Page 64 of Sweet Sinners
Then, just for a second—a fraction of a second—his face tightens. His hand moves to his lower back, his fingers pressing into the muscle like it aches.
Concern flares.
I close the distance before I think better of it. “Connor? Your back okay?”
He drops his hand like I caught him in something. “Yeah, it’s fine, Cali.”
"Are you…" I start, but the words die in my throat.
I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask, only that Ihaveto say something—anything—to break this suffocating silence between us.
Connor stands still, his back rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, but his hands… his hands clench at his sides, fingers twitching like he’s gripping onto something invisible just to keep himself from unraveling.
It’s the way he won’t look at me that makes my stomach knot.
I tell myself it’s nothing—that maybe he got hurt working in the garden or pushing too hard in his makeshift gym. That it’s something minor, something that isn’tsitting heavy on his chest, keeping his shoulders drawn tight like he’s holding weight there.
But I know better.
Ifeelit.
And then, he exhales. Long and slow, like he’s releasing something. Letting go.
He reaches for the hem of his shirt.
And hesitates.
I wait, my pulse a dull throb in my ears, my breath held hostage between my ribs.
"Did you get hurt?" I ask softly, trying to pull him back from wherever his mind is, trying to get him to give me something. Anything. I want his pain. I want to know what it is, how deep it runs.
I can’t take it away, but maybe—maybe—I can make it better.
Finally, he pulls his shirt up.
And my stomach drops.
Four scars. Brutal. Jagged. Raised and uneven, like someone took a blade to himslowly, like theywantedhim to feel it, to suffer through every second of it.
My breath catches, horror tightening my throat.