Page 5 of Connor (Total Sinners #2)

Connor

The blonde was still in my bed when I rolled out of it.

I barely remembered her name. Mandy? Mindy? Something with an M. Didn’t matter. I shoved my hands in my pockets, wincing at the dull throb behind my eyes. My mouth was dry as hell, tasting like whiskey and regret, but mostly whiskey.

"Morning," she murmured, stretching out in my sheets, her lips curling into a lazy smile. She reached for me, bare legs tangled in my comforter. "Come back to bed."

I scoffed, bending down to snatch her bra off the floor. "Yeah, that’s not happening."

Her smile faltered. "What?"

"Get up. I gotta go." I tossed her bra onto the bed, then grabbed the rest of her clothes, throwing them at her one by one. A dress. A single high heel. A scrap of lace that barely counted as underwear.

She blinked, clearly not used to this routine. "Wait—are you serious?"

I shot her a look. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

The answer was obvious. I wasn’t in the mood to play nice.

I was late. Again. And the last thing I needed was some girl making this morning harder than it already was.

I put on the first pair of jeans I could find, a wrinkled T-shirt next, barely bothering to check if it was clean.

Didn’t have time for that. Didn’t have time for a shower either, even though I probably smelled like sweat, sex, and bad decisions.

She finally sat up, huffing as she pulled her dress over her head. "Wow. Charming."

I ignored her, grabbing my keys off the dresser.

"You’re an asshole," she snapped, slipping on her heels.

I smirked, holding the door open. "And you’re still here."

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t argue. She grabbed her bag and stormed past me, the sharp click of her heels against my hardwood floor the only sound as she slammed the door behind her.

I sighed, running a hand down my face.

Late. Again.

***

Traffic was a bitch.

I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, my jaw tight, my head pounding. The clock on the dash mocked me, the red numbers glaring.

11:14.

I was supposed to be at the dealership at ten today.

By the time I finally pulled into the lot, my father was waiting.

David McIntyre stood at the front doors, arms crossed over his chest, posture stiff as he watched me climb out of my car. Aiden was next to him, leaning on his cane, his expression unreadable.

My stomach twisted.

Fuck.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, as I made my way toward them. My father didn’t say a word, didn’t move, didn’t blink—just turned and strode into the building without looking at me.

Aiden breathed, shaking his head. "You really gonna keep doing this, man?"

I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.

I followed them inside, the air-conditioned lobby a stark contrast to the suffocating heat outside. The employees barely spared me a glance, used to my shit by now. But there was tension in the air, thick and heavy, crawling under my skin.

David led the way, straight into the conference room, and as soon as the door shut behind us—

"Sit."

I smirked. "Not a dog, Dad."

"Sit. Down."

His voice was sharp. I dragged the chair out slowly, deliberately, sinking into it as Aiden dropped into the seat beside me. My father stayed standing, his fingers braced against the table, his knuckles white.

"You think this is a joke?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet. It made my stomach knot.

I leaned back, stretching out my legs. "Guess it depends on what this is."

David’s nostrils flared. "You show up late every goddamn day. You drink yourself stupid every goddamn night. And now, now you’re showing up looking like you crawled out of a fucking dumpster."

"Come on, it’s every third night," I said lazily. "Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?"

"Shut your mouth."

I tilted my head, but I did.

He ran a hand over his mouth, exhaling through his nose like he was this close to snapping.

"I’ve given you every opportunity," he said, voice controlled, like he was struggling to rein it in.

"Handed you a job. A career. You could have been something.

And this—" he gestured to me, his lip curling in disgust "—is what you choose to do with it? "

I clenched my jaw.

Aiden cleared his throat. "Dad—"

"You stay out of this," my father snapped.

Aiden’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue.

David turned back to me. "You have two choices, Connor. You either straighten the fuck up and start acting like a McIntyre—"

I snorted. " A McIntyre? "

Should I marry a woman half my age and beat her every weekend? Would that make him feel better about how I acted? Would it make me seem more like him?

He slammed his fist on the table. The whole room shook. "DON’T FUCKING INTERRUPT ME!"

I let him believe I was thinking it over. My father’s eyes darkened. His hands flexed, the veins in his neck taut with fury. "Get the fuck out of my sight," he bit out.

I stood, shoving my chair back. "Gladly."

I turned, already making my way to the door, when his voice stopped me cold. "And you better start packing your shit at the apartment."

I froze. David’s voice was calm. Too calm. That was the worst part.

"I’m selling it this afternoon."

"You’re fucking joking."

His expression didn’t waver. "You wanna fuck around and find out?"

***

I barely remembered walking to my car.

One second, I was in that conference room, my father’s voice ringing in my ears, and the next, I was sitting in the driver’s seat, my hands clenched in my lap. My pulse roared, my blood fucking boiling, but the worst part? I didn’t even know where the fuck I was supposed to go.

Fired. Homeless. And all before noon. This had to be a personal best for fuck ups. I guess I could add it to the list along with ruining Quinn’s reputation, and fucking my best friend’s little sister.

I clenched my jaw, staring straight ahead through the windshield. The dealership’s parking lot blurred in my vision, the words McIntyre Auto standing out like a fucking joke.

"You gonna drive, or you planning on breaking the wheel first?"

Aiden’s voice cut through the static in my head. I hadn’t even realized he’d followed me. He leaned against my passenger door, cane braced against the concrete, watching me with that same unreadable expression he always wore when he was trying to figure out how much damage had just been done.

I unlocked the door. "Get in."

