me occasionally with love and passion in his eyes.

  We made our house a home, and we fitted Penny into her room. We smiled dazedly at her as she slept quietly in her crib, and then he held me, kissed me, and I revered him in return, thanking him for being there for me from the start.

  The dream was wicked and mad. It made me wake up with a gaping hole in my chest. I gasped through my sobs, soundless and desperate. Wracked with despair, I held Penny to me and breathed her in, clinging on to her because she was the only piece of Conor I had left.

  I would spend the long hours wondering…

  What was he doing in that very moment? What was he feeling? Were our heartbeats still synchronized, or was the distance cutting off the circulation? Like air, I felt deprived of him, and I suffocated slowly, feeling my chest crush against the force of the pain Billy left behind.

  Billy was dead, but he still haunted me. The ghost of him sat perched on the edge of my bed, smiling cruelly at me.

  The absence of a loved one due to incarceration was agony. With Conor, it was made worse because he wouldn’t let anybody in.
I mourned him like death. I went through stages of grief, finding myself deeply isolated for months while trying to simultaneously be emotionally present for my baby.

  Depression started like a cloud, but every day that passed, I felt the cloud hardening, until I was carrying a boulder on my shoulders and struggling to stand up straight without reminding myself to breathe.

  I needed help.

  I needed a soundboard, but I didn’t have anyone to turn to.

  Megan was always working at the hospital. Ember was never present, period. Laura had moved on to the city to live with Jamie, and while she kept in touch with me every single day, I couldn’t find the courage to pick up the phone and call her.

  I struggled communicating my emotions. Had struggled with it all my life. Conor was the only person I’d ever let in. I kept thinking I could handle it, but the weight grew heavier every morning I woke up.

  One day, I snapped. And on this particular day I was having an argument with my insanity.

  “You’re still upset,” Billy said, following me as I set Penny down in her swing. This was going to buy me ten minutes of peace. I sat down on the couch opposite her as she swung slowly, staring up at the baby mirror. I took a deep breath to try and steady my heart, but he wouldn’t stop talking.

  “You’ve never been upset this long,” he said, sounding wounded. “I said I was sorry. How many times do I have to keep apologizing?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Don’t ignore me, Char. Please.”

  “You’re not real,” I gritted out.

  I refused to look at him. I was aware I’d gone off the deep-end. He was a figment of my imagination. A part of my subconscious talking to me, but I didn’t want to hear it.

  “I’m real enough to you,” he replied, a note of arrogance in his tone. “Real enough you can’t let me go. Why is that, Char?”

  I looked at him, this being that wasn’t there. This fucking insanity I was manifesting in the form of the one person I loathed. The one person that was responsible for so much anguish. I couldn’t put his death to rest.

  And that was that realization, that was the moment my walls crumbled around me, and I couldn’t do it anymore. I paced for what felt like hours, and then I just…couldn’t anymore.

  I picked up the phone and demanded company.

  An hour later there was pounding on the front door. It was nine at night and I had successfully put Penny to bed despite a hard day teething. I was in my pyjamas – had been in them all day – when I answered the door. My hair was up in a messy bun, my eyes were heavy with unshed tears.

  I was so, so tired.

  Jem looked at me with annoyance.

  “You pulled me from my bar, Charlotte,” he huffed. “This better be fucking good.”

  He stormed past me and into the house. He strolled like he owned the place, throwing his car keys down on the entry table before turning to look at me. He looked tired too, and leaner than usual. He was wearing a leather jacket and worn jeans. His hair needed a cut and he was sporting a five o’clock shadow.

  “You look rough,” I stated, my voice sounded scratched to shit. I felt like it had been years since I’d used it on someone real.

  He made a point to look me over too. “You aren’t looking your Sunday best either, sweetheart.”

  He said sweetheart in the most non-endearing way. Typical Jem.

  “I know,” I agreed. I went to the couch and fell into it. I glimpsed at the baby monitor on the coffee table, at Penny’s sleeping form.

  “What’s going on?” he pressed, and I could sense he was itching to leave.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, feeling all kinds of messed up.

  “You pulled me out of work because you don’t know?”

  I ran a hand down my face, exasperated. “I’ve been with Penny all day long. I haven’t had a single break. I haven’t even breathed.”

  He glanced at the monitor. “She’s asleep now.”

  “Only just.”

  “Megan offered to help you out if you felt overwhelmed.”

  “Megan works night shifts, and then she’s down most of the day.”

  “Put her in a daycare.”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “Hire a babysitter.”

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  He looked just as over it. “Charlotte, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “I miss him.”

  Jem went quiet. He turned his back to me and paced the room for a bit, letting out a long sigh. I watched him, feeling extremely tethered to his presence. I needed more human contact, but not just any kind of human contact. I needed someone with callouses and a brutal tongue. I needed vicious honesty, and not sympathetic tones.

