Page 61 of Ripped

Christian’s a big guy with close-cropped hair and tattoos down both arms. Now that they’re next to each other, I feel like I’ve seen them before somewhere.

“Ready to go?” Donnie asks, hiking both our bags over his shoulders. I take mine from him and give him a kiss in return.

“Yeah, I am.” Ready to go anywhere with him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

DONNIE

“Darling, do you mind favoriting this song for me, please?” I sneak a quick glance toward Connor who’s been staring out of the passenger window for the past twenty minutes.

He drags his gaze away and taps on my phone where it’s clamped to the holder on the dash. “For your spin list?”

I’m always on the lookout for songs to design workout routines to and Connor has been kind enough to let us listen to a new music playlist while we drive up to his parents’ anniversary weekend. “Yes, please.”

Connor immediately goes back to staring out of the window and the sight of it makes my heart clench. He’s been like this for days now. Sullen and sad, with the weight of the weekend settling heavier and heavier on his shoulders. I even suggested we put on a scary movie two nights ago and he opted to go to bed instead. That’s when I knew that the prospect of an entire weekend with his family is really bothering him.

I’m not exactly clear on what the problem is either. Connor can’t seem to articulate it. He says they argue about nothing. They never apologize. Then they pretend it didn’t happen and argue again. It goes around and around in a cycle that sounds exhausting. And frankly, unhealthy.

It’s hard to know whether it’s actually that bad. Connor has a tendency toward the dramatic, which I suppose fits with the whole storyteller and filmmaker thing. It does give me pause though, if they’re really that nitpicky, how the hell are they going to react to me? I have to admit that this unknown factor has made me less than excited to spend an entire weekend in the same house as Connor’s parents.

“I’m sure everything will work out.”

Connor lets out a sigh filled with defeat. “I know. I’ll be fine.”

I hate that he feels this way, but short of turning around and going home, all I can do is be there for him. Perhaps his family will be less inclined to argue with a stranger in their midst.

It takes almost four hours to drive from Brooklyn all the way up to Springfield, Massachusetts. We get to the Hill’s house with barely a minute to spare. Three generations of them are gathered out front and they all turn to stare when we pull up.

Connor slouches low in his seat. “Do I have to get out?”

“No, we can turn around and drive back to New York, if you want.” I’m only half-joking. I wouldn’t be opposed to turning tail and running.

“No, let’s go. Brace yourself.” Connor pops open the car door.

Well, that’s not ominous at all.

An older version of Connor is standing in the driveway with his hands on his hips. “You’re late.” That must be Brad.

“You said dinner. I’m here before dinner.”

Brad shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “At least you’re here.”

“Yeah, great to see you too.”

Whoa, the tension isn’t just palpable, it’s thick enough to cut with a cold, dull butter knife.

A little girl breaks away from her mother and comes charging at Connor. His demeanor flips in an instant and he’s smiling as he bends down to swoop her up and swing her around. “Hey, little girl!”

“I’m not little anymore!”

“Hey, big girl.”

I catch Connor’s wince as he sets her down and I bite back my smile. He’s going to thank me for that proper office chair soon.

“Wait! I’m bigger than her!” Another girl has joined them now. The older sister, I believe.

Connor gives her a hug. “You’re big too!”

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