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask where we were going. He just sank into the seat, shifting to get comfortable with his leg, then let out a slow sigh. "Christ, that was worse than I thought it’d be."

I scoffed, shoving the car into reverse and peeling out of the lot. "Yeah, well, that makes two of us."

The drive was silent.

Or, at least, we didn’t talk.

My father’s words played on repeat in my head. He was selling my apartment. Where did that leave me then?

Mom’s apartment flashed behind my eyes. The smell of burning cigarettes.

The way she’d smile like she hadn’t been crying just hours before.

All the bruises I’d seen in different places, and the makeup that rubbed off onto my shirt or skin every time I accidentally brushed a spot she’d tried to cover up.

I swallowed hard. The thought of going back there made my stomach twist. Aiden didn’t say a word, but I knew he was watching me.

He didn’t speak until we pulled up to my building.

"You want me to come up?"

I stared at the complex like it was a tombstone. I’d never been this upset about losing any other place before. All the houses that Dad dragged us out of when the neighbors found out. "Do whatever you want."

Aiden sighed but didn’t argue. He grabbed his cane and stepped out, following me up the stairs as I unlocked the door to what used to be my home.

Everything looked the same.

Couch still messy. Kitchen still a wreck. Empty beer bottles lined the counter, the remnants of last night sitting exactly where I’d left them. The same stale air, the same low hum of the fridge, the same goddamn emptiness.

Except now, it wasn’t mine anymore.

The real estate agent will be here soon.

I let out a sharp breath, trying to smother the urge to punch a hole through the fucking wall.

"Fuck," I muttered.

Aiden shut the door behind us and leaned against it, watching me carefully. "Wanna wreck it before he gets here with the estate agent? We can make a huge mess, let them clear it up."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Don’t tempt me."

He shrugged. "Just saying. Probably won’t help, but might feel good for a second."

He wasn’t wrong.

I clenched my teeth, dragging a hand down my face. My jaw still ached from earlier in the week, the dull throb reminding me what was in store if I did exactly that. I wish leaving meant some kind of freedom, but it didn’t. Same shit, different angle.

I looked around, suddenly at a loss. My father had yanked the rug out from under me, but the fucked-up part? I wasn’t even surprised. He’d probably been waiting for the excuse.

I should have seen it coming.

I should have done something .

Aiden sighed, adjusting his cane. "Look, man. You don’t have to figure this all out right now."

"Yeah?" I scoffed. "Then when? Before or after my shit gets thrown out on the curb?"

He didn’t flinch. "You can stay with me."

My stomach clenched. I didn’t say anything, but Aiden must’ve caught onto the hesitation, because his voice softened. "Just for now. Until you figure out what you wanna do."

I swallowed, staring at the floor. There was one question I couldn’t ask. One I wanted to ask so fucking bad . But I couldn’t handle the answer to it. Was Mom there?

Would she be in the apartment, curled up on the couch, eyes red, hands shaking? Would she be avoiding my gaze, the way she always did when things got bad, pretending she couldn’t see the bruises on my jaw? Would she act like nothing happened at all?

My jaw locked. I didn’t ask. Didn’t have the fucking guts. I’d find out anyway when we got there. "Fine."

Aiden didn’t press. Didn’t ask if I was sure. Didn’t say a damn thing. Just turned to the kitchen and started opening up drawers. Hell , I guess I should get some boxes.

***

The superintendent had a few spare boxes in the basement, old Amazon packaging and shit from past tenants. He barely glanced at me when I asked. Just handed them over like he was already used to people coming through here, packing up, moving on.

I carried them upstairs, the weight light in my hands but heavy in my fucking chest.

Aiden was in the kitchen, still rummaging through drawers. Probably making sure I didn’t forget anything important. Or maybe just giving me space.

I dropped the boxes on the floor and let out a slow breath, staring at them.

Summer did this, too.

I could see her, clear as fucking day, sitting on her bedroom floor back home, shoving clothes into a suitcase.

Her brows furrowed, lip caught between her teeth, eyes glassy but determined.

She was running, but she wouldn’t call it that.

Not her. She was leaving for something better. A fresh start. A new life.

She left because she wanted to. Because she chose to.

Me? I wasn’t running. I was being shoved the fuck out.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I knelt down, opening one of the boxes. The sound of cardboard scraping against itself filled the silence.

Summer had been here.

She never stayed the night, but she left traces of herself everywhere.

Little things I hadn’t thought about in months.

Things I couldn’t get rid of. A pack of hair ties tucked under the couch.

A forgotten T-shirt, buried under the mess of clothes in my closet.

A book with a cracked spine that I’d buried in my nightstand drawer, the bookmark still stuck somewhere in the middle.

I reached for it before I could think better of it.

The edges were frayed, the pages worn.

I traced my thumb over the cover, my chest going tight.

She used to sit on the edge of my bed, knees drawn up, reading under the shitty glow of my bedside lamp while I sprawled out beside her, half-listening as she muttered under her breath about the plot. Sometimes she’d read aloud, just to annoy me.

And fuck, I’d let her.

Because she was Summer, and I was weak when it came to her.

I clenched my jaw, flipping it open. Her handwriting was in the margins. Messy. A little rushed. This guy is a fucking idiot.

I let out a loud exhale, something between a scoff and a breath of laughter. One guess who she’d been writing about. I snapped the book shut.

Summer has to pack for something new. Me? I was just trying to hold on to whatever scraps were left. I tossed the book in the box and kept moving. Aiden didn’t say anything. He just kept sorting through the cabinets like he hadn’t noticed me hesitating.

But I knew he did.

Because Aiden always noticed.