Page 21 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Connor

The couch dug into my back, the springs unforgiving, and when I woke up, everything fucking ached. The walls felt smaller every day, pressing in on me, reminding me that this wasn’t my place.

I didn’t belong here.

It had been days of this. Days of waking up in a life that didn’t feel like mine.

Days of existing in a space where I wasn’t wanted.

Days of being ignored by the one person I couldn’t stop thinking about.

It was driving me insane. I just needed one fucking sign from her that we’d get through this.

Fuck if I even knew what this was, but I couldn’t go back to how things used to be.

I needed Summer. Needed her to look at me the way she used to.

Her anger was fucking killing me.

I should leave. I knew I should.

Instead, I dragged myself into the kitchen.

I needed to do something. I didn’t care what—just something to take up space, to remind her that I was still fucking here.

The eggs sizzled on the stove, the smell of coffee filling the air. My hands moved on autopilot—cracking shells, flipping bacon, buttering toast—muscle memory from years of making breakfast for me,Aiden, and Mom, when she couldn’t.

Then I heard the door to her bedroom open.

I didn’t turn.

Didn’t react.

She walked past me, brushing against my arm, but only because the kitchen was too small. Not because she wanted to. I could smell the faint scent of her shampoo—something floral, something that drove me fucking crazy—but she didn’t look at me. Didn’t acknowledge me.

Nothing.

I, leaning against the counter, watching her. "Morning, sunshine."

Silence.

Not even a glance.

She used to melt for me. Now? She didn’t even flinch. That was worse than if she were screaming. She ate her breakfast, got ready, then left. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with the sound of the ticking clock and the burnt edge of frustration curling in my gut..

Then I saw it. A small, glossy photo on the counter. My eyes narrowed, and I stepped forward, fingers hesitating before picking it up.

It took me a fucking second to figure out what I was looking at, but then something about the blobs started to make a little more sense. It was a sonogram. Jesus.

There wasn’t even anything there yet, just a red marker circling what would eventually be something. Someone. Our kid. My head spun.

I swallowed. Hard. Then, with shaky fingers, I put it back down and stepped away. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and for a second, I almost ignored it. But something told me to check.

I pulled it out, barely glancing at the screen before answering. "Yeah?"

Aiden’s voice came through, tight and low. "Mom’s in the hospital."

Everything inside me went cold. "What?"

"She went back to Dad," he said, voice clipped. "I don’t know what happened yet, but I got a call from the hospital. She's there now."

Rage exploded through my veins, hot and blinding. "Fucking hell, Aiden, are you serious?"

"Connor—" he started, but I was already moving, grabbing my keys, putting on my jacket. I felt sick. Sick and furious and fucking helpless. My mother—

"I knew she’d do this," I spit out. "I knew she’d fucking go back to him."

"Connor," Aiden snapped, cutting through my anger. "She went there to ask for a divorce."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

The words slammed into me like a sledgehammer. Divorce? My mother, who had spent years making excuses, covering up bruises, whispering that things would get better, had finally—

She meant it.

She fucking meant it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest a mess of anger and relief and something else I couldn’t name. I dragged in a breath, forcing my voice to steady. "Where are you now?"

"On my way to the house. I’ll see you there."

The line went dead. I stood there, breathing hard, then pulled out my phone again, typing out a quick message to Summer.

Connor: Something came up. Won’t be home for a bit.

I didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t expect one. Instead, I slid my phone back into my pocket and walked out the door, ready for whatever the fuck was waiting for me at home.

***

The drive to Dad’s house was a blur. Aiden’s voice echoed in my head. She went there to ask for a divorce.

It didn’t make sense. For years, our mother had lived in denial, always believing that things would get better, that he would change, that his love—his sick, twisted fucking version of love—was worth enduring.

And now she wanted out?

Now, when the damage was already done?

Now, when Aiden and I were already too fucked up to ever be whole again?

I wanted to be happy for her. I really did. But all I felt was fury. Fury at her for waiting this long. Fury at my father for making her believe she had no other choice. Fury at myself for still giving a shit when I should’ve cut them both off years ago.

