Page 22 of Connor

I didn’t stop. I fucked her through it, fucked her until my balls drew tight, until the pressure built so goddamn much I had no choice but to spill into the condom with a guttural groan.

I pulled out, tossing the used rubber aside, watching as she lay there—fucked, trembling, breathless. A ruined mess.

“We’re doing that again, right?” she panted, eyes hazy with lust.

I grunted, heading for the bathroom. And again. And again. As many times as it took to get my mother’s bruises and Summer fucking Blake out of my head.

***

In the morning, I woke up to the dull throb of a hangover and the sound of soft breathing beside me. Sunlight spilled through the window, casting sharp lines across the bed, acrossher. She was sprawled out, makeup smudged, skin warm where it pressed against mine.

I should’ve felt something. Regret, maybe. Disgust. But all I felt wasnothing.

My mouth was dry, my body heavy, my mind already aching. I didn’t remember her name. Didn’t even remember if I cared enough to ask.

I stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly, hands resting against my stomach. My phone buzzed from the nightstand. I didn’t check it. I already knew it wasn’t my father. Not even Aiden.

Not Summer. And even if itwas—what would I say? I turned my head, watching as the blonde shifted in her sleep, completely oblivious. I envied that. I wanted that.

To be unbothered. Unaffected.

But I wasn’t. Not even close. My cell phone screen was bright when I finally picked it up and opened it. Mom’s name poppedup among the messages, the words blurring as I focused on the background picture.

It was wrong to have a photo of Summer as my background, but there she was—her body curled around mine, her eyes shut and a sunbeam reaching across her face. Fast asleep and wrapped around me like she would never leave. God only knew why I believed that at that moment, and maybe if things were different, we could’ve been so much more.

Dragging a hand down my face, I let out a sharp breath and murmured to myself, voice hoarse, heavy with something I refused to name—

“Jesus Christ.”

I sat up, running a hand over my mouth, trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness in my chest. My clothes were scattered across the floor, my wallet dumped on the bedside table. I reached for it, pulling out a few crumpled bills and leaving them there before standing up.

The blonde stirred but didn’t wake as I pulled on my jeans, buttoning them with slow, deliberate movements.

I needed coffee. I needed air. I needed to stop feeling like my fucking chest was caving in.

By the time I stepped out into the too-bright morning, the cold hit me like a slap. I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, exhaling the smoke slowly, letting it curl around me like a shield.

I didn’t know where I was going.

Didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.

But I knew one thing for certain.

I was still thinking about Summer. And no amount of whiskey, no amount of meaningless sex, was going to change that.

Chapter 6

Summer

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

I grabbed the bathroom counter, staring down at the test like maybe, if I looked long enough, I could make it change. Like maybe I’d imagined the whole thing. But the proof was right there—two pink lines, bold and unforgiving, taunting me with their finality.

I blinked. Once. Twice. Nothing changed.

The nausea curled in my stomach, thick and suffocating, but this wasn’t just from stress anymore. No, this was something worse.

I sank down onto the closed toilet lid, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. My pulse pounded against my temples, loud, frantic. My entire body felt like it was short-circuiting, my mind spinning in endless, useless circles.

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