27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THEO
Ireach for Connor before I’m even fully awake, my hand sliding across the middle of the bed, fingers spreading through rumpled sheets in search of warm skin, and it takes another sleepy sweep of my palm before the cold registers.
My eyes snap open, and I lie there for a moment with my hand still stretched across his side of the mattress, staring at the empty space beside me while the last of the sleep drains away.
He’s gone.
I knew he would be, but it does nothing to stop my chest from aching as I push myself upright and glance towards the bathroom. Door open. Light off. No sound from downstairs that I can hear, either.
I listen anyway, like there’s still a chance I’ll hear him moving around downstairs and get to pretend he only went looking for coffee or couldn’t fucking sleep.
My hand drags back across the empty side of the bed, but the sheets are cold enough to make every excuse die before I can properly form it.
Connor didn’t just leave.
He’s been gone a while.
A humourless breath slips out of me as I scrub both hands over my face and sit there with my elbows braced against my knees.
I told him not to fucking run, and instead he just waited until I was asleep.
The worst part is I can’t even pretend I’m surprised. I watched him fight himself every time he touched me, like wanting it badly enough might somehow make the rest of it easier to swallow.
I knew exactly what morning would look like, saw it coming every time Connor got that panicked look on his face last night, so the empty space beside me shouldn’t feel like the fucking punch to the chest it does. If anything, I should be relieved he saved us both the awkward morning-after bullshit.
Connor left. Fine. He’s straight, confused and Marcus’s fucking brother. Last night was already complicated enough without me expecting him to wake up this morning and suddenly have his shit figured out.
Not exactly a fucking tragedy.
So Connor left.
Fine.
Except I’m still staring at the space where he slept, chest getting tighter the longer I picture him curled into me last night like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.
I shove myself towards the edge of the bed.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Pain drags through my hips, and up my spine so sharply I stop halfway, palm flattening against the mattress while I wait for my body to stop punishing me for moving.
Fuck me.
I breathe through the ache and ease myself upright, slower this time, every pull through my hips reminding me exactly how I ended up like this.
I’d happily spend the rest of my life questioning why anyone voluntarily bottoms more than once if my head wasn’t already dragging me straight back to Connor gripping my hips, his mouth against my neck, his voice dropping into that low, certain tone that stripped every fucking argument out of me.
So fucking beautiful, baby.
My fingers tighten against the mattress.
Even now, with his side of the bed cold beside me, I’d let him do it again.
Every ache feels like Connor has left fingerprints somewhere beneath my skin, a constant reminder that I let him closer than I’ve ever let anyone get, fell asleep wrapped around him, and somehow still woke up alone.
I snatch the first shirt off the floor and yank it over my head, only for Connor’s aftershave to fill my nose before I’ve even pulled the fabric straight. My hands slow, recognition hitting with a warmth that has no business being there when I’m already pissed at him for leaving.
I shove myself into a pair of joggers and head for the door, moving too fast and immediately paying for it when pain pulls through my hips. My hand catches the frame, teeth grinding together while I wait for the worst of it to ease.
Connor leaves me sore as fuck and wearing his shirt, and I’m still about to drag myself downstairs looking for him.
I push away from the frame and take the stairs slower, even though the silence already tells me what I’m going to find.
There’s no movement from the kitchen, no television playing in the living room, none of the usual sounds of another person somewhere in the house, but I check anyway, letting my eyes sweep through each empty room until they even land on the downstairs bathroom.
What the fuck am I doing?
Connor isn’t taking a piss. He isn’t making coffee or sprawled across the sofa waiting for me to wake up. He’s gone, and I knew that before I ever got out of bed.
I stop in the hallway, his shirt warm against my skin and every lingering ache from last night making it impossible to pretend none of it happened.
He was here. He waited until I fell asleep, then left without a text, a note, even some awkward bullshit excuse that might make it feel slightly less like he ran the first chance he got.
My teeth grind together.
Fine.
