Page 15 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Summer

The cursor blinked at me.

Once. Twice. A steady, rhythmic pulse that somehow felt louder than my own heartbeat.

The confirmation email sat open on my laptop screen, the bright white background burning into my retinas.

The words were simple. Routine. An appointment scheduled for next week, a date, a time, a reminder that this was happening.

That it was real.

My stomach twisted, nausea rolling through me in slow, thick waves. Not the kind that sent me bolting to the bathroom. This was different. Heavier. Colder.

I could still pretend it wasn’t real. That this was all some bizarre, drawn-out fever dream that I’d eventually wake up from.

That the test was wrong, that the words on the screen weren’t tethering me to something I couldn’t undo.

But if I clicked that button, if I confirmed the appointment—there’d be no more pretending.

, My free hand drifted to my stomach. My fingers splayed over the soft fabric of my hoodie—Connor’s hoodie. I’d been wearing it all morning without thinking, the scent of faded cologne and old whiskey lingering in the fabric, barely there but enough. Enough to remind me. Enough to make it harder.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, staring at the screen, paralyzed by indecision. But then—

Knock. Knock.

The sound snapped me out of it, sharp and unexpected, sending my pulse into overdrive.

I closed the laptop on instinct, the confirmation still pending. For a split second, I thought— Connor. That maybe last night had done something to him. That maybe he’d come back, maybe he was finally ready to fix the mess we’d made.

But when I swung the door open, it wasn’t him.

It was Victor.

And my stomach dropped.

"Hey," he greeted casually, but his gaze flickered over me, taking in my messy bun, the dark circles under my eyes, the hoodie two sizes too big on my frame. "You ready for lunch?"

Shit.

My throat closed. I forgot.

His stare lingered, just for a second too long, like he was searching for something, like he could see straight through me. And for a terrifying, suffocating moment, I was convinced he knew. That he saw the panic written all over my face, that he somehow felt the secret pressing against my ribs.

But then, just as quickly, the moment passed.

He didn’t know.

Not yet.

I forced my muscles to unlock, swallowing hard as I tried to school my expression into something that wasn’t guilt, wasn’t terror, wasn’t the overwhelming urge to tell him everything just so I wouldn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

I lied instead.

"Yeah," I murmured, rubbing at my temple like I could erase the tension coiling there. "Just tired."

Victor didn’t move right away. His brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded, accepting my answer even if he didn’t believe it. "Come on then," he said, stepping back, gesturing toward his car.

I grabbed my purse with unsteady fingers, exhaling as I followed him out.

Lunch was going to be hell.

***

The car ride was mostly quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space between us. Victor didn’t push, but I could feel it—the tension, the way he kept glancing at me like he was waiting for me to say something.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I stared out the window, arms wrapped tightly around myself as the world blurred past in streaks of muted color.

My stomach was still unsettled, a constant knot that refused to loosen.

I should have eaten something before we left.

Maybe then the nausea wouldn’t feel like it was sitting at the back of my throat, waiting for the right moment to choke me.

Victor eventually turned on the radio, filling the space with soft rock. I recognized the song. One of his favorites. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat, like it was second nature. Like we’d done this a million times before.

We had.

But everything was different now.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot of the diner, my nerves were frayed, my heart pounding so hard it made my hands tremble. I shoved them into the front pocket of my hoodie, as I stepped out of the car.

We slid into our usual booth near the window. The waitress, an older woman with kind eyes, gave us a warm smile as she approached. We’d come here enough times that she recognized us, and I tried to smile back but it fell flat. "Hey, sweethearts. The usual?"

Victor nodded. "Yeah, thanks, Maggie."

I hesitated, then cleared my throat. "Just a tea for me."

Victor’s brow lifted, but he didn’t comment. Not until Maggie walked away.

"Tea?" He rested his arms on the table, lacing his fingers together as he studied me. "Since when do you drink tea?"

I forced a shrug. "Just not really hungry today."

That was half-true. The other half was that the thought of greasy diner food made my stomach twist into knots. Victor was quiet for a moment, his gaze flicking over my face. Searching. Again. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired. Classes have been a lot."

He didn’t say anything right away, and I knew he was weighing whether or not to push. I held my breath. Finally, he just nodded. "I get that."

Relief uncurled in my chest, but it was short-lived.

Because lunch was hard. The conversation was stiff, broken up by long stretches of silence.

Victor talked about work, about how one of his clients was being a pain in the ass, about how he was thinking of visiting one of our old spots over the weekend.

I tried to respond when I was supposed to, tried to laugh in the right places, tried to pretend I wasn’t falling apart right in front of him.

But I could feel his eyes on me.

Noticing the way I picked at my napkin instead of eating. The way my fingers curled and uncurled against the edge of the table. The way my voice was just a little too flat, a little too wrong.

When the check came, I reached for it, but Victor got there first, sliding his card into the holder without a second thought.

"Got it," he said.

I swallowed. "I could’ve paid."

He smirked. "Yeah, but we both know you weren’t going to."

I rolled my eyes, but it was weak. Forced. Victor didn’t say anything as we walked back to the car, but I could feel it. That undercurrent of concern. The weight of it pressing against my back like a physical thing.

He knew something was off.

He just didn’t know what.

***

When we got back to my apartment, he lingered near the door, crossing his arms as he studied me. "You sure you’re okay?"

I forced a smile, but my chest was tight. "I’m fine, Vic."

His eyes narrowed slightly. Like he didn’t quite believe me. But he didn’t push. He just exhaled, nodding slowly. "Okay. Just… let me know if you need anything, alright?"

I nodded quickly. "I will."

I wouldn’t.

"Heading off to work?" I asked, my voice light, casual. Anything to distract him.

"Yeah," he said after a beat. "See you later?"

"Yep," I lied.

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t call me out on it. Instead, he just gave me a lingering look before finally stepping out the door.I pressed my back against the closed door, my fingers curling around the hem of my hoodie.

I just needed to get through today.

That was all.

I pushed off the door and moved on autopilot, slipping into my bedroom to grab my bag before heading back out.

I needed air. I needed space. I needed—I didn’t know what I needed, but I knew that I still had a few things I had to research at the library so that should keep me busy until I could figure it out.