Page 28 of Sweet Sinners
Short, muffled, but sharp enough to send ice down my spine, jolting every nerve awake.
My pulse roars in my ears as I spin around, my body already moving toward the sound before my mind even catches up.
I move without thinking, grabbing the heavy paperweight from the side table as I round the corner, heart hammering in my chest. My eyes scan the room, bracing to face whatever just sent Cali spiraling—but there’s nothing.
No threat. No danger.
Just Cali, her back pressed tight against the front door, her face hidden behind trembling fingers, shoulders shaking slightly.
I set the paperweight down slowly, forcing my voice gentle. "Cali?"
"I don’t want to deal with you—or anyone," she snaps, her words muffled and sharp, edged with frustration. "Just…go away."
I should. I should step back and let her breathe, give her space to find herself again.
But I can’t. I won’t.
Crossing the room, I reach her in two strides and scoop her off the floor before she can pull away.
She gasps sharply, her fingers clutching my shoulders in reflex. "Connor—what the hell?"
"I've got you," I murmur, holding firm even as she squirms in protest. "You’re not doing this alone tonight."
"This is literally the opposite of leaving me alone," she says, but her voice is softer now, lacking its usual bite.
"You haven’t had a proper meal in days," I counter, my tone even but firm. "I'm not stepping back."
Carrying her to the kitchen island, I set her down, letting my hands linger against her waist for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "Have you even eaten today?"
She scoffs, folding her arms tight across her chest, defensive again. "How does that matter right now?"
I don’t answer, just hold her gaze, waiting for her stubbornness to crack.
Slowly, she deflates, shoulders sagging, voice quieting as she drags a hand through her hair. "No," she finally admits, exhaustion bleeding into the admission. "I didn't have time. I was dealing with accounting all day, and—" She breaks off abruptly, pressing her fingers to her temples as if it’s the only way to hold herself together.
After a tense pause, she lets out a brittle laugh. "Someone’s embezzling money. Probably still is, and I don’t even know where to start looking. And then I found these fucking social media posts—employees bragging about how easy it is to scam our payroll system. Like stealing from the company is some twisted joke."
Her voice cracks, raw and frayed, and something hot flares in my chest. Anger. Protectiveness. She’s been carrying this alone, drowning under a weight no one bothered to help her with.
And that pisses me off.
Without saying a word, I turn and open the fridge, my mind already running ahead. Cali doesn’t need empty reassurances or pity.
She needs warmth, something solid. Something real.
I grab tomatoes, bread, cheese, ham—grilled cheese and tomato soup. Comfort food. I still remember it was her favorite.
Cali trails off mid-sentence, watching me silently as I set everything on the counter, pulling out a cutting board to prep.
"What are you doing?" Her voice is wary, suspicion slipping through.
"Making you dinner," I reply, my tone even, uncomplicated.
She hesitates, eyebrows knitting slightly. "I didn’t ask you to—"
"You didn’t have to."
I keep my hands busy, dicing tomatoes, sliding them into the pot, moving on instinct. The silence that settles between us is thick, but it doesn’t suffocate. It just sits there, breathing quietly in the spaces neither of us know how to fill yet.
