Connor bowed his head into his chest protecting his face from the constant sharp slap of cold attacking him. He balled his fists in the pockets of his hoodie, his nails dug into his palms. His fingers started to numb; but he knew if he loosened them he would also loosen his resolve.
His lips set into a grim line, his gaze cutting sharply around the dark street. No one was following; no one was even on the street in this cookie cutter neighborhood. The cloud covered moon was the only light. Glass from the few streetlights peppered the sidewalk,
probably the local teens with not enough chores, homework or discipline to keep them out of trouble.
Connor thought with an aggravated sigh as he stopped in front of his destination. He pulled his shoulders back a failed attempt to release the tension and fatigue, he stretched his neck side to side wincing as he heard and felt the cracking relief. Hurt and apprehension manifested as sharp shots of pain through his body. He couldn't tell himself he was just tired and over worked, he knew better. His tongue swelled and he tasted heavy metallic fear.
This was home, this was his home...once, and this was his family. So why was he more comfortable hanging out with "alleged" drug dealers and gun runners? Why was this suburban paradise so foreign? He looked up at the house again bile rising in his throat.
You don't belong here,
a voice chastised him,
and they told you not to come back. Why are doing this you have more important things to think about right now.
He knew jenny had a propensity for trouble; it seemed to follow her even when there was none to be had. He shouldn't have taken her word, he should have sat back and observed. He should have stayed away at least until he was done with the Melendez case.
"Stop being a fucking pussy, you've come this far" he huffed angry for letting himself get worked up. Funny he was calmer when he had guns pressed against his temple than at the possibility of seeing disappointment and fear in his mother's eyes and barely concealed hostility in his father's.
Connor gave the door three loud rapid beats. He smiled sardonically; he thought he got rid of that habit.
"What on god's green earth...?" he heard the breathless huff in his mother's voice as she opened the door. He didn't say anything, letting her soak in his presence, giving her the opportunity to embrace him or slam the door in his face. He watched trying to interpret the tears welling in wide blue eyes. Her mouth opened then closed only to open again, "my baby." she whispered with a small strangled voice.
"Hey ma," Connor tried to clear the huskiness from his voice. He couldn't manage to hide his hurt when his mom glanced around him then around the house nervously. She leaned heavily on the door, "Na-Nathan what are you doing here?" she stammered awkwardly.
He glanced away his face flushing, embarrassed and confused. "I need to talk to Jenny." He mumbled bitterly. He could never get used to this; he could never harden himself against his family's disapproval. First it was because he lacked direction, he was in constant trouble. His dad Peter Michael O'Connor was a hard man and not afraid to discipline his children. Connor got it good a few times, black eyes, busted lip broken limbs here and there. He didn't blame his dad, it straightened him out. But now...now he was on the right side of the law he didn't understand why there was the same distance, the same animosity. What could he do? How could he make this right?
"She's not here." his mother reached out to touch him and he jerked, she let her hand fall slowly as though she could still feel the ghost of his touch.
Suddenly Connor's stomach grumbled. He glanced up his cheeks warming in shame, his nose finally picking up the hearty aroma of beef, potatoes, onions, and carrots simmering in broth; and the sweet fermentation of homemade rolls.
"Are you hungry? Have you been eating? You look-" he softened slightly at his mom's concern. He sunk his fists deeper into his pockets feeling the stretch and strain of the stitches. If he pushed them any deeper he would break the seam.
"I'm good."
"If you're hungry, I mean if you want to come in."
"I should go." They said at the same time, he didn't want to hear her invite him in. He didn't want to hear that uncertain desperation in her voice, or a mother's obligation to care. His jaw locked and a vein in his throat throbbed and pulsed.
"I'm making Irish beef stew. I know how much you love-use to love..." she looked down tears threatening to spill she sniffled and sighed wringing her hands in her apron. "I don't know how to do this." She bit her lip.
"Its okay Ma, I shouldn't have come just tell Jenny it's important I need to talk to her." He cleared his throat his vision blurred.
"Nate- stay." the strain in her voice broke into him. The watery plea made him hate himself more. He never thought being a Federal Agent of the United States would cause this big a rift in his family. He understood or thought he understood they feared for his safety but why did they want to completely cut him out. Why this struggle between them?
"Ma-"he didn't want to say no, but it would probably be better if he did.
"The kids are here and they have been going on and on about you, and they wondered why you left without saying good bye." He heard the unspoken words as clear as if she said them.
"Who's at the door Becca?" Connor tensed at the terse sound of his father's voice. His gaze hardened as he noted the change in his her face. He shouldn't blame her for the sudden weariness but he felt the sting of it.
