Our Secret Moments (Drayton Hills Series)

“YOU JUST CAN’T GET ENOUGH of me, can you?”

I can feel him before I can see him. Well, I also took a glance through his classroom window as I walked past it, trying to keep my head high and not take more than one glance. His behaviour towards me has become weirdly sporadic and I can’t figure out why.

For some reason, it seems like he wants to cross the line we drew up when we were in high school. The added forced proximity with me now on the team for the Titans Daily is not helping our case. Or does it encourage it? Whatever that is.

Connor has been feeling like a fucking magnet. I have no idea what kind of voodoo nonsense spell that closet put on either of us, but his usual in the shadow’s vibe has become less and less prominent and I can’t tell if I hate it or if I love it.

I turn to him finally, pulling my water from the fountain as I screw on the cap. I move out of the way slightly, keeping my eyes on the ground, knowing I’d get distracted by his eyes as he goes to fill up his water.

“Well, after the stunt you pulled at the interview, I thought you were avoiding me,” he answers. His voice is layered with a thick emotion I can’t quite place. Annoyance, maybe? There’s something else in there that I can’t put my finger on. Still, it runs through my body like a tidal wave.

“What reason would I have to avoid you?” I ask. I let my eyes settle on his as he closes the cap on his water bottle, twisting it in his hands. I don’t know what kind of conversation I’m inviting, so I shake my head at the thought. “You know what? Never mind. I’ve got things to do, and you have a class to attend.”

I readjust my bag on my shoulder, giving Connor a weak smile as I turn around and start walking in the opposite direction. I hold my head high, ready to get on with my day like I initially planned before I feel a gentle tug on my arm, pulling me back. I stumble slightly, my stomach doing a weird flip as Connor’s hand brushes against mine

“Miss me already, Bailey?” I ask.

He shakes his head, not finding my joke funny. Weird. Usually, he’d chuckle low at one of my comments, or stick his tongue in his cheek and try not to laugh at least. I wait for him to get the words out, which he’s clearly struggling to do.

“I need your help, Cat,” he says quietly. The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. So does the gentle whisper in his tone, the way the light dims in his eyes as he drops his gaze to his shoes.

“You need my help?” I ask, my voice a little breathy.

“That’s what I just said, yes,” he says, resting his eyes back on mine, a slight flare in those golden-brown eyes.

“Now is not the time for attitude if you want me to help you,” I retort. A smile twitches on his mouth as he sighs.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Look, these interviews have been freaking me out and I’m… I’m worried. I’m scared that I’m not anything other than a football player and that people won’t be interested in me beyond that. Everybody else on the team has something else that they’re good at, some secret talent, and I don’t. I don’t have anything to fall back on and I’m going to drag the team down if my answers to your questions are shit.”

I watch him take a deep breath, the exhale shaky. That was definitely not what I was expecting him to say. I knew the first interview made him antsy from what Wes told me, but I didn’t know just how badly it had affected him.

I’ve always known Connor has been a little closed off and sensitive. He has this huge papa bear energy with his protectiveness over Nora and his friends. I’ve also known that being a football player has just been so him that I don’t think I could separate the two.

“And how exactly can I help you with that?”

“I need help getting better at talking to people about real things, about feelings, about memories, about hobbies. I don’t know,” he explains. I quirk my eyebrow, not fully understanding him as he continues talking, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I just have so many words and thoughts in my brain that I can’t seem to get them out. Not in a way that makes sense, at least.”

“And you think I can help you with that?” I ask.

My friends have always said I’m a good teacher and a good listener. I try to be at all times. Growing up where my mom and my dad were such huge personalities and always had something to say, I learned to listen to them and pick up on cues. I also paid close attention to how to help people in ways that don’t come across as condescending, knowing exactly what it’s like to be talked down to.

“I think you could do anything you wanted to, Cat,” he says simply. My chest immediately expands, my organs somehow feeling too big for my body. I feel the praise all over me like tiny sharp needles pricking my skin. “Plus,” he adds, his voice suddenly filled with humour, “You’ve always had a soft spot for me. You can’t deny that.”

“That’s because you’re my best friend’s brother and we grew up together,” I argue, not sure why the comment gets to me. I have soft spots for a lot of people – the misunderstood villain, the introvert, the rich millionaire with a soft side, or the football player who is terrible at baking.

“Regardless, you’re clearly considering it,” he says, nodding down at me.

My heart knows the right thing to do before my brain does and words of agreement flow out of my mouth.. “Fine. I’ll help you. Only because I feel bad for you. Not because I have a soft spot for you or anything like that.”

“Whatever you say,” Connor relays. He nods down to my folders that I’m holding, his nervous smile twitching. “Do you want me to give you my number?”

