Page 25 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Connor

I should’ve known it was coming.

Victor was still pissed. And that was saying something, considering he’d already broken my nose this morning. I thought maybe the bruises on my face would’ve been enough to satisfy him for the day. Guess not.

After Summer kicked us both out, we ended up at North’s.

The conversation didn’t start civil. Victor let loose the second we walked in, and I let him.

Because he wasn’t wrong. Because I didn’t have a single fucking argument against anything he said—even if he was repeating shit from the night before.

But it was the last thing he said that stung enough for me to leave.

"You don’t deserve her."

That one. That one fucking hurt the most. Because he was right.

And just to fucking prove that, I ended up back at the bar while I kept my messages open to the last thing I got from Summer.

That message warning me Vic was at her place.

I don’t know why I kept looking, it was already past eight at night and she hadn’t phoned or messaged.

I knew she wouldn’t. I didn’t know why I wanted her to, but I knew she wouldn’t.

I had three whiskey shots lined up in front of me, the burn hitting deep, dulling the ache in my jaw, in my ribs, in my fucking chest when the woman slid in beside me. Before I even looked up, I felt her. Close. Too close.

The brunette from before. The one I’d fucked with her little blonde friend. From another fucking night that got me into this mess with Summer.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just reached out, her long fingers trailing up my arm, her nails scraping lightly over the fabric of my shirt. Her touch was practiced, confident. Like she’d already decided how this was gonna go.

Like she’d already had me once and knew she could do it again.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here again,” she whispered, tipping her head to the side.

I didn’t respond, didn’t even look at her, but she took that as an invitation. Her hand drifted lower, teasing, brushing just over my ribs. Familiar. Like she thought she already knew the outcome.

“Rough night?” she asked.

“You could say that.”

She hummed, leaning in, her perfume too strong, too sweet.

Nothing like Summer. But her lips grazed my jaw, offering a familiar comfort, and her fingers traced down my arm, her thigh pressed against mine.

I closed my eyes at her touch, and for a second—just a second—I almost let it happen.

Almost grabbed her waist. Almost let her drag me into the dark.

Almost let her wipe away the mess of emotions I’d been drowning in all fucking day.

Because that’s what I did, right?

I ran.

I distracted myself. I buried my hands in someone else.

I let someone else’s body drown out the guilt.

And fuck, I wanted that right now. Needed it.

But then—I saw her face the night before.

Summer’s. The way her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Then I heard her voice this morning, the way her voice cracked when she told us both to leave.

The way she looked at me when I didn’t fight it.

The way I just stood there, saying nothing. And suddenly, my stomach fucking twisted.

The brunette shifted, sensing my hesitation. She let out a quiet, knowing hum. “You overthinking it, baby?”

Her brows furrowed. “Oh, come on. You were all over me last time.”

Yeah. Because I was a fucking idiot last time. I pushed back my stool, tossing a few bills on the bar. “Not tonight.”

Her lips pursed in annoyance, but she didn’t argue. Didn’t matter. I was already walking away. I pulled out my phone, my fingers already flicking to my messages.

Nothing. Of course not. I swallowed hard, my thumb hovering over her name. Summer. I should leave her alone. Connor was right, I didn’t deserve her. I should go back to North’s place and sleep this off.

I should—

But I was already out the door.

Already heading home.

***

The apartment was dark when I finally managed to get the key in the door and open it.

I locked it behind myself, swearing all the while.

I could barely see a fucking thing. But by the dark and the quiet, I could assume Vic wasn’t here at least. Good.

Probably still at North’s, venting, drinking, maybe planning another hit to my jaw for the next time he saw me.

Didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was here. Even though I shouldn’t be. Even though I knew Summer probably didn’t want to see me. Even though I’d told myself I wasn’t going to crawl back to her again. Yet here I was.

I shut the door behind me, locking it out of habit, my boots heavy against the floor as I moved further inside. I could feel her before I even saw her.

Summer.

Like some kind of gravitational force, pulling me in, keeping me anchored to a place I wasn’t sure I had the right to be anymore.

Her bedroom door was open just a crack. Enough that I could see inside, enough that I could see her. My stomach clenched as I moved forward. Instincts driving me to her side while the rest of me was still trying to make sense of what I was feeling.

Summer was asleep when I nudged the door wider and slipped in. She was curled on her side, her breathing slow, steady, her hands tucked beneath her cheek. She looked… peaceful. And fuck, something about that hurt.

Because I wasn’t peaceful. I wasn’t fucking anything except a mess. A disaster of a man who had no business standing in her doorway, watching her like some creep.

I knew I should’ve turned around. Walked away. And I almost did it, too. But then she made a sound. Soft. Small.

And then another sound—a sob.

My jaw locked and I stepped forward before I could stop myself.

She shifted in her sleep, her brows pinching together, her lips parting around a small, broken sound that made something inside me snap.

She was dreaming.

And whatever she was dreaming about—it was hurting her.

I hated that. Hated that she was still feeling like this, even in her sleep.

Hated that I might be the reason. I hesitated, my fingers twitching at my sides, itching to reach for her.

To wake her up. To pull her close. To tell her I was fucking here.

But I didn’t. Because what the fuck would that even fix?

She shifted again, rolling slightly onto her back, her breath catching, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. And before I knew what I was doing, before I could think about how fucking stupid this was—I moved. I crouched beside her bed, careful, slow, watching the way her breath hitched.

My fingers itched to brush that tear away. Intent on fixing something I didn’t have the knowledge or the experience to fix. But I knew —I fucking knew— that I was probably the one who had broken her in the first place.

And how the fuck do you fix something when you’re the reason it shattered?

I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “…Sunshine.”

Her lashes fluttered, a small tremble moving through her.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, even though I wasn’t sure if I meant for her to hear it. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe it would just float in the air, lost between us. But I needed to say it anyway. Even if she didn’t believe it. Even if she didn’t hear me at all.

I should have left.

I should have turned around, walked out, and let her sleep in peace.

But when she sighed my name—so soft, so fucking wrecked—I stopped breathing.

Her fingers twitched against the sheets, flexing open, closing again. Reaching. Searching.

For me.

I stood there, frozen, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I wasn’t strong enough for this.

I wasn’t strong enough to walk away.

So I didn’t.

I moved without thinking. Without hesitation. Like some part of me had already made the decision before my mind could catch up.

My fingers went to the hem of my shirt, it over my head before I let it drop to the floor. The jeans were next, the belt buckle clinking softly in the silence before I shoved them down. And then I was slipping into bed beside her.

She sighed at the movement. It should have been awkward or wrong. But it wasn’t. It felt too fucking natural.

Her scent curled around me, that familiar mix of vanilla and something softer, something that had haunted my fucking dreams for months. The warmth of her body seeped into mine, and I could feel it—the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing, the way her chest rose and fell in perfect time with mine.

And when she moved, when she shifted closer, pressing into my chest like she belonged there—

I broke.

I slid my arm beneath her, careful, slow, hesitant—until I had her pulled against me. Until she was tucked against my body, her cheek pressed to my bare chest, the weight of her soft and warm and so fucking real.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—I felt like I could breathe. Like the chaos in my head, the war in my chest, had stopped. She murmured something in her sleep, her fingers curling against my side, and my throat burned.

Because I knew. I knew I was a selfish fucking bastard. I shouldn’t have crawled into this bed. Shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have held her like this was something I could keep. But I couldn’t help it. For just one night, I needed to let myself believe this was okay.

That she was still mine. That maybe—just maybe—I could still be hers. So I closed my eyes. And for the first time in a long, long fucking time—

I slept.