The house came into view, as I pulled up to the curb, heart pounding in my ears. There were two cop cars parked outside, red and blue lights flashing in the dark, bathing the neighborhood in an eerie glow. My stomach twisted.

I barely threw the car in park before I was out, slamming the door behind me. The night air was cold, but I barely felt it.

Aiden was standing near the porch, arms crossed, his face a mask of tension. He turned at the sound of my footsteps, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

“Where is he?” I asked, my voice tight, sharp.

Aiden ran a hand over his short beard. “Gone.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Gone where?”

Aiden’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Jail.”

I blinked, barely processing the word. “What?”

“The cops picked him up about an hour ago. Mom pressed charges.”

For a second, I just stood there, the words bouncing around in my head like I couldn’t make sense of them. Mom pressed charges.

She’d gone through hell with him. Stood by him through every drunken rage, every slammed door, every ugly fucking night he let his fists do the talking. And now—she’d finally done something about it?

A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat, sharp and humorless. “She actually did it?”

Aiden’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Yeah.”

I shook my head, dragging a hand over my face. This was—fuck. I didn’t even know what this was. My father, in jail? That bastard had gotten away with everything for so long, it had felt like some unspoken rule of the universe that he’d never actually face consequences.

And now he was gone.

For a second, I let myself feel something like relief. Then the weight of everything crashed back down on me.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice lower now.

“She showed up, told him she wanted a divorce. He lost his shit. Guess he started screaming, throwing shit. A neighbor heard and called the cops before it got worse. They got there just in time.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “Connor, he had a fucking knife.”

My stomach dropped.

A knife.

Of course he did.

My father had never been the type to just let things go.

Aiden must’ve seen the look on my face because he shook his head.

“It’s done,” he said firmly. “He’s gone, and she’s pressing charges this time.”

I laughed again, the sound grating. “Yeah? And how long do you think that’s gonna last? How long before she changes her mind and takes him back again?”

Aiden’s expression darkened. “She won’t.”

I scoffed. “You sure about that?”

Something flickered in Aiden’s eyes, something hard, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to name. “Yeah,” he said, voice quiet but sure. “This time, I’m sure.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

This time.

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

But I’d spent too many years watching our mother fold under the weight of love twisted into something ugly. Watching her flinch when she thought no one was looking. Watching her make excuses. And I knew better than anyone—people don’t change.

Not really.

Aiden shoved his hands into his pockets, exhaling slowly. “She’s at the hospital. I was gonna leave after the cops were done with my statement. They can figure out the rest themselves. I want to get the fuck out of here. You coming?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I could handle this.

Wasn’t sure I had anything to say to her that wouldn’t come out sharp-edged and too fucking cruel.

But then—somewhere deep down, underneath all the anger, all the resentment, all the shit I hadn’t figured out how to deal with—there was something else. Something softer.

Something that still cared.

I nodded once, and we headed to his car.

***

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and something else—something stale, like the air had been recycled too many times. The harsh fluorescent lighting made everything look paler, washed out, like the life had been drained out of the place.

I hated hospitals.

Too many memories of waiting rooms, of stitched-up knuckles, of long nights hoping Mom wouldn’t lie for him again.

Aiden and I walked in silence, past the nurses' station, past the hushed conversations and the beeping machines. My chest felt tight, my pulse an uneven rhythm I couldn’t get under control.

Mom was awake when we got to her room.

She looked smaller than I remembered. Like whatever fight she’d been holding on to had drained out of her the second she wasn’t standing in front of him anymore.

There was a bruise blooming along her cheekbone, dark and ugly, and a cut on her lip that looked fresh.

But she was sitting up, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze distant until she saw us.

Then—her face softened.

“Connor,” she murmured, like she hadn’t expected me to come.

I swallowed hard and stepped inside, Aiden right behind me. He went straight to her, his hand squeezing her hand, quiet reassurance in his touch. She patted his hand gently before looking back at me.

“Didn’t think you’d want to see me,” she admitted, voice quiet, careful.

I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets, shifting my weight. “Yeah, well. Here I am.”

