Page 22 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Summer

The second I saw Connor’s text, I sighed in relief.

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

Good.

Things had been getting too damn tense. His presence was everywhere—in the way the apartment felt smaller, in the way I couldn’t breathe without feeling him nearby.

The worst part? It wasn’t even what he was doing—it was the things he wasn’t. The way he wasn’t pushing me. The way he wasn’t arguing. The way he wasn’t trying to make me forget how much of an asshole he’d been.

He was just here. Cooking, cleaning, taking up space in my life like he belonged. And that was what was getting to me.

So, yeah. I needed a break.

Alone in the quiet, I walked into my room, pushing the door shut behind me.

I hesitated before pulling it out—the hoodie I’d tucked away the second I realized Connor wasn’t planning on leaving. His hoodie.

I didn’t even know why I hid it. Maybe because the smell of it was still him, and I wasn’t ready to face that. Maybe because it felt too personal—too much like admitting something I wasn’t ready to admit.

But now, I pulled it over my head without thinking.

The fabric was soft, worn, familiar. I let my fingers graze over the material, letting the sleeves cover my hands. It was huge on me, swallowing me whole, but it was warm, and for some reason, that warmth settled something inside me.

Then—I froze.

My fingers hovered over the hem, over my stomach, and I hesitated.

I wasn’t used to seeing it yet. Wasn’t used to feeling it. But now, standing in front of the mirror, I couldn’t not see it.

It wasn’t huge. Not yet. But it was there. A small curve where my stomach used to be flat, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know. But I noticed, and I had a feeling from Connor’s heated stare the other morning that he had as well. I really hadn’t thought it had been that obvious, but it was.

Jesus. I looked pregnant.

Three months. Just three months, and I was already showing.

My breath hitched. I placed my hands over the bump, pressing against it lightly, like I needed proof that this was real.

This was happening.

There was no denying it anymore.

I let out a shaky breath, my throat tight, my pulse uneven. The hoodie suddenly felt too much, like wearing it was some kind of admission that I wasn’t ready for. I started to pull it off—

Knock. Knock.

Shit. Was that Connor now? I turned, my stomach dropping as I stared at the door. I didn’t realize I was crying until I went to pinch my nose and encountered the tears dripping from my eyes.

Jesus, not now. I couldn’t do this right now.

Another knock sounded, sharper this time. "Summer, open up."

My breath stalled in my lungs. Vic.

Fuck.

Heart hammering, I scrambled for my phone, my fingers shaking as I typed.

Summer: Vic’s here, I’ll message you when he’s gone.

The second the message was sent, I took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

Vic stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, a bag slung over his arm.

His brows lifted slightly as he took me in, and I knew he saw the tears.

His expression hardened, then softened as he took in the hoodie and the sweatpants I was wearing, then his mouth twitched slightly and he shook his head.

"Seriously? You answer the door looking like a damn gremlin? "

I rolled my eyes. "Nice to see you too."

He smirked and pushed past me, dropping his bag onto the couch like he’d already decided he was staying. "Well, since my little sister is apparently dodging my calls, I figured I’d take matters into my own hands."

I was tense. "Vic—"

He waved a hand. "Nope. I’m here for a brotherly intervention. You don’t get to argue. I took leave for the weekend. You and me, kiddo. Just like old times."

I forced a smile, trying to shove down the unease rising in my chest. I just needed to keep him distracted. Keep him from—Vic went silent and I frowned, stopping behind him.

“Would you move, damnit?” I cursed, bumping him with my hip as I scowled up at him. “Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

His whole posture had shifted, his stance going rigid, his expression darkening in real time as his eyes flicked around the living room.

And that’s when I saw it too. The boots by the door.

Connor’s boots. The hoodie slung over the couch.

A favorite of Connor’s, one that had taken precedence after he thought he’d lost the one I was currently wearing.

Then there was the bag sitting in the corner, and the rumpled book on the side table.

Vic’s expression hardened, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. His gaze landed on the mess of evidence scattered around my apartment, each item screaming what I hadn’t told him.

And then, slowly, he turned back to me,

His voice was low. Too calm.

"Summer," he said, his stare pinning me in place. "Explain."

My stomach twisted into knots.

Shit.

My heart pounded against my chest, my fingers curling into the hem of Connor’s hoodie like it was a shield. But nothing could protect me from this.

From Vic.

From the way his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter. From the way his hands fisted at his sides, his nostrils flaring as his gaze cut into me like a knife.

I should have hidden it all. Should have thought this through.

But I hadn’t. I’d been too busy trying to avoid him, too busy drowning in my own fucked-up emotions to think about what would happen when he finally saw the truth staring him right in the face.

And now it was, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

I could see him slowly realizing something, but I bet he wasn’t close to the full extent of how badly Connor and I had fucked up together.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, angry breaths. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

I swallowed hard. "Vic—"

He didn’t let me finish.

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud as he stormed out, yanking the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. My pulse spiked in panic as I stumbled after him, my breath coming too fast, too shaky as I grabbed his arm.

"Wait—wait, where are you going?"

He wrenched free, his entire body vibrating with barely restrained fury. "Where do you think, Summer? I’m going to find that piece of shit and beat his fucking face in."

My stomach plummeted.

"Vic, no! He’s your best friend," I shoved past him, planting myself in front of the door, blocking his path. "You can’t—"

"Exactly! He’s my best fucking friend, who should’ve known better,” Victor snarled, leaning down until his eyes glared into mine. “Go back inside, Summer. Move."

I shook my head, my nails biting into my palms. "Vic, it’s not what you think."

Actually, it was worse.

He scoffed, taking a step closer. "Not what I think?

Summer, his shit is all over your apartment!

" His eyes burned into mine, filled with betrayal. His eyes narrowed, his fury curdling into something deadly. "Tell me you haven’t been sleeping with him. Summer, I swear to God. Tell me you haven’t been sleeping with my best friend. "

My stomach clenched.

My throat went dry. Every inch of me screamed to lie. To deny it. To make this go away. But I couldn’t. Because Vic wasn’t stupid.

And lying wouldn’t change the truth.

I forced myself to look him in the eye. My lips parted, but no sound came out. My chest ached, my lungs felt too tight, my vision tunneling as every instinct begged me to run. But instead—

I nodded.

Just once. Small. Barely there. But Vic saw it.

And everything fucking snapped.

His face went blank, and for a split second, I swore he stopped breathing. Then, slowly, too calmly, he whispered— "Are you fucking serious?"

Tears started dripping down my face again. ”Vic, come inside. I swear, I can explain.”

I just had to figure out how to tell him the truth first.