35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THEO
The door swings open hard enough to rattle the frame, Marcus barreling in loud and already halfway through whatever he’s saying, Connor right behind him.
His hair is a mess, like he’s been dragging his hands through it, and there’s something off about his face, tension sitting around his mouth and pulling between his brows. Then his eyes find me.
And it disappears, his whole expression softening.
Just for a second. Barely even that. But I see it, and the sight of it nearly takes my knees out from under me.
I tear my gaze away, jaw clenching as I tip my beer back and drain whatever’s left in one go. It goes down too fast, cold and bitter, and I barely taste it before I drop the empty bottle onto the table with a dull knock. My hand finds Lucas’s shoulder, slapping it lightly as I push myself up.
“I’m out, man,” I mutter, keeping it low, meant for him and nobody else.
Because I can’t stand here with Connor looking at me like that.
Not after everything I said to him.
Not when I already know how little it would take for me to forget every word of it.
“What?” Marcus’s voice cuts straight across the room before I can make it two steps, dragging everyone’s attention with it. “What the fuck, Knox? I just got here.”
I stop, shoulders tightening.
Marcus throws his hands up, already looking personally offended by the idea of me leaving. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”
I glance over at him, but I’m too aware of Connor standing just behind his shoulder. I can feel him there without even looking, like my entire fucking body has decided it needs to keep track of exactly where he is at all times.
“Like I could avoid you, asshole,” I shoot back automatically, forcing out a laugh that sounds almost normal. “You’re so fucking attached I can barely get away from you.”
I pull a smirk into place, giving Marcus something familiar enough that he doesn’t look any deeper.
Then a hand curls around his bicep.
Long fingers. Pale knuckles.
My gaze catches on them from the corner of my eye, and my stomach drops.
I know those hands.
I know exactly how they feel wrapped around my wrist, digging into my hips, cupping my face.
I know the weight of them on my body well enough that seeing them wrapped around Marcus’s arm shouldn’t do anything to me, but my chest still hollows out like someone’s knocked the air straight from my lungs.
I swallow hard, shoving everything back down before any of it reaches my face.
I turn before I do something stupid, like look at him properly.
Connor says something behind me, low enough that the noise in the room swallows most of it, but I don’t try to catch the words. My heartbeat is already too loud in my ears as I head for the hallway, every step putting a little more space between us.
It doesn’t help.
I can still feel him behind me.
By the time I reach my bedroom, I know without looking that he followed.
My palm presses flat against the door, fingers spreading over the wood as I drag in a sharp breath through my teeth. I push it open, and the footsteps behind me stop at the exact same time mine do.
I stay there on the threshold, one hand still braced against the door, unable to make myself go inside because I know what happens if I do.
Connor follows.
The door closes.
And suddenly there’s nothing between us except all the shit I’ve spent however long trying not to want.
Blood rushes loudly in my ears as I stare into the room instead of turning around.
“Don’t do this, Connor,” I breathe.
The second the words leave me, I fucking hate them.
They sound too much like what they actually are.
A plea.
“You’re avoiding me.”
His voice lands directly behind me, closer than it was a second ago, and my chest squeezes painfully around the sound of it.
I drop my head, a choked, humourless laugh dragging out of me as I scrub a hand down my face.
Of course I’m avoiding him.
What the fuck else am I supposed to do?
“I’m asking you not to do this,” I say, thicker this time, trying to force the words out cleanly and hearing them catch anyway.
Another step sounds behind me.
Closer.
My fingers curl against the edge of the door.
Connor keeps coming, closing the space like I didn’t just ask him not to, like he doesn’t understand that every inch he takes is pushing me closer to the exact thing I’ve been trying to stop since I walked away from him.
“I know,” Connor says softly, and he’s close enough now that I can feel the heat coming off him, feel the air shift when he reaches for me. “And I’m not listening,” he adds under his breath. “I learnt that from you.”
A laugh breaks out of me, pained and cracked around the edges because, fuck, of course he’d use that against me.
Then his fingers curl around my wrist.
There’s something tentative about the touch that makes it worse.
Connor has never been tentative with me.
Not when he’s angry, not when he wants me, not even the first time he put his hands on me.
But now his fingers barely close around my skin, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll let him keep them there.
My breath stutters.
“Don’t touch me,” I grit out, yanking my hand free.
I turn on him, ready to hold my ground this time, and every bit of air leaves my lungs.
He looks wrecked.
His hair is a mess, pushed up in every direction like he’s been dragging his hands through it, his blue eyes wild in a way I’m not used to seeing. There’s something underneath all of it too, raw and vulnerable.
I don’t want to see that.
I especially don’t want to know what it means.
I swallow hard and force myself to keep looking at him.
“You don’t get to touch me anymore.”
“Theo,” Connor says, softer this time, his mouth pulling down slightly around my name.
There’s an apology in it. I hear it even though he hasn’t fucking said one, and it hits me hard enough that I stumble back a step before I can hide the reaction.
“No.” I shake my head, putting more distance between us. “I’m not doing this.”
