Page 60 of Connor

Maybe I couldn’t fix what I’d done. Maybe I couldn’t make her love me again. Maybe I couldn’t be a good father. But I could be there. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Chapter 18

Summer

The second I saw Connor’s text, I sighed in relief.

Connor:Something came up. Won’t be home for a bit.

Good.

Things had been getting too damn tense. His presence was everywhere—in the way the apartment felt smaller, in the way I couldn’t breathe without feeling him nearby.

The worst part? It wasn’t even what he was doing—it was the things he wasn’t. The way he wasn’t pushing me. The way he wasn’t arguing. The way he wasn’t trying to make me forget how much of an asshole he’d been.

He was just here. Cooking, cleaning, taking up space in my life like he belonged. And that was what was getting to me.

So, yeah. I needed a break.

Alone in the quiet, I walked into my room, pushing the door shut behind me.

I hesitated before pulling it out—the hoodie I’d tucked away the second I realized Connor wasn’t planning on leaving. His hoodie.

I didn’t even know why I hid it. Maybe because the smell of it was still him, and I wasn’t ready to face that. Maybe because it felt too personal—too much like admitting something I wasn’t ready to admit.

But now, I pulled it over my head without thinking.

The fabric was soft, worn, familiar. I let my fingers graze over the material, letting the sleeves cover my hands. It was huge on me, swallowing me whole, but it was warm, and for some reason, that warmth settled something inside me.

Then—I froze.

My fingers hovered over the hem, over my stomach, and I hesitated.

I wasn’t used to seeing it yet. Wasn’t used to feeling it. But now, standing in front of the mirror, I couldn’t not see it.

It wasn’t huge. Not yet. But it was there. A small curve where my stomach used to be flat, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know. But I noticed, and I had a feeling from Connor’s heated stare the other morning that he had as well. I really hadn’t thought it had been that obvious, but it was.

Jesus. I looked pregnant.

Three months. Just three months, and I was already showing.

My breath hitched. I placed my hands over the bump, pressing against it lightly, like I needed proof that this was real.

This was happening.

There was no denying it anymore.

I let out a shaky breath, my throat tight, my pulse uneven. The hoodie suddenly felt too much, like wearing it was some kind of admission that I wasn’t ready for. I started to pull it off—

Knock. Knock.

Shit. Was that Connor now? I turned, my stomach dropping as I stared at the door. I didn’t realize I was crying until I went to pinch my nose and encountered the tears dripping from my eyes.

Jesus, not now. I couldn’t do this right now.

Another knock sounded, sharper this time. "Summer, open up."

My breath stalled in my lungs. Vic.

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