Searching for Mine(39)
His stomach lurched at the mention of Mom. He hated thinking about it, but Nate held his attention and he knew it was important to listen.
“I think you built this whole image of yourself because it was easier. Women flocked to you, so you gave them what they expected, and along the way, you lost who you really are. Dude, you’re graduating with honors from college. You work on the fucking Tappan Zee Bridge, you’re a master in construction, and now management hired you for their team. I saw you with Luke. He adores you, and that doesn’t surprise me in the least. You’re great with kids, and you’d be the best father in the world.”
Raw emotion cut at him like tiny paper cuts. He wanted to duck his head, walk away, and not deal with his brother’s speech, but he kept still and let himself really hear his brother for the first time.
“Ella sees everything in you that we all see, except for you. The only reason you let yourself make a move on her wasn’t because she suddenly appeared in a skirt and heels. It was because you finally gave yourself permission. You took a chance. But then you spooked and backed off and tried to make yourself think it was better this way. It’s not, Connor. You love Ella. You love Luke. Just let yourself love them, man, and take a shot. What do you really have to lose? A life of loneliness? A life filled with shallow encounters that never scratch the surface? You’re worth more than that.”
As his brother’s words washed over him, his body came to life. The shaking started deep inside and spread throughout his body until the most ridiculous thing began to happen.
Tears stung his eyes.
Oh, fuck no. Not here. He absolutely refused to cry like a pussy in front of his brother in a bar.
Instead, he rubbed his face, took another swig of beer, and cleared his throat. “Okay.”
Nate nodded and sipped at his god-awful feminine cocktail. “Okay.”
A mixture of peace and acceptance flowed through him. His brother was right. He’d made a mistake, but it wasn’t too late yet. He owed them both a chance to fix the wrongs and fight for something he wanted.
He sat with his brother in companionable silence and drank.
Chapter Fourteen
“...who shall measure the heat and violence of a poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?”—Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
Ella clasped her hands on top of her desk and swept her gaze over the classroom. Students scribbled furiously, occasionally sneaking glances at the clock. The familiar sounds of low mutters, chairs creaking, and deep sighs echoed in the air. Final exams stressed everyone out, but she was positive she’d done her job and every single student would pass.
Even Connor Dunkle.
Her gaze settled on him for a heart-stopping instant. Those golden locks spilled over his forehead, and his brow was creased in concentration. He wrote in a frenzy, fingers gripped around his pen like a vise, concentration evident in the tight lines of his face.
It had been a week since their night together. Each day was painful, but Ella reminded herself it was better to heal now. At least Luke never got attached to the concept of them as a couple. At least she was the only casualty this time.
A sigh shuddered through her. After the anger passed, only a dull resignation settled in like a bad bruise. Connor had never pretended to be different. He hadn’t promised her a future or even a tomorrow. Oh, she knew he cared about her, but he hadn’t tumbled into love like she had. Eventually, she’d heal and hopefully they could remain friends. Maybe, with time, she’d be able to look into his face without craving to touch him.
Maybe not.
One by one, students finished their exam and dropped it off at her desk, gathered up their stuff and left. The end of the semester was always bittersweet. It reminded her of the passing of time, the growth of her students, and the hope she’d made a slight difference. Her love of literature was a part of her, and if she’d converted just one more person to recognize the beauty of the authors she taught, Ella considered it a life well lived.
“Time’s up,” she announced. Four students remained. She waited while they trudged over, dropping their papers, saying good-bye, and then leaving.
Connor remained behind.
Ella prayed he’d let her be. She was still too raw, like an oozing, open wound refusing to scab. Slowly, he unfurled his length from the chair and walked to her desk. Laid the exam in front of her. Then handed her a stack of papers neatly bound in a folder.
“I finished my extra credit project.”
She nodded, her throat thick with emotion. “Congratulations. I’ll grade it quickly and make sure I send the Registrar your grade so you can prepare for graduation. I have no doubt you did well on the final. You’ve been working hard.”