“I’m sure that’s the first order of business, yes,” I mumble.

Why do I have to be so awkward? Being alone with him more often than usual has made me unnecessarily antsy. We usually just talk through Nora, or I occasionally text him on social media.

I can do this, right? I can have unsolicited one-on-one time with my best friend’s brother and not make it into a big deal.

“My hands are kinda full, I’ll just give you mine,” I suggest. He pulls out his phone as I tell him my number. I watch the mischievous smirk pull across his face as he creates my contact. “You put my name as something stupid, didn’t you?”

He shakes his head, his cheeks burning pink as he meets my eyes, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Catherine,” he says easily, slowly walking backwards.

“What are you doing?”

“Going back to class,” he answers with a shrug.

“Can you walk like a normal human and watch where you’re going?”

“Worried about my safety, sweetheart?”

“No, you’re just going to do something stupid, and I do not want to be called into the station as a witness,” I say. He ignores me again, still walking backwards as he somehow manages to dodge the pillars in the hallway. “Goodbye, Connor. Don’t die on your way to class. Please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says triumphantly. “Then I’d never get my one-on-one time with you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I snort.

“I’m your favourite kind of ridiculous, Cat, we both know that.”

“For someone who says they don’t know how to talk to people, you talk a lot of bullshit,” I shout back at him which only makes him smile harder. His eyes squint, those infuriatingly perfect lips spreading across his face as his cheeks flush.

“Only for you,” he says, pointing at me.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

It smells like old people.

I don’t know why I’m surprised by the pungent smell of the Gilwell Care home located twenty minutes away from campus. I’ve come here nearly twice a week for the last five years, but I always forget just how sterile the initial smell is.

My grandma JoJo has been thriving here for years. She’s always had ongoing health issues even from before she had my mom, but when she passed away her mental and physical health plummeted. Although my dad wasn’t thrilled about it, he set her up in the best caring facility in Colorado and has been paying for her care ever since.

JoJo has always been special to me. She was always the one to take care of me when my parents needed a night away. She was the one who got me ready for my first day of school when my parents had passed out on the couch from working late. She was the one who cheered me on as loud as she could from her wheelchair at my high school graduation while my dad silently clapped. I know if my mom was there, she would have been just as loud as my grandma JoJo.

There’s been this weird hostility between my grandma and my dad for years. Before, my mom would often ease the tension between them with a joke, or a hand on my dad’s back, signalling him to step down. But now, without her, my dad is prone to making jokes about JoJo and their relationship.

As much as I had wished my parents’ love would have won over my grandma completely, that was never the case. My JoJo was always protective of mom in every way, no matter how much she liked my dad. She always put her first and never got too close to my dad even after my mom’s passing. There was part of her that thought he would hurt my mom somehow and she didn’t want to see that happen. A huge part of me thinks that the only reason my dad is caring for JoJo is because I’m not able to and he’s doing it just for me.

I appreciate the sentiment, but I just wish they could get along without them being civil with each other just for me. My mom is a part of me just as much as my dad is and I just wish they could both act like that for once.

When I pass through the chilling hallways of Gilwell, I spot JoJo’s nurse. She’s a young woman, probably in her late twenties, with the same soft brown eyes as Elle and curly hair.

Arianna has been caring for JoJo for the last six months, but before that she was volunteering and since then they’ve created a strong bond. I’m glad she has somewhere here with her. If it was up to me, I’d drop out of school completely just to be here every day, but that’s unrealistic.

“How is she today?” I ask Ari, nodding down to the community room where she’s most likely in a competitive game of chess with one of her friends like she is every week.

Arianna smiles tightly, her eyes twitching. She lets out a heavy sigh as if her next words are hard to get out. “She’s been thinking a lot about your mom today. She put that she was feeling nostalgic on the wellness sheet this morning, so don’t be surprised if she starts to bring up old memories.”

My chest pinches at the thought. I give Arianna a kind smile and thank her before slipping past her and walking through the doors of the community room.

It smells a lot fresher in here. They’re not allowed to have any perfumes that are too strong to not upset the other residents, but just being in my grandma’s presence brings me a different kind of peace. The community room adds a fresher take on the home and even has a few large plants taking up a space in each corner of the room.

It’s hard to miss my grandma JoJo, despite the loudness of her voice as she argues with her friend Joyce over a playful game of chess. Not only does she have the voice as loud as a football commentator, but she always wears the most ridiculous outfits.

Don’t get me wrong, my JoJo can pull off nearly any outfit. But while her other friends stick to boring neutral colours and matching sets, JoJo likes to shop and dress as if she’s a teenager in an experimental phase. Like today, she’s wearing an oversized pink cardigan with a green shirt underneath and a long black skirt with tiny, embroidered stars.

