Page 70 of Connor

And when she moved, when she shifted closer, pressing into my chest like she belonged there—

I broke.

I slid my arm beneath her, careful, slow, hesitant—until I had her pulled against me. Until she was tucked against my body, her cheek pressed to my bare chest, the weight of her soft and warm and so fucking real.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—I felt like I could breathe. Like the chaos in my head, the war in my chest, had stopped. She murmured something in her sleep, her fingers curling against my side, and my throat burned.

Because I knew. I knew I was a selfish fucking bastard. I shouldn’t have crawled into this bed. Shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have held her like this was something I could keep. But I couldn’t help it. For just one night, I needed to let myself believe this was okay.

That she was still mine. That maybe—just maybe—I could still be hers. So I closed my eyes. And for the first time in a long, long fucking time—

I slept.

Chapter 22

Summer

I woke to warmth.

It was slow at first, creeping in from the edges of sleep. The weight of something solid and steady wrapped around me. The scent of him—smoke and whiskey, something deep and familiar—filled the space between dreams and reality. And for one blissful second, I let myself sink into it.

Connor.

His arm was draped over my waist, his palm resting against the gentle swell of my stomach. His breath was slow, steady, brushing against the back of my neck. It was grounding. Safe. Like all the times he had held me before.

But then reality came crashing back.

I stiffened, blinking hard, my heartbeat a steady drum against my ribs. Because this wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be holding me like this was something we did, like he hadn’t spent months running, like I hadn’t spent just as much time trying to convince myself I didn’t need him.

I sucked in a breath, ready to shove him away, but then—I smelled it. Perfume on his skin. Sweet like vanilla, but with a hint of spice to it.

My stomach dropped.

It was subtle, faint beneath the scent of him, but it was there and it wasn’t mine. The realization was a slap to the face. I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to react. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. He wasn’t mine. Not really. Not anymore. This? This was a mistake.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat, but my mind was already racing—already whispering—already painting pictures I didn’t want to see.

Where had he been? Who had he been with? Had he fucked her?Had he whispered her name the way he used to whisper mine?Had he touched her like how he was holding me right now?Like I still fucking belonged to him?

My throat burned. I hated that he had climbed into bed like it meant nothing. Hated that even now, my traitorous body wanted to lean into him. I closed my eyes.

No. No, I wasn’t doing this. I wasn’t going to be that girl. I wasn’t going to sit here, waiting for him, pretending this was anything more than it was. It was better this way. It had to be.

And yet—it still fucking hurt. The ache was deep, hollow, curling low in my stomach like something sick.

He didn’t stir at first. Not until I was standing, arms crossed, staring at him with my chest tight, my skin burning..

His body shifted, muscles flexing, his fingers twitching against the sheets before his eyes fluttered open. Bloodshot. Unfocused. His lips parted slightly, brow furrowing as he took in the empty space beside him—thenme.

And just like that—his whole bodystilled.

"Summer…"

His voice waswrecked. Groggy. Rough with sleep. And—fuck him—but there was something in the way he said my name thathurt.

But I wasn’t soft anymore.

I wasn’t his to hurt. I crossed my arms, my voice sharp and cold, holding back the fuckingrageclawing its way up my throat. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

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