  I needed someone like Conor around.

  Finally, Jem stopped and levelled me with a stern look. I knew what he was about to say wasn’t going to be pretty. I braced myself.

  “You act like he’s dead, but he ain’t. It’s pathetic.”

  I blinked, feeling like I’d been slapped. “He feels dead to me, Jem.”

  “You’re being dramatic.”

  I sat up now, glaring at him. “He might as well be. He won’t let me see him.”

  “Because he wants you to move on.”

  “He can’t make that decision!”

  Jem threw his arms up. “Well, I guess he fucking did, didn’t he?”

  Tears stung my eyes. I hated Jem right then, but I still didn’t want him to go. I knew deep inside I needed to be set straight. I was hovering over a pit of blackness. If I slipped, I’d be swallowed into depression. I had to find my way back to safety.

  “Look,” Jem said, “I’m going back to the bar to close. If you need something – like genuinely fucking need something – you let me know. But don’t drag me here because you want to talk feelings, okay? I got better shit to deal with.”

  “Aren’t you a sweetheart,” I mocked.

  He faked a smile. “Honey, this is just the tip of the iceberg. I can be a real stunner when I want to be.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “So be it.”

  Jem just looked at me for several moments, blinking slow. He looked like he was trying to figure me out, but he couldn’t, because not even I could figure myself out.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, intrigued. “Honestly, you want to be punished, Charlotte? You want me to hurt you with words? You want to feel something again?”

  I swallowed and looked away, unable to meet his hard-blue eyes. “I’m dangling over something scary, Jem. I’m scared of losing control.”

  “You need to see your doctor.”

  “Goddammit,” I seethed, raking a hand through my hair. “This isn’t like that, Jem! I’m depressed, and I’m asking you to help me.”

  He chuckled, bitterly. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  Ugh. Why was he being so impossible? Why were gentle moments with him so goddamn rare?

  “I’m goin’ back to the bar now –”

  “No, you’re not!” I yelled, shocking myself. I couldn’t help it, though. My skin was on fire. I needed the flames to be put out, and I couldn’t do it alone. I needed this asshole to just set me straight, goddammit.

  When I chanced a look in his direction, he looked genuinely shattered. He’d found the wall opposite of me to lean on. He stuffed a hand in his pocket and glanced around the room. He was withdrawing. I’d seen it before in social situations. He’d bury himself in his phone or look at a random spot in the room with dead eyes.

  As if sensing my stare, he met it with his own steely gaze. “You’re falling to pieces now and it hasn’t even been a year. Fuck sake, it isn’t going to get any easier. You’re a mother now, Charlotte. You gotta suck it up, princess. Conor’s gone and he ain’t coming back. And on that fucking note, don’t expect him to come back the same, either, because you’re right. The Conor you know will be dead and gone.”

  Tears fell. I felt like my heart was breaking all over again
. I sucked in a breath of air, on the verge of sobbing as he stared at me without a single emotion and continued. “So, instead of self-pitying all damn day, use that precious time to think of the bigger picture.”

  “What bigger picture?” I forced out.

  “He set you free.”

  I bawled in front of him, sloppy tears and snot and all. “I miss him so much, it hurts, Jem. I can’t take it. I want the pain to go away. Just make it go away.”

  He let out a long breath. Something flashed in his eyes, maybe sorrow, but he blinked it away just as quick. He would never let you know he was hurting. He buried it so deep, it looked like he was an unfeeling jerk. I just fought to believe otherwise. I hoped for some goddamn tenderness. No one was that cold.

  “He wasn’t going to make you wait,” he explained, hard. “This isn’t a year in the slammer. This isn’t the almost eight months he made you hold out for the first time. This is a giant chunk out of your damn life. A giant fucking timeline. Conor’s selfish, but he isn’t that selfish. He isn’t making attachments while he’s holed up in max. He’s self-destructive, Charlotte. You know what it would do to him if he ever saw you and his kid behind glass. He wouldn’t cope. He would retaliate knowing you’re out here and he’s rotting in there. Just the sight of you and her would devastate him. He locks the world away because he can’t confront it as a non-participant. He hardly has a grip over his own emotions, goddammit.”

  I didn’t respond. I gulped my snot and my tears and kept my eyes firmly planted on the monitor. He was right about Conor. He coped by shutting out the world, but I felt too helpless to accept it. I wanted him back. I wanted him here in my arms.

  This wasn’t the plan.

  We were supposed to be a family.

  “I warned you,” Jem added, slaying me with his honesty. “I told you what you were getting into when you started out with him. You didn’t listen, Charlotte.”

  “You don’t really know what Conor is like,” I responded, quietly. “He has a way with people, Jem. When he wanted me, I had no choice.”