I have a strong witchy feeling that she can sense me before I even reach her as Joyce sulks, walking past me. I still don’t fully understand how my grandma is able to beat every single person she plays at chess. It’s one of her many secret talents which she has yet to share with me. Joyce gets the blunt end of it every week though. Poor woman.

“Don’t feel bad for her, birdie. She’s too slow to keep up,” JoJo says before I get to her. I laugh a little at her playful meanness as I take a seat across from her in a chair that feels like a warm hug. I sink down onto the cushions, taking in my JoJo’s old but beautiful face. They say that black doesn’t crack and it’s so true. She sighs heavily, replacing the chess pieces to their starting positions. “How was school?”

I immediately smile at the question. She knows how much I love my classes and she’s one of the very few people who care. “It’s been going well. If you remember that assignment that I was telling you about. The one on genetic mutation?” She nods happily. I think she was more shocked than I was about what I found out during the research process. “Well, you’ll never guess what Rotford said about it.”

I thoroughly explained to her the contents of my essay and all the notes my teacher made. As much as constructive criticism hits me straight in the gut sometimes, I’d much rather have some sort of feedback that can help me improve rather than nothing at all. That combined with the positive comment she left has somehow altered my brain chemistry and I’ve been on a high since. My only problem now is to figure out when I’ll be able to help Connor with his… problem.

“And what about the girls? How are they?” JoJo asks once I’ve finished my rant. I used to think I annoyed her when I talked a lot about my friends and the things that make me happy. Not only have the nurses encouraged positive distractions, but she genuinely seems interested.

“They’re great. It’s the start of the semester so they’re still getting into the swing of things. You know what me and Nor are like. Parties are happening a lot more frequently now,” I say with a shrug.

“Oh, birdie. The things I would do to go to a college party again,” JoJo says wistfully. “Most of the parties were full of older people too. You don’t want to know the kind of stuff I got up to.”

“I can only imagine,” I say laughing. I’ve seen some videos of what parties are like in Jamaica. A party is hardly the right word. I thought the parties at the frats on campus were insane, but it’s nothing compared to the videos I’ve seen. They are fucking wild.

“Did you do that ritual you told me about? You called it stupid and ridiculous three times,” JoJo says.

“For someone who struggles with her memory, you always remember the weirdest things,” I mutter, toying with one of the pawns. My eyes meet her chocolate brown ones as she frowns.

“That’s only because you tell me the most insane things, Songbird,” she replies easily, a throaty chuckle leaving her. I remember telling her about the Manifestation Chamber during the first week of college. She laughed in my face then too. I also remember telling her it was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of and no college horror story I heard in high school could have prepared me for such dipshittery.

“Yes, I did. And before you ask, no, I am not plotting or planning on falling in love with him any time soon,” I say sternly. JoJo is a romantic. Apparently it runs in the Johnsons’ blood. Since my mom passed, my stance on love in the real world has greatly fizzled out. I love to read about it and watch it, but in reality, it could never work. There are too many limiting factors, too many parts of myself that I am convinced are incapable of being loved.

“You said it’s worked before, no?” I nod stiffly and her whole face cracks into a deep grin. “But you don’t think it could work for you.”

“I know it won’t work for me. The people that are put in there clearly force a connection and trick themselves into believing that they are the ones for each other. With Connor, it could never work. I’m his sister’s best friend, I know he doesn’t see me for any more than that,” I reply.

“You know I’ve always told you to know and not think,” she begins. She’s right. It’s one of the first life lessons she ever taught me. “What I haven’t told you, is how wonderful hope could be.”

I groan, throwing my head back. “Why would I hope for something that I don’t want?”

“You’re telling me you don’t want to find love, my songbird?”

“Yes,” I say certainly. “I know hope springs eternal or some bullshit, but the truth of the matter is you can do all the hoping and still not get what you want. You think I don’t wish for things that never come true? Because I do. I do it all the time. I have hope for better grades. I have hope that my dad might finally get his head out of the darkness and see what life could be like outside his work. I hope that my mom could give me some sort of sign, any indicator to show me that she’s still here, but none of it ever happens. It never works. There is literally zero hope in hoping when you’re not certain it’ll come true.”

The words rushed out of me like a tidal wave, leaving me heaving by the end. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve been thinking about it for the last few days or possibly the last few years. It’s been a topic for a journal that I keep in my room and for some reason I can never fully finish the thought. Sometimes it goes on for pages, or I write a sentence and the words can never come.

“That, my love…” JoJo sighs, locking eyes with me as she tells me what she’s thinking straight up. “Is the stupidest shit I’ve heard in my whole life.”