Losing Connor

Prologue

Every night, as I reluctantly slide into the cold sheets, a nightmare perches on the edge of my brain, waiting to descend upon my subconscious like a vulture onto a carcass. I spend most nights jerking awake, clutching my chest, my lungs taking in rapid gasps of cool air. Panic attacks and nightmares are a way of life. These are a parting gift from my father, forced upon me because I was never good enough for him. The nightmares came later, nesting in my brain the year I gave my son away and lost the only man I’d ever loved. I often wake sweating, sometimes screaming and always feeling empty and alone, sobbing into my pillow, Forgive me, please just forgive me. All these years later and I don’t know from whom I am asking forgiveness, myself or them.

The sun burns through my blinds as if they are woven from spider silk. With one eye, I peek at the clock, and it glares back 8:30 AM. I should be up by now but it’s spring break, and my day off, so I opt to stay in bed. I deserve it. After a fitful night of broken sleep it seems reasonable at least. My lids slip lower, heavy as if the sandman himself is hanging from them. I can feel the nightmare waiting for my eyes to close. As the talons of the evil dream begin to seize hold, a noise erupts in the room. The sound breaches the silence again. It’s my cell phone. Still foggy minded and bleary eyed, I fumble to answer it in time.

Hello? My tongue is thick against my teeth.

Ms. Coven? The familiar voice sets off warning bells in the back of my mind. I clutch the sheets with my free hand, trying to hold on, fighting for that one second, that miniscule reprieve hidden inside the pause before the voice speaks again. I cling to it because I know it will be the last painless moment I have for a long time.

Chapter One

(Five Years Earlier)

I sat in the soft grass with my lunch, enjoying the warmth falling from the sun. I always ate in the commons yard, also known as the ‘pits’. In spite of its derogatory nickname, the pits was a lush green space nestled between the two wings of the school. Emerald grass, tall trees and a warm breeze made it the perfect place to sit alone and avoid the many clichés of high school. Other lone lunchers lazed about, but the yard had room aplenty for us all to have our own space. This would always be my favorite place to eat. Even when the temperatures dropped and the wind bit at my exposed cheeks and fingers, the cold outside could never compare the frigidness of the shallow class of students filling the halls.

As if on cue, a snarky band of girls cat walked by me, sneering openly as they passed. Everyone who ate in the pits could expect to be frowned upon.

There, in my tiny green island of solitude, my life as I knew it ended.

The serenity of the day was crushed by a rust colored car crashing roughly over the front curb before screeching to a halt. My PB&J fell to the ground as I sprang to my feet. The passenger door swung open as the car roughly idled, one tire on the sidewalk and the rest still in the road. The hottest guy I’d ever seen in my life emerged from the passenger seat, seemingly unfazed by the haphazard parking job. With a graceful backwards kick of his menacing biker boot, the car door slammed shut. The car peeled out and swerved away, leaving the guy standing there, without as much as a flinch, on the sidewalk. Tall, with a thin but muscular body threatening to burst from the tight black T-shirt he wore, he stepped forward. The smooth way he glided toward the door caused images of stalking panthers to flood my brain. My sweaty palms slid across my jeans as I tried unsuccessfully to smile casually at him as he walked by. His head tilted my direction and from beneath midnight black hair, two mesmerizing green eyes pierced mine. Rose petal lips formed a half smile, taking my breath away. My heart fluttered as he jerked open the door and disappeared into the bowels of the school. With shaky hands I quickly cleaned up the remains of my lunch and started toward my next class. Beautiful visions of the dark haired boy danced in my head as I made my way down the hall to fifth period.

I sat waiting for the bell to begin the forty minutes of Physics hell when I heard a collective gasp from the class. There in the doorway stood the gorgeous guy from outside. Mr. Rolla glanced over his schedule.

Class, we have a new student. Is it D-clan? Son, how do you pronounce this?

Declan sir, Deck-lan McGonagall. His soft Irish-kissed voice floated across the class to me. The roll of the words shook my heart.

Declan, I whispered.

Rolla waved him past the desk, motioning to any of the empty seats. My hand fluttered, sending my backpack clattering to the ground, scattering its contents. The room muffled its amusement as Mr. Rolla looked over the class sternly. I froze, cheeks burning, my heart beating a hole in my chest as Declan bent and scooped up my things, dropping his book next to me on the table. My eyes stuck to his face, and even with my cheeks on fire I couldn’t look away. He didn’t seem to mind.

Rolla cleared his throat loudly, pulling the class’s attention back to the front of the room. For the next forty minutes as he droned endlessly on, his words fell against deaf ears, never entering my brain. I snuck looks to the right as much as I dared; he was sneaking looks right back at me. This was the beginning of the end for me.