He wants space, he can fucking have it.
I turn towards the stairs, fully intending to go back to bed and let Connor deal with whatever the fuck is happening inside his own head without making it my problem.
I don’t even reach them.
“Fuck.”
I’m already turning back towards the front door, irritation burning hotter with every step because I know exactly what I’m about to do and apparently being pissed at him isn’t enough to stop me.
I yank the door open and head for my bike.
The engine roars beneath me and I tear away from the house faster than I probably should, letting the wind batter against my face and the vibration of the bike rattle through my bones. Usually it’s enough to clear my head.
Connor follows me through every fucking turn.
I pull up outside his flat, killing the engine, and the silence that drops around me leaves nowhere for the doubt to hide.
My hands stay locked around the handlebars as I stare at his door, painfully aware that I’ve dragged my sore ass across town wearing Connor’s fucking shirt because he didn’t stay in bed with me.
This might be the most pathetic thing I’ve ever done.
I pull off my helmet and scrub a hand through my hair, but I still don’t get off the bike.
Connor woke up, looked at me and realised whatever made him want me last night disappeared with the adrenaline. Maybe leaving without waking me was easier than having to watch my face when he told me.
My stomach turns hard enough that my thumb finds the ignition again.
I could leave.
Pretend I never came here.
Except the thought of going home and spending the rest of the day staring at my fucking phone, waiting for a message that might never come, pisses me off more than the possibility of hearing something I don’t want to.
If Connor regrets it, he can look me in the face and say it.
I’m off the bike before I can find another reason not to be, crossing to his flat and knocking hard enough that the sound carries through the door. My hands go straight into my pockets afterwards, mostly to stop myself knocking again when he doesn’t answer quickly enough.
The door opens barely wide enough for Connor to lean into the gap, his eyes finding mine and widening.
Surprise flashes across his face before his gaze slips away, tongue dragging over his bottom lip while he keeps himself planted firmly between me and the flat.
“Theo.”
Whatever stupid little bit of hope survived the ride over caves in.
A laugh slips out of me, dry enough to scrape my throat. “Right,” I huff, Connor’s eyes flicking back to mine, and I nod once, stepping away from the door. “Guess that answers it then.”
Fuck knows what I expected him to do when he opened the door, but apparently it wasn’t look at me like I’m the last person he wanted standing on the other side of it.
I barely make it a step before his fingers close around my wrist.
“Are you-”
I spin back. “Do not finish that fucking question.”
I tear my wrist out of his grip, the movement pulling sharply through my hips, making me wince.
Connor’s jaw clenches, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and the guilt written across his face has heat crawling up the back of my neck.
“At least come sit down,” he says quietly, still refusing to look at me.
I straighten despite the ache pulling through my body. “I’m good.”
“Theo.” Connor exhales my name again, quieter this time, the rough edge of it catching somewhere beneath all the irritation still burning through me. His fingers brush my arm, and it’s barely a touch, but my skin prickles beneath it anyway. “Please.”
I stare at him, every sensible thought in my head telling me to turn around, get back on my bike and save whatever scraps of dignity I’ve got left. But sensible has never exactly been my thing.
Connor steps back at my short nod, opening the door wider, leaving me enough room to pass if I turn sideways, but not enough to avoid him completely. My shoulder brushes his chest as I squeeze through, his warmth catching against me along with the familiar smell of his aftershave.
The same fucking aftershave clinging to the shirt I’m wearing.
I glance down just as Connor’s hand lifts slightly at his side, fingers twitching towards me before curling into his palm.
I move farther into the flat, looking around.
A chair is sitting crooked beside the table, half tipped onto one leg. The lamp beside the sofa has been knocked sideways, and shards of ceramic are scattered across the floor, catching the morning light in sharp little flashes.
This isn’t messy.
I’ve seen Connor annoyed because someone left a mug in the wrong place. I’ve watched him straighten shit without even seeming to notice he’s doing it.
This looks like he tore through the room.
