Page 32 of Connor

"Don’t fuck this up."

I snorted. "You have so little faith in me."

Quinn didn’t even turn around. "Yeah. I wonder why."

And then they were gone. Leaving me alone with Summer.

I was exhausted. I shouldn’t be here.

Summer looked worried.

Still, I was too fucking angry to care. Angry that she hadn’t called me herself. Angry that she was here with them when she should’ve been with me. So instead of listening to the part of me that was concerned, I let the other part—the reckless, self-destructive part—take control.

"What the hell is going on?"

Summer hesitated. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt, her throat working like she was swallowing something sharp.

"Connor, I need to tell you something."

My chest felt too tight. My patience was razor-thin.

"Then fucking tell me."

"I’m pregnant."

The words hit me like a fist to the gut.

I froze.

No. No, that couldn’t be right.

My heartbeat slowed, then sped up, then slowed again. My mind grasped for something—some kind of logic, some kind of sense. She wasn’t lying. Summer wouldn’t lie about something like this.

And yet, I couldn’t make myself believe it.

Before I could stop myself—before I could even think—I laughed. A sharp, hollow, ugly sound that made Summer flinch, her face paling.

But I couldn’t stop.

Because if I let myself believe her—if I let myself feel what this meant—the walls might actually cave in.

And worse, if I let myself feel it, if I let myself want it, I’d never fucking recover.

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, shaking my head. "That’s cute. Who’s the father?"

The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Wanted to shove them back down my throat and choke on them. Because I knew. I fucking knew.

It was mine.

It had to be mine.

And that should’ve terrified me. Should’ve sent me running for the door before the weight of it crushed me. But instead, there was something dark and possessive curling in my chest. Because Summer was pregnant with my fucking kid, but my father was shit and I didn’t know how to be anything different. I didn’t know how to be anything more than the fuck up.

The thought was so goddamn overwhelming that I had to push it down. Had to bury it beneath something sharp, something cruel, before it swallowed me whole.

Summer stiffened. And then—her expression went blank. Dead. Like I wasn’t even standing there.

"Get out."

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