Page 62 of Ripped

“Come on, girls, go get in the car.” Their mother comes to give Connor a kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you, Connor.”

Then she turns an appraising eye to me. “I’m Hazel, Connor’s sister-in-law.”

“Lovely to meet you.”

Her eyes light up when I shake her hand. It happens sometimes when I open my mouth—ah, the magic of the British accent. She mouths a not-so-subtle “nice job” to Connor before turning back to corral her kids.

Connor’s mother is right behind her, pulling him into a hug so tight, he’s wheezing. “Hi, Mom,” he squeaks.

She holds him at arm’s length and pins him with a stare that even scares me. “It’s about time.”

“For what?” Connor sounds like a mouse.

“You’ve been away too long.”

“I’ve been busy?” He doesn’t sound certain.

Her eyebrow twitches and Connor flinches. “Too busy to visit your family?

Connor looks panicked for a moment before he turns to me. “This is Donnie!”

Great. Time to lay myself down on the sacrificial altar, it seems.

Except Connor’s mother cuts a sideways glance at me before narrowing her eyes back on him. “Donnie with the fever?”

How did she know about the fever?

“Uh, yeah.” Connor looks sheepish. There’s something there that he hasn’t told me about.

A polite mask drops over her face as she introduces herself. “Welcome, Donnie. I’m Kathleen. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

I’m not sure what she’s referring to but I can play along. “Likewise, Kathleen.”

Brad comes up to physically lead her away. “Car. Restaurant. We’re already late.”

I don’t think I’m going to like Brad.

An older man claps Connor on the back hard enough that I wince. Then he holds his hand out to me. He squeezes hard, so I squeeze back equally hard. Cycling isn’t only about the legs, you know. The muscles around his eyes tighten just enough that I know he notices. “I’m Harold.”

“Donnie.”

“Enough chatting! Let’s go! We can talk at the restaurant!” Yeah, I’m not going to like Brad, there’s no question about it.

“We get it, we get it,” Connor grumbles under his breath and I can’t blame him.

I’m pulling the car away from the curb when I glance over at Connor. He’s slumped in his seat again, arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window.

“How does your mother know I had a fever?”

His cheeks go pink and he drops his hand into his face. “I might’ve called her,” he mumbles.

“What is that?” I ask because I can.

He glares at me. He knows I heard him the first time. “I called her, okay? You were passed out and I didn’t know what to do.”

Laughter bubbles up inside me, so bright and fizzy that I can’t hold it in.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. It’s not like you weren’t dying or anything. Excuse me for worrying about you.”

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