I back into my room, catching the edge of the door and pulling it with me. If I can just get it shut, if I can put something solid between us before he says whatever the fuck he came up here to say, maybe I can keep hold of the part of me that knows walking away was the right thing to do.
The door barely moves before Connor’s palm slams against it.
It stops dead.
“Connor.”
He shoves against it, and I grit my teeth, trying to hold it before the pressure forces me to give. The door swings back open and suddenly he’s right there again, too close, filling the doorway and my fucking head at the same time.
My eyes betray me, dropping to his mouth.
I drag them away, clenching my jaw hard until it aches.
“Please, leave.”
I retreat until the edge of my desk presses into the backs of my thighs, letting myself fall against it and gripping the edge with both hands. My head is telling me to get him out. My chest is doing something completely different, pulling toward him like it hasn’t learned a single fucking thing.
“I can’t.”
Connor steps into the room.
Then into me.
He slots himself between my legs where I’m leaning against the desk, crowding into the space I’ve been trying so hard to keep between us. His body is warm against mine, his cologne filling my lungs, familiar enough that my fingers tighten painfully around the edge of the desk.
His finger slips beneath my chin.
I jerk my head away before he can tilt it up and shove both hands flat against his chest, holding him back.
“Don’t,” I snap.
“Please look at me, baby.”
My head snaps up.
Something sharp tears straight through everything else, anger flaring hot enough to finally drown out the ache.
“I’m not your fucking baby, Connor.”
His face changes, but I don’t let myself look at it for long. I drag a hand through my hair, tugging hard at the strands because I need something to do with it that isn’t reaching for him.
He can’t stand there calling me baby.
I shove him hard enough that he stumbles back a step, and the second the space opens between us, I suck in a breath.
It still tastes like him.
Fuck.
“Get out.” I keep my voice low because if I raise it, I’m not sure whether I’m going to start shouting or fucking break. “Just get out.”
“No.”
“I’m not fucking doing this, Connor.” I throw my hands up, frustration finally spilling through everything I’ve been trying to keep locked down. “I can’t.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin, planting himself there like he has every intention of staying all fucking night if that’s what it takes.
“I’m not leaving until you let me talk.”
A bitter laugh catches in my throat.
“Well, that’s too fucking bad, princess,” I snap.
The nickname slips out of me.
My jaw clamps shut around everything that comes after, the word hanging between us with far too much history attached to it. Connor’s expression shifts, only slightly, but I see it.
I hate that I see everything when it comes to him.
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
“Theo, I—”
I move before he can finish, my hand coming up and slapping over his mouth, cutting the words off.
I can’t hear it.
Whatever the fuck he came up here to say, whatever he thinks he can say now that will make any of this better, I can’t hear it. My chest is heaving beneath my shirt, my eyes burning, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to stop him before he says something I won’t be able to walk away from.
“Whatever you’re about to say,” I manage, keeping my voice low even though it shakes anyway, “don’t you fucking dare.”
Connor goes completely still beneath my hand.
His eyes widen, locking onto mine, and there’s something so fucking raw in them that my resolve slips for half a second.
His lips are warm against my palm. I can feel his breath on my skin, feel the tiny movement when he swallows, and suddenly I’m too aware that I’m touching him after spending the last five minutes telling him not to touch me.
I rip my hand away and step back.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to do something worse than listen.
I’m going to let him convince me.
“This is over, Connor.” The words scrape all the way up my throat, but I force them out anyway, shaking my head when his mouth parts again. “So please, just stay the fuck away from me.”
His face falls.
I plant my hands against his chest and push him backwards, forcing him over the threshold before he can dig his heels in and start arguing again. Connor stumbles into the hallway, catching himself, and I grab the door before he can come straight back at me.
“Theo, wait—”
I slam it shut.
The sound cracks through the room, loud enough to make me flinch, and for a second I just stand there with my back pressed against the wood, staring at nothing.
My lungs won’t fucking work properly.
Every breath comes too fast, too shallow, my chest pulling tighter every time I try to drag another one in. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to get myself under control, but my legs are already starting to shake beneath me.
I slide down the door until I hit the floor, my head falling back against the wood with a dull knock as I drag my knees up.
Silence settles on the other side, long enough that I'm sure he's gone.
Then there’s another quiet thud against the door, softer than mine, and I know without seeing him that Connor’s dropped his forehead against the other side.
“I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”
His voice comes through muffled, but not nearly muffled enough.
My eyes squeeze shut.
Fuck him.
Fuck that fucking word.
My lash line burns, pressure building behind my eyes, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek because I’m not opening the door.
Then his voice comes again.
“I miss you.”
So quiet I almost convince myself I imagined it.
I pull my knees tighter against my chest and fold over them, burying my face there as something in me finally gives. A tear slips free, hot against my cheek, followed by another before I can scrub either of them away.
“Fuck,” I choke out, pressing my mouth against my knees to smother the sound trying to claw its way up my throat.
Because I miss him too.
My fingers curl into the fabric over my knees as I swallow down the sob threatening to break loose.
“I miss you,” I whisper into them, knowing he probably can’t hear me.
Maybe hoping he can’t.
The words break anyway.
“I fucking miss you.”