flushed a pretty shade of pink.
‘Don’t go getting full of yourself.’ She poked him in the ribs, causing him to flinch.
‘But it’s so fun,’ he good-naturedly returned the ribbing.
Thankfully, the conversation turned to Irving’s work and Connor’s was forgotten, which was just fine with him.
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Why are you talking with me about this?’ Connor gritted his teeth and bit back the curses that wanted to spill from his mouth. They wouldn’t be productive.
‘Sugar, I told you I was going to talk with Mona,’ Bridget said as she reached across the breakfast table and squeezed his hand. Where normally that smoky Southern drawl would have melted his tension, her tone was an obvious attempt at placation and it only served to aggravate him more.
‘Yes, I remember.’ He pulled his hand away. She’d brought the subject up after they’d left Claire and Evan’s house the previous weekend. Picking up his coffee, he took a long gulp and winced as he burned the roof of his mouth. Setting the cup down, he gritted out, ‘I also remember telling you not to do it.’
‘You’re being silly about this.’ Bridget sipped her own coffee and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘You have an amazing talent and you should be doing something with it.’
‘Says who?’ He was being belligerent and childish, but in that moment he didn’t care.
She just stared at him with a scowl. He wasn’t usually so argumentative. Hell, he prided himself on being an easy-going guy, but she had crossed a line. Worse, she didn’t even realise it.
‘Look, there is a very good reason why I don’t share my work. I thought you understood that.’
He stood and gathered his breakfast dishes up, placing them in the sink. He’d deal with them later. Right now, he had to get moving or he’d be late for work.
‘What reason is that, Connor?’ She wasn’t letting up. ‘You’ve certainly never told me.’
Gripping the edge of the sink, he did his best to rein in his temper. Why was she being so fucking pushy? This wasn’t like her.
‘Yes, I did.’ He turned to face her. Her brow was crinkled in confusion and her eyes were dark with worry.
It only served to fuel his temper more.
‘That first day at the cafe.’ He saw her brows squeeze even tighter. ‘Fuck, Bridget! Over coffee! My parents!’
He was yelling now and he didn’t like the wary look on her face one bit, but he couldn’t seem to find his self-control. He’d expended so much of it on their relationship that in this moment the well was dry.
‘Connor, I don’t understand,’ she entreated. ‘Talk to me. Please.’
‘I killed them, Bridget!’
Before he even realised what he was doing, Connor snatched the mug he’d set on the counter and threw it. It shattered against the cabinet, raining down in small, green ceramic shards on his kitchen floor. Lotus and Daisy came running, but a sharp “stay” from him kept them from treading through his mess.
His chest was heaving and there was a rushing sound in his ears. Leaning heavily on the counter, Connor counted backward from 20. When the sound of the ocean receded, he looked at Bridget. She was rooted in place, her knuckles white around the mug she held.
He felt like an ass, but his control was lost.
‘They died the night I got the award for my art. I was obsessed with art when I was a child. I was also spoiled and threw tantrums when I didn’t get my way.
‘That night, we were running late. Dad had run into some traffic on his way home from work. I kicked up such a fucking stink about it he didn’t even change his clothes.’
His voice broke and his eyes burned. He could still see the irritation on his father’s face. Connor had been relentless, nagging him to hurry so they wouldn’t miss a single moment of his big night. His adolescent ego had been so overblown.
‘If I hadn’t been so damned focused on impressing the world with my talent, they’d still be alive. If I’d just let my dad be, we wouldn’t have been in that intersection when that drunk ran the light.’
Swiping at his cheeks, he said, ‘
Bridget moved to his side, but he held her off with a hand.
‘No.’ His voice was thick with grief; he felt as if he was choking. ‘I don’t want comfort.’ He reached for the broom and dustpan. ‘Tell Mona thanks, but no thanks.’
‘You’re wrong, baby.’ She picked up the trash bin and uncovered it for him so he could dump in the remains of the mug.
‘Bridget,’ he warned. ‘This topic is not open for negotiation.’
‘Well, I’m not done talking about it,’ she snapped, catching him off guard. ‘The only person responsible for killing your parents is the woman who got behind the wheel drunk. You were a child doing what a child does and you have nothing to be ashamed of.’
Rage, white and hot, built in Connor’s gut as she spoke. Wasn’t this the pot calling the kettle black! Oblivious to his change in mood, she continued without looking at him as she put the trash bin back in its place.
‘You’ve associated something painful and tragic to something perfectly natural for a child and you are letting it keep you from exploring your full potential.’
‘Are you even listening to yourself?’ His words were more sneer than anything else. ‘How dare you come at me this way when you won’t even admit the truth to yourself about what you want in bed?’
She reeled back as if he’d slapped her, bumping into the counter and rattling the silverware drawer.
Drawing herself up, she retorted, ‘Those things are hardly the same.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, Bridget.’ He ran his hands through his hair, searching for calm and failing to find it. ‘What? Hypocrisy only applies when it’s me. Is that it?’
The colour drained from her face and he felt slightly sick. Still, the words poured out.
‘You hide behind this bullshit you spew about penance and punishment for some “imagined” crime, but the truth is what you want to do in bed is not some deviant sin you need to be punished for enjoying. It is nothing more than sensual exploration that is perfectly fine so long as both parties consent. Your rape was a perversion of that because you didn’t fucking consent!’
He slammed his fist on the counter. She flinched.
‘You want me to tie you up, Bridg. You want me to cause you pain and then make you come. Yet you deny it and hide behind an artificial wall you created and you don’t even see how you’re limiting what we have by doing it. You think we can grow like this, but we can’t.’
He struggled to calm down but there was no calm to be found. Feeling like the ground was opening up underneath him, he ploughed on.
‘You may think it’s OK to have walls and barriers between two people. But I don’t believe there should be any when two people care about each other. And I damn sure don’t believe in artificial boundaries in bed. I believe that as long as both parties consent, and no harm is being done, anything goes.’
He dragged in a deep breath and did his best to calm himself down. He’d been trying to be so patient. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to tackle this with her, but his patience had netted him very little so far. They’d plateaued. He wanted so much more with her and she wasn’t willing to consider it. He was tired of being shut down.
It was time for her to fish or cut bait.
‘Bridget.’ He walked over to her and took her hand. Tears welled in her eyes and he felt awful, but damn it if he was going to apologise for the truth. ‘Look, I apologise for shouting, but I meant what I said. I think we need to talk about this, but right now is not the time. I don’t feel in control of my temper and I don’t want to say anything more I might regret.’
He kissed her forehead and rubbed away a tear that streaked down her cheek.
‘Let’s talk tonight, after work, OK? I’ll make dinner.’
She didn’t speak, but nodded.