Her lips twitched, like she wanted to smile but didn’t quite have the energy. “Yeah. Here you are.”

Aiden pulled a chair up next to the bed, sitting beside her. I didn’t.

For a long time, none of us said anything. I could feel her watching me, like she was waiting for something. And fuck, maybe she knew exactly what was on my mind because suddenly, the words were tumbling out before I could stop them.

“I’m sorry,” I admitted, my voice rough. “About how I’ve been behaving. There was a lot going on and I couldn’t figure out what was happening in my head.” I swallowed hard, thinking back on our previous conversation. She’d accused me of being heartbroken. “You were right.”

“About?” Mom questioned, and even Aiden eyed me strangely as I tugged at the collar of my t-shirt then sighed.

Instead of explaining, I just grudgingly stated. “It was Summer.”

“What was Summer?” Mom questioned, then Aiden’s eyebrow flickered up.

“What, Summer Blake?” he asked as I went to sit on the seat on Mom’s other side.

I told them about the affair, about the fact that Vic still didn’t know about us.

About how she deserved better than what I could give her…

afterward, there was only one thing left to tell her and I hesitated, scratching my jaw before blurting it out, “There’s more, but I swear, I didn’t know until just a few weeks ago. ”

Mom’s brows pulled together, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Know about what, baby?”

“That Summer was pregnant.” The words tasted different out loud. Heavier. Real. And for a second I couldn’t believe I’d actually said it. Or that it was actually happening.

“Oh.”

I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Yeah. Oh.”

Aiden stiffened slightly beside her, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t react. He just watched.

Mom’s eyes softened as she took me in, reading me like she always had. She might’ve been blind to a lot of things, but never me .

I dragged a hand through my hair. “I don’t—I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.

I don’t want to be a father. I don’t even know how.

” My chest was tight, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

“I mean, look at what I came from. Look at who raised me. You think I could ever be good at this?”

She was quiet for a moment, her hands folding neatly in her lap. Then—softly, simply—she said, “You are not your father, Connor.”

I flinched. The words were so gentle, but they hit me like a wrecking ball, knocking the air from my lungs.

“You hear me?” she continued, her voice stronger now. “You could never be him.”

I clenched my jaw. “You don’t know that.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “Yes, I do.”

I looked away, swallowing hard.

She sighed, reaching for my hand, fingers weak but steady as she held on. “Do you care about her?”

I stilled. The question wasn’t unexpected. I knew it was coming. But still—it felt like something sharp against my ribs.

Aiden’s eyes were on me now too, waiting, watching.

I could lie. I could say it didn’t matter. That Summer didn’t mean anything anymore, that I’d fucked things up too much for it to matter anyway.

But then—her face flashed through my mind.

The way she’d looked at me when she told me she was pregnant. The way her voice had cracked when she said she wasn’t getting rid of it. The way she had let me in, over and over again, even when she should’ve slammed the door in my face.

The truth was sitting heavy on my tongue, burning, demanding to be spoken. And I couldn’t lie. Not here. Not now. I swallowed hard and nodded once.

Mom smiled, like she already knew the answer. “Then that’s all that matters.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “It’s not that fucking simple.”

She squeezed my hand firmly. “It is.”

“I don’t even know if she’ll let me be around.”

Mom’s gaze softened. “Then you show her that she should.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And how the hell am I supposed to do that?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just held onto my hand like she wasn’t ready to let go yet. Like she needed me to understand something before I walked away.

Finally, she said, “You just do the opposite of what your father and I did. You don’t hurt her, and you don’t leave.”

The words were simple. Too simple. But fuck—they hit hard.

Because she was right. I’d spent my whole life running.

Running from him. Running from Reverence.

Running from the things I couldn’t fix. Running from the things I didn’t want to feel.

And I’d run from Summer, too. Just like I’d hurt her.

Even when I should’ve stayed. When I should’ve told her she didn’t have to worry because even when I was with other women, she was a film reel that played constantly in my head.

Maybe I couldn’t fix what I’d done. Maybe I couldn’t make her love me again. Maybe I couldn’t be a good father. But I could be there. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.