“What the fuck happened?”
Connor crouches beside the cabinet, not answering me and starts picking up the broken ceramic piece by piece, setting each shard carefully into a box.
I watch him reach for another piece, his fingers shaking.
“Connor,” I sigh, and his hand stops over the floor.
“Please sit down,” he says tightly, pushing himself upright. His hand lifts towards my arm, almost reaching me before he seems to think better of it and lets it fall.
My teeth grind together.
“I’m fine.”
I lean my shoulder against the wall instead, shifting enough weight onto it to take some of the strain off my hips, the relief instant.
Connor’s eyes narrow before he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be difficult, Theo. You’re in pain.”
He drops back into a crouch and reaches for the ceramic again, but whatever careful system he had going is gone now. The pieces hit the box harder, one after another.
A humourless laugh slips out of me.
“And why would you care?”
The question has been sitting behind my teeth since he opened the door, and now that one piece of it is out, the rest comes with it.
“You waited until I was asleep and fucking disappeared.” I fold my arms across my chest, holding his stare when he finally looks at me. “No note. No text. Nothing.”
My throat tightens, choking me.
“I woke up reaching for you, Connor.”
Connor’s lips part and his eyes widen slightly, whatever argument he had ready disappearing as he stares at me, and I wish I could take it back.
“Who the fuck does that?” I snap.
“Theo-”
“No, fuck you, Reid.”
The words tear out of me, sharp enough that Connor flinches, and a laugh scrapes up my throat.
“God, I shouldn’t have even fucking come here.”
My eyes sting, and I blink hard, pushing away from the wall. I’ve already stood here and told him I woke up reaching for him. I’m not giving him anything else.
I make it one step before Connor blocks my path.
“Stop,” he says firmly, his hands closing around my upper arms, warm and firm, keeping me there when every part of me wants to get the fuck out.
“Just stop, please.”
He sounds tired. Frayed around the edges, and my body responds to it before the rest of me can, some of the fight draining out of my shoulders beneath his hands.
I wrench myself free, the places his fingers were turning cold.
Connor drags both hands through his hair and turns away, pacing two steps before stopping. His shoulders rise around a breath, then drop.
When he faces me again, his mouth is tight, and those blue eyes that couldn’t stay off me last night barely make it as far as my face before sliding away.
“I’m not gay, Theo.”
My chest goes fucking hollow.
I stare at him while last night flashes through my head anyway. Connor’s mouth on mine. His hands holding me down. His face buried against my neck while he called me beautiful like the word had been dragged straight out of him.
All of that, and now he can’t even fucking look at me.
“Right,” I laugh, clearing the roughness from my voice. “And last night?”
Connor finally looks at me when he says it.
“It was a mistake.”
My teeth grind together as I nod. Me on my knees for him, telling him shit I’ve never trusted anyone else with, falling asleep in his arms and waking up reaching for him like some fucking idiot.
All one big mistake.
A laugh scrapes out of my throat as I look at him. “And calling me beautiful?”
Connor’s mouth opens, but I’m already shaking my head.
“Fuck, when you make a mistake, you really commit to the bit, don’t you, Reid?”
“Theo-”
He reaches for me, and I jerk away, the pain pulling through my hips, only making the anger burn hotter.
“Do not fucking touch me right now.”
I can still feel him everywhere. His hands on my body. His mouth on my skin. His fucking shirt against my back. If he puts his hands on me now, after standing there and calling all of it a mistake, I’m going to fucking lose whatever dignity I’ve got left.
I step around him and reach the door before he tries again.
But he doesn’t, and somehow that hurts too.
My hand closes around the handle, and I glance at him over my shoulder. He’s standing in the middle of the wreckage with his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, staring at me now when it’s too late to matter.
I came here because I wanted him to tell me last night meant something.
Instead, he told me exactly what I should’ve known from the start.
My grip tightens around the handle.
“Fuck.” I shake my head, looking away from him. “I knew better.”