Page 27 of Connor

She flinched. Just barely and I felt like shit for even slightly raising my voice at her. Like father used to—like he still did.

Then she stiffened and her eyes hardened. "I am not doing this with you."

"Yeah?" I took a step closer, voice dropping. "Then whatareyou doing, Mom? Explain it to me. Make it make fucking sense."

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. "I’m going back because Ihave to."

I scoffed. "Oh, yeah? And why’s that?"

She hesitated. I saw it right there—the second she debated telling me the truth. The second she considered lying. Then, finally, she set her mug down with a sharp clink and looked at me fully.

"Because this is the only way you can get your job back," she said. "And I won’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself because of me."

Silence. For a second, I just stared at her, my pulse a slow, dull thud-thud-thud in my ears. Then I laughed. Low, bitter, cold.

"You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me."

Her posture squared. "I’m not."

I dragged a hand over my mouth, trying to breathe past the rage spiking up in my throat. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"You’ve been spiraling ever since your father cut you off, Connor," she snapped, her voice cracking slightly. "Drinking. Sleeping around. You think I don’t know? You think I haven’t seen how bad it’s gotten?"

My jaw locked.

She kept going. "You used to be strong. You used to fight for what you wanted. And now? Now you’re just burning through your life like you’re waiting to hit rock bottom."

"Jesus Christ."

"Tell me I’m wrong," she challenged. "Tell me you’re happy, Connor, because you’re not acting like you are!"

I closed my eyes in desperation for a second. Because she was right. And I fucking hated her for it. I took a step back, my vision tunneling, my skin crawling. The suitcase sat there, waiting, watching, taunting.

I wasn’t happy. But how the fuck was her leaving going to help?

My voice was tight, sharp, and dangerous. "You really think crawling back to him is gonna make mebetter?"

She swallowed. "It’s my job as your mother to make sure you’re living your life to the fullest."

Something inside me snapped.

I turned on my heel, grabbed the suitcase by the handle, and yanked it away from the door.

"Connor," she started, voice sharper now.

I ignored her.I kept walking.

"If you leave this by the door, then you’re saying it’s an option," I muttered. "And I’m not letting you walk back into that house just because of me."

“It isn’t because of you, it’s for you.” Her voice rose. "And Iamgoing back."

I stopped.

My pulse pounded against my skull. Of course, she was. Because she always did. What if I was wrong? Was she just using me as an excuse?

Slowly, I turned, locking eyes with her across the room. My mother—this woman I had spent my whole damn life trying to understand, trying to protect—stood there, ready to let herself get swallowed whole.

I wanted to break something. I wanted to shake her. "Why?" My voice wasn’t loud, but it hit hard.

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