Page 11 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Connor

She stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Summer’s eyes were red-rimmed.

My stomach dropped, my body tensing the way it did whenever Dad took a step too close to Mom.

And yet, now that Summer was in front of me, real and close enough to touch, my pulse kicked up, my breath caught somewhere in my throat.

Two months. Two fucking months without seeing her, without hearing her voice, without the sharp tang of her sarcasm needling under my skin.

Two months of pretending I didn’t care, when in reality, I missed her so much that all I wanted to do was pull her close and make up for not kissing her goodbye the last time.

Fuck, I’d been such a fucking idiot. And now here she was—looking so fucking fragile that it made my mouth dry, and my stomach swoop.

I should’ve said something. Asked if she was okay, if she needed me. But my tongue felt thick, my brain sluggish as I drank her in. Her face was thinner, the shadows beneath her eyes darker. Her hair was messy, falling in tangled waves around her neck.

She looked tired. She looked worn. And still, all I could think about was how much I wanted to pull her against me, bury my face in her neck, and breathe her in like she was oxygen after drowning.

Instead, because I was an idiot—because I was angry that I’d come all this way just to find her staring at me like I was the last person she wanted to see—the first words out of my mouth were—

"Well, shit. You and Quinn besties again?"

Summer didn’t react. No quick comeback. No rolling eyes. No biting remark to sting me where it hurt the most. Just silence.

And for some reason, that pissed me off more than anything else.

Before I could say something even worse, North gave me a sharp look. "Stop being a little bitch and come inside."

My jaw clenched. Best friend or not, I hated the bastard when he got all high and mighty like that. Always had. But I did as I was told, brushing past him into the apartment.

North and Quinn exchanged a look—one I didn’t understand, one I didn’t fucking like—before Quinn muttered something under her breath and followed North down the hall.

"Don’t fuck this up."

I snorted. "You have so little faith in me."

Quinn didn’t even turn around. "Yeah. I wonder why."

And then they were gone. Leaving me alone with Summer.

I was exhausted. I shouldn’t be here.

Summer looked worried.

Still, I was too fucking angry to care. Angry that she hadn’t called me herself. Angry that she was here with them when she should’ve been with me. So instead of listening to the part of me that was concerned, I let the other part—the reckless, self-destructive part—take control.

"What the hell is going on?"

Summer hesitated. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, her throat working like she was swallowing something sharp.

"Connor, I need to tell you something."

My chest felt too tight. My patience was razor-thin.

"Then fucking tell me."

"I’m pregnant."

The words hit me like a fist to the gut.

I froze.

No. No, that couldn’t be right.

My heartbeat slowed, then sped up, then slowed again. My mind grasped for something—some kind of logic, some kind of sense. She wasn’t lying. Summer wouldn’t lie about something like this.

And yet, I couldn’t make myself believe it.

Before I could stop myself—before I could even think—I laughed. A sharp, hollow, ugly sound that made Summer flinch, her face paling.

But I couldn’t stop.

Because if I let myself believe her—if I let myself feel what this meant—the walls might actually cave in.

And worse, if I let myself feel it, if I let myself want it, I’d never fucking recover.

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, shaking my head. "That’s cute. Who’s the father?"

The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Wanted to shove them back down my throat and choke on them. Because I knew. I fucking knew.

It was mine.

It had to be mine.

And that should’ve terrified me. Should’ve sent me running for the door before the weight of it crushed me.

But instead, there was something dark and possessive curling in my chest. Because Summer was pregnant with my fucking kid, but my father was shit and I didn’t know how to be anything different.

I didn’t know how to be anything more than the fuck up.

The thought was so goddamn overwhelming that I had to push it down. Had to bury it beneath something sharp, something cruel, before it swallowed me whole.

Summer stiffened. And then—her expression went blank. Dead. Like I wasn’t even standing there.

"Get out."

But I was already spiraling. Already letting the anger eat me alive because if I stopped, if I let myself feel—

No. It was easier this way.

I stepped forward. "What? Don’t tell me it’s me, Princess? It’s been two months, and I’d be a fool to think you haven’t shown that pretty pink cunt to anyone els—"

The crack of her palm against my face echoed through the apartment.

My head snapped to the side, the sting blooming across my skin. But it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

Silence.

I lifted my hand, pressing my fingers against the spot she hit, my breath coming too hard, too fast. I should’ve said something. Should’ve apologized. Should’ve told her she didn’t compare to any other women, no matter how many I used to try and erase the feel of her. No one else came close.

But it was better this way, and even though I hated myself when tears welled in her eyes, I didn’t bother to apologize as I turned on my heel and walked out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I didn’t look back. Not at the doorway. Not at the apartment. Not at her.

I didn’t know where the fuck I was going. I didn’t care. But there was no way in hell I could look at her. If I gave in and showed her how I really felt, I’d hurt her. There was way too much fucking history for me not to, and that was the last damn thing I wanted.

I wasn’t my father. Blood or not. I refused to be a dipshit like he was.

I just knew I needed to leave before I said something even worse.

Before I did something I couldn’t take back.

The night was cold. My footsteps were too loud against the pavement.

I should go home. But the only thing waiting for me at home was my mother’s accusations that stung a little more after my conversation with Summer.

So I kept walking. Kept burning every bridge in my path.

Because fuck it.

It’s what I did best.