Page 5 of Connor

This wasn’t what we did. We fucked. We used each other. We didn’t take care of each other. But Connor didn’t speak. Didn’t let me go.

He cleaned me all over, his hands slow, methodical, lingering just a little too long, like he wasn’t ready to stop touching me yet and I tried not to cry.

We showered, and my heart felt like it was breaking the entire time. I could barely look at him as he washed the both of us. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to let him go.

I got out of the shower, grabbing a towel and watching him in the mirror. God, if he just asked—I’d stay. There wasn’t a home without him.

But he didn’t. I dried myself and Connor finished washing. My heart broke again, and I wiped away the tears before he could see. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

"You should probably go," Connor said, his voice rough, scratchy. "You’ve got an early start in the morning, right?"

It shouldn’t have hurt. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t.

"Yeah," I whispered. "You’re right." I swallowed hard and walked out of the bathroom, my eyes blurry from tears as I searched for my clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands.

I couldn’t leave without looking back to see him one last time. I stopped in the door frame and turned to find him walking to his bed with a towel around his hips as he looked around for his cigarettes.

His back was to me, and my heart shattered all over again. This would be the last time we’d ever do this. I wanted him to stop me. To ask me to stay. But he didn’t. He just lit a cigarette.

So I whispered, “Goodbye, Connor,” and walked out the door.

Chapter 1

Connor

2 months later.

I shouldn’t have checked my phone again. But I couldn’t seem to help myself. I pulled it out of my pocket and returned to the group chat I had with the guys. Vic’s message was still waiting for my reply, but I didn’t know what to say.

Vic:Sorry man, can’t make it. Heading up to see Summer this weekend. Gotta check how she’s settling in.

I was the one who asked if he was busy. It was a casual, throwaway question. One I almost hadn’t sent, like some part of me already knew I wouldn’t like the answer. But then Vic had to go and type out her name and my mind was in turmoil all over again.

Two months.

It had been two months since she walked out my door, since I let her leave. Since I watched her disappear, knowing I couldn’t stop her, knowing I wasn’t supposed to.

I ran a hand down my face and locked my phone, setting it facedown on the desk. The moment it left my fingers, I wanted to pick it up again. I wanted to open up the last text message I received from her, the one that told me she’d arrived at her new apartment safely. The one that told me to message if I needed anything. The one that had been sitting on my phone for two months without a reply from me.

I wanted to reply now. Check if she texted me back. If she still thought about me. But I knew better than to open that can of worms. I pressed my thumb against the rim of my cup and dug it in, grounding myself in the sharp bite of pain. It was better than messaging my best friend’s little sister.

My office door was thrown open, and it slammed into the wall, leaving a crack in the plaster. I didn’t flinch.

"Where the hell have you been?" David McIntyre’s voice was cold, quiet—the kind of quiet that made your blood turn to ice.

I took a sip of coffee before looking up to see my father in the doorway.

David stepped inside and shut the door behind him, his jaw ticking and his steps quiet. Deliberate. His nose flared as he took in the sight of me.

It wasn’t a good sign.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, watching me, like he was already making his decision about how this was going to go. I knew that look, but for the first time in my life, I couldn’t have cared less what the fuck he wanted to do with me.

"Three hours late." His voice was calm. Too calm. "You were supposed to be here at eight."

I dragged my gaze to the clock, and yeah, it was a quarter past eleven. Any other day, I would’ve cared about that, but not today. I set my coffee down, leaned back in my chair, and shrugged. "Got held up."

His jaw ticked again. "Doing what?"

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