Page 28 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Summer

The apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like a held breath. Or maybe I was just holding my breath.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my knees pulled to my chest, watching Connor.

He stood by the window, shirtless, his back to me, the dim glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across his skin.

The faint flicker of a passing car highlighted the muscles in his back, the curve of his spine, the tension that still lingered there, even now.

Something felt different tonight.

Maybe it was the way he seemed lighter, freer— present in a way I had never seen before. Maybe it was the fact that he had actually come home early like he promised, picked me up from school, and made me dinner like he belonged here instead of just passing through.

Or maybe… maybe it was just me.

Maybe I was finally ready to say what I had been afraid of for months.

"You were gone all day."

Connor turned lazily. His jeans hung low on his hips, his stomach tight, the light catching the fresh bruises on his ribs—remnants of Victor’s fists. The cut on his lip had faded some, but there was something else about him tonight. Something quieter.

"Had some shit to take care of," he said simply.

I studied him.

There was no edge in his voice, no bite, no challenge. Just… something even. Something settled.

I should have asked where he went. Should have demanded to know what had changed, why he looked so damn okay all of a sudden. Because that wasn’t how this worked. Connor didn’t just stop being restless. He didn’t just stop fighting the air around him.

Unless…

Unless he didn’t need to anymore.

The thought made my stomach twist.

Maybe he had figured it out. Maybe he had finally decided. And maybe—maybe—it wasn’t me.

I wanted to say something that would make me feel like I still had control. But instead, my voice came out softer than I intended.

"You seem different."

Connor smirked. "Good different or bad different?"

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know.

Because all I could think about was the way he had looked at me that morning. The way his hands had lingered on my stomach like he was finally starting to believe this was real. The way he was still here.

And suddenly, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I didn’t care if it was reckless. Didn’t care if it hurt. I had to say it. "I love you."

It was a desperate whisper. One I hoped would change his mind, if he really didn’t want to leave. So soft I almost wondered if I had said it at all. But I knew I did. Because the moment the words left my lips, Connor froze.

My heart slammed against my ribs, my lungs tight, my pulse hammering in my ears.

But I wasn’t done.

"And I need to know if you want to stay or if you just feel obligated to, because I think it’s going to ruin me if you leave again. I need to know you’re all in, Con."

I had never sounded so small.

Connor didn’t move.

He just stared at me.

Like he was processing every possible way to react. Like he was fighting every instinct he had to run.

And just when I thought this was the moment he destroyed me—

He moved. Slowly. Carefully. His footsteps were soft against the floor, his body lowering, lowering—until he was kneeling in front of me.

My breath stuttered.

His hands cupped my face, warm, steady, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones like he was trying to memorize me. I felt the rough callouses of his fingers, the heat of his skin, the way he was close, so fucking close —but not saying a word.

Then—he leaned in. His forehead pressed against mine. His breath was warm, even. Grounding. And when he finally spoke, his voice was rough and quiet. "I’m not going anywhere."

My breath caught. Because it wasn’t an I love you too.

It wasn’t some perfect, romantic declaration.

But it was Connor. Connor who’d told me over and over we weren’t anything.

Connor who’d told me over and over that he was going to break my heart.

I guess he had, but now he was telling me he’d stay.

And right now? That was enough. Because he was still here.

His words settled over me like a weight—heavy, solid, real .

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there, just breathing him in, feeling his skin against mine, his presence grounding me in a way I hadn’t even realized I needed. My heart thumped, unsteady, like it wasn’t sure how to process what had just happened.

He wasn’t leaving.

He wasn’t running.

And that terrified me.

Because I had been bracing for it. Preparing myself for the moment he pulled away, grabbed his keys, and disappeared like he always did when things got too close, too real .

But he didn’t.

Connor stayed.

And for the first time since this whole mess started, I felt something inside me loosen .

His hands hadn’t moved, still cupping my face, thumbs stroking absentmindedly over my cheekbones. His touch wasn’t rough, wasn’t demanding. It was careful. Like he was waiting for me to tell him what to do next.

I should have said something.

Should have asked what this meant. Should have pushed for something more, something I could hold onto, something that told me this wasn’t just another moment in a long line of almosts.

But instead, I just whispered, "Okay."

Connor exhaled, his forehead still pressed against mine. I felt the way his body softened, just slightly, like I had given him permission to breathe. Like I had given both of us permission.

I lifted a hand, hesitating only a second before I pressed my palm against his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong beneath my fingers. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

"I’m scared."

The words barely made it past my lips, but I felt the way his muscles tensed.

"Me too," he admitted, voice gruff.

I let out a quiet, shaky laugh, my throat tight. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His fingers trailed down my jaw, slow, thoughtful. "But I meant what I said, Summer. I’m here."

I searched his face, looking for any trace of hesitation, any sign that this was just another fleeting promise. But all I saw was him. His green eyes locked on mine, unwavering.

I believed him.

For the first time, I really believed him.

And that? That was almost scarier than him leaving.

Because if he meant it—if he was really staying—then I had to let go of the version of him I had been clinging to for so long. The version that left. The version that didn’t care. The version that was easier to hate.

I had to let this Connor in.

The one who had been showing up. The one who was trying. The one who wasn’t perfect but wanted to be better.

And maybe… maybe I was finally ready to let myself want that, too.

I swallowed hard, pressing my face into the warm skin of his neck. His scent wrapped around me, that mix of soap and something inherently him. My fingers curled against his chest, gripping him like I was afraid he’d slip away.

But he didn’t.

Connor held me.

His arms wrapped around me, solid, unyielding, anchoring me to him. His lips pressed to the top of my head, lingering there, his breath slow, steady.

And for the first time in a long time—maybe ever—I let myself believe this didn’t have to end in heartbreak.

Maybe, for once, I could let myself hope.