Page 16 of Connor

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.

Chapter 4

Summer

I was getting ready for class the next morning when I pulled Connor’s hoodie over my head before I even realized what I was doing.

The fabric was worn, soft in a way that came from too many washes, too many nights of being thrown to the floor, yanked over his head, shoved into the backseat of his car. It didn’t smell like him anymore—just detergent, just me—but I still buried my face in the collar, inhaling deeply, pretending.

I slept in it last night. I wasn’t supposed to. I told myself I wouldn’t. But when I curled up in bed, staring at the too-white walls, the empty space beside me, I caved. And when I woke up, I didn’t take it off. I couldn’t.

Even now, standing in the middle of my too-new apartment, I tugged the sleeves over my fingers, playing with the cuffs like they might hold me together. It wasn’t about him. Not really. It was about comfort. About familiarity. About pretending, just for a little while, that I wasn’t lonely.

Was it wrong for me to say I missed Vic? He’d left two days ago to get back to Reverence and a small part of me wanted to get on the phone and call him to come back. Growing up was harder than it seemed when you were the only one making sure you were doing what you were supposed to. Eating when you were supposed to. Cleaning… the list went on and on.

I set my bag down carefully, like the wrong move might shatter something. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Or nerves. Or the weight of everything I’d left behind pressing down on me all at once.

My stomach twisted, tight and uncomfortable. I pressed a hand against it, willing the nausea to settle. It was just stress. That’s what I told myself. That’s all it was.

The air smelled too clean, like fresh carpet and cheap vanilla air freshener. The walls were blank, the furniture generic. It was the kind of place that could belong to anyone. That should have made it easier. A blank slate. A fresh start.

Then why did it still feel like a mistake?

My phone buzzed against the counter. The sound was too loud in the quiet, sharp enough to make me jump. I swallowed hard and turned, already knowing who it would be before I even glanced at the screen.

Victor:Have an awesome first day, kid. Call me afterwards to let me know how it went. Love you.

My throat went tight.

I should answer. I should tell him I was fine, that everything was great, that I didn’t feel like I was standing in the wreckage of a life I couldn’t go back to.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I did my best to try and shake the unease settling deep in my chest. I had to move. Had to distract myself before the silence swallowed me whole. Because the problem with running from the past wasn’t the running.

It was knowing that, sooner or later, it would always catch up.

I sighed again, pressing my fingers against my temples before shoving the phone into my pocket without replying. Not yet. God only knew what was going on with me today, but I felt like I was one word away from crying like a little baby. So no, I wasn’t going to message Vic back. I didn’t trust myself to talk to him just yet, not even if it was just a message.

Looking around once more, I swallowed, then grabbed my keys and walked out the door.

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