Page 43 of Connor

Quinn smirked, leaning in to murmur something in his ear. North’s expression shifted—something lazy flickering behind his eyes before he tipped his head down, whispering something back.

I did not need to see this.

Vic made a face, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I feel like I should throw something at you both.”

Quinn grinned. “Jealous?”

“Of what?” Vic scoffed, slicing into his steak again. “The fact that you two can’t have a single conversation without making everyone else in the room uncomfortable?”

Quinn snickered, popping a fry into her mouth, while North just sat there, smug as hell.

I picked at my food, hoping my stomach would settle. But it wouldn’t. It had been twisted in knots since the moment Vic walked through the door.

I should’ve left before he got here. Should’ve seen it coming the second North mentioned he was dropping by. But I hadn’t.

And now, I was stuck.

Vic sipped his water, watching me. “You good, McIntyre?”

The question hit harder than it should have.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

His eyes narrowed, scanning my face, looking for something. I didn’t know what, but I sure as hell wasn’t giving it to him.

Vic finally leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “You look like hell.”

. “You always know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, setting his glass down. “You look like someone ran you over, reversed, and did it again.”

North snorted. Quinn, too.

I did not laugh.

Vic’s gaze lingered, a little too sharp, a little too knowing. Then— “Are you drinking again?”

The casual buzz of conversation died. North’s spoon paused mid-stir in his coffee. Quinn stopped fiddling with her damn fries. My stomach dropped.

“No,” I said, my voice steady.

Vic tilted his head, watching me like a fucking lie detector. “You sure about that?”

My jaw locked. “I said no.”

Finally—Vic nodded. Slow. Measured. But his gaze didn’t move. Didn’t waver. Didn’t let me breathe.

Quinn speared a fry on her fork, twirling it absently as she leaned forward. “Have you seen Summer yet?”

My stomach clenched as Vic’s knife scraped against his plate, pausing mid-cut. I knew that tone. Casual, but not really. Light, but digging.

I didn’t react, just reached for my glass. But my throat felt tight. North didn’t look up from his coffee, but I saw the way his fingers twitched against the handle.

Vic was still. “Yeah,” Vic said, finally slicing through his steak again. “I saw her this afternoon.”

The room quietened. The way it always did when Summer was brought up in a room she wasn’t in. Quinn’s expression softened slightly. “Oh? How’s she doing? She wasn’t feeling too well earlier in the week.”

Vic didn’t answer right away. He chewed, swallowed, set his fork down with a quiet clink. His fingers tapped against the edge of the table, like he was debating something. Then he dragged a hand over his face, his voice lowered when he finally said, “She’s… off.”

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