School became an occupational hazard from day to day. I came, I sat, I hopelessly lusted, and above all else, I tried to avoid. In the world of small town USA, I was a girl without a clique, a lone wolf, a loser. I dodged and wove my way through the halls better than any running back. Declan, on the other hand, was a one-boy show. People congregated wherever he went. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they followed him to the bathroom, that’s how bad it was. Girls and boys fawned over him, and unlike the jerks who prowled the top of the high school food chain, Declan didn’t use his charm to make people feel small. Everywhere I went I heard his laughter echo down the hallways, followed quickly by a chorus of high pitched flirtatious, "Oh Declan you’re so funny…smart…strong…insert shallow compliment here". As much as I hated them, I wanted to be the one chirping away brainlessly at his side, but instead I sat: silent, twenty-two and a half inches from Declan, our body heat colliding, cologne and perfume intermixing, but our mouths never moving.

Some days I cherished the closeness even in the silence, and others I wished he was a million miles away. Days when the panic would nestle down in my chest spreading cold sweat like wildfire across my skin, those days I wished he were never born. The panic and I were old friends, going back to preschool days when teachers and even my parents thought I was just an over dramatic fit thrower. Years and many doctors proved my fits to be anxiety attacks. My father scoffed as he looked down his nose at me.

What does a spoiled little girl have to be anxious about? Maybe God is punishing you for not reading your Bible the way you should.

Mother ignored it, because that was the best way to be ignored by my father.

Those days, the panicked filled ones, I would sit, knuckles white as my fingers bit into the lab table and pray to God not to let me pass out in front of Declan. The thought alone would often make the panic worse, but as time went on, it changed into more of a calming mantra. Don’t panic, don’t pass out, Declan’s right here. That was all I needed, Declan right there with me to make me feel safe and calm.

We sat silently for weeks, watching one another in class. He seemed so confident when other girls spoke to him in the hall, the cafeteria, class; you could bet if Declan was somewhere, girls were talking to him. He would smile and flirt, as the girls fell all over themselves and his mild Irish lilt. But sitting next to me in class, he was a stone. My stomach fluttered in anticipation, wanting, needing, wordlessly begging him to speak to me; to just hear his lips form my name would have been enough. I instantly loved every little detail that made up this strange boy, his half-smile, his dimple, his beautiful sea green eyes that laughed even when his mouth refused. The cocky way he spoke to Hilary Eastman, the prettiest, most popular girl in school. The annoying way he sat next to me every day, so close I could feel the heat coming from his skin, but never making a sound. In his defense I didn’t speak either. As much as I hated the silence, I was afraid to break it, afraid once it was gone there would be nothing clinging around us, holding us together, or as together as two people who don’t speak can be.

The silence was torn down not by a word but by a touch: a simple, one in a million, right place, right time moment that would change everything. The bell was seconds away from ringing as I darted up the stairs to my English class, praying to the tardy gods to let me make it in time. Be careful what you ask for; instead of making the bell ring late, they decided to give me an amazing excuse for being tardy. Panting, as I reached halfway up the stairs, Troy Mallard came barreling down on me like a freight train off the rails. As usual, Troy was completely unaware, and our impending collision wasn’t even on his radar. He was too busy laughing with one of his football buddies and tossing a ball back and forth.

I saw it almost before it happened. His fat fingers fumbled against the leather and laces, sending the pigskin toward the railing where a straight drop to the main hall awaited. He lunged and I flinched, my feet fighting gravity and fate…and losing. My books flew like angry birds through the air as Troy and I collided. The railing groaned but held as he fell against it. My arms cart-wheeled, my fingers grasping in vain at the air as I fell backwards. Everything began to pulse in slow motion. I saw my father’s disappointed face, my mother’s disinterested glare, and I saw my broken body lying helplessly at the bottom of the stairs.

Before I could plummet to my death, Declan’s arms closed around me, my back falling against the warm solidity of his muscular chest. My heart choked me, hiding in my throat, and although I had not fallen even one single step, my entire body quaked with adrenaline and fear. With one arm still holding me up, his free hand went to my hair smoothing the wreckage and calming my nerves. His beautiful mouth was so close to my ear I could almost hear his thoughts before they crossed his perfect lips.

There now, I have ya. I won’t be letting ya fall and ruin those gorgeous legs of yours, he whispered.

I smiled, but couldn’t find the strength to move away from him. The reassuring feel of his arm around me, the heat from his chest pressed against me, the intoxicating scent of his cologne sent the butterflies into overdrive. As my stomach fluttered nervously, I could feel my face flushing. I never wanted him to let go.

Chapter Two

Cassandra, are you ok? The voice is speaking again, inquiring.

I lose my moment of reprieve. My breathing becomes choppy and ragged as I put the name to the voice and pray it’s all a dream.

Yeah, how can I help you, Janice? The tangled bed sheets pull at me as I fight to turn on the bedside lamp.

Cassie, we need to meet. Something has happened. Her voice is different than I remember; it sounds small and weak, and not at all like the Janice I knew so many years ago. Janice Penbroke, attorney at