Connor shrugs, pocketing the vial. He’s been using the same shit on Haven since he first brought her back home to Harmony Heights. In the beginning… she didn’twantto stay with Connor. Proving that we understand each other in ways that very few others do—Adrian does, and so does Dallas—I completely understand why he decided to drug Haven, keeping her trapped in his house until she finally realized that he was only doing it for his own good.
They’re happynow. If you tried to even suggest that Haven leave Connor, she has a panic attack that has her being sedated again. She’s as dependent on him as he is her, and while that might seem toxic to outsiders, that’s just part of what happens when you’re raised to be part of the Order of the Owed.
I can’t drug Annaliese. It would be easier if I could, but that won’t get me my wife. I’ll have to try something else, and as Connor looks over the table at my sorry face, he can tell that I didn’t just stop by to return the sedative.
He jerks his chin at me. “So… how’s it going with you and the missus?”
I can’t keep back the sigh. “Fuck me, Connor. Let me just tell you… Adrian had it so much better.” At his disbelieving look, I nod. “Yeah. At least he knew Loni had feelings for him once upon a time.”
“She hated him.”
True. “Yeah, but she loved him, too. When he got her back, he just needed to remind her that she loved him.”
“Haven hated me,” Connor says, thinking he’s being helpful.
“Yeah, but she had a good reason to. And you made it up to her. Once you did, she couldn’t help but love you. But Annaliese… she’s keeping up walls.”
“Knock ‘em down.”
That’s easy to say, coming from Connor Heyward. Knocking things down is his specialty.
“Of course not,” he says dryly. “None of us are. We were born with silver spoons shoved so far down our throats that we almost choked on them. Shit. We have marked palms that mean we’ve never had to work for anythingreal.”
He taps his palm, drawing attention to the scar in the shape of the Order’s sigil.
I run my thumb over mine without thinking.
“That’s why you and—” He stops himself. “It never would’ve worked.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I know.”
Connor watches me for a long, assessing moment.
“Bas… listen. If something’s worth having,” he says quietly, “you do whatever the hell you can to keep it.”
He’s talking about Haven now. About the woman asleep upstairs, who still wakes up screaming. About how far he went to get her, and how far he’s gone since tokeepher.
“She’ll be okay,” I tell him, hoping I’m not lying to one of my oldest, closest friends. “She’s been talking to Loni. That helps, right?”
“Yeah.” The hard lines of Connor’s mouth soften a fraction. “I’m thinking about getting her own kitten to take care of. Maybe two. Adrian said that they do best in pairs.”
“So do even the most broken of us,” I point out.
Connor eyes dart to the ceiling, toward the bedroom where Haven is blissfully unaware of everything he does to take care of her.
And he nods. “Yeah…yeah.”
Yeah.
SIXTEEN
GOOD
ANNALIESE
Iwish I could have stayed on that overlook, staring down at the waterfall, watching it crash into the rocks while no one else existed in this world except for Sebastien and me.
Days later, I can’t even be mad about his stunt with the motorcycle. It was actually really nice to see his playful side. For the most part he’s either smooth and charming or suddenly quiet, as though there’s a part of him that he’s trying to shield me from. For him to purposely disable his bike just because he wanted to spend some more time with me… how could I not be flattered?
