Connell

Chapter Fourteen

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Connell slowly stands up and brushes off his worn out shorts, eventually turning around to give me his hand.

"I think it's time we go get some food. Mind carrying the pan again? I'll go get the pup."

I grab his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm gently wrap against my own. I get on my feet and let him easily pull me up, right until our toes are touching.

"What pan?"

"The one you were carrying before," he says, and lets go of my hand, gesturing toward the deformed metal object laying on the pebbles.

"That's not a pan," I say confusedly.

"Sure it is." He stops and looks at me, then bends down to pick it up, turning it around for me to look at. "See?"

My eyebrows scrunch together, intently staring at the rusty object. "It looks like a stop sign."

"A what?"

I gently grab the pan from his grasp, inspecting its rusty tones and bent directions. It has no red paint left on it, just a brown covered rust and the faint outlines of the word 'STOP' in the middle. The outer edges are curved inwards to presumably hold food inside, and for a handle, it seems that it was just snapped right off its pole.

"Where did you find this?" I look up at him.

He slightly scrunches his eyebrows. "I didn't find it, my ma used to cook with it. She called it a pan, so that's what I've always called it. I got more of her old stuff in the cabin if you wanna take a look."

I slowly look back down at the pan, not quite knowing what to say. I'm in slight awe of his mothers cleverness, as this is the perfect substitute for an actual pan. But she must have traveled far to get it, as I have never seen a road nor traffic sign so close to this forest before.

"Did you used to live somewhere else?" I mumble, still wiping my thumb along the pan.

He pauses, surprised by my sudden question, and takes a moment to answer. "Yeah, my dad built a cabin when I was younger. It's far up somewhere in the mountains, though."

"Why didn't you stay?" I look up at him, but his eyes are fixated north; clearly withdrawn and full of remorse.

"Uh. . ," he murmurs, lips pursed tightly. "Too many memories, I guess. There wasn't much left of it, anyways."

I gaze at his face, watching his expression morph into one of longing, and I immediately regret my words. I don't question further, as I don't want to darken this sunny day. Yet I give him a moment of thought, hopefully to remember what was once good, and not what he once destroyed.

I gently place my hand on his, not wanting to startle him from his vacant state. He doesn't even flinch as my soft hand attempts to comfort him, rubbing my thumb along his skin.

I haven't comforted a man in a very long time, and as a matter of fact, I haven't given comfort to anyone besides my Kota since I left my old life. So with Connell, I try to make it more subtle, not a hug, not a kiss, not a brush along the nose, but in a way I remembered how adults comforted each other; barely a touch, but just enough to let them know that you're there for them when they're ready.

I am not one to push limits, and right now is not the time to let my curiously get the best of me. I don't know his temper when aggravated too much, and I'm not sure I want to find out. So I keep my mouth closed and my questions locked in, ready to be spoken when the time is right. Yet at this moment, as I look at his darkened face and saddened eyes, the urge to know more about his past eats at me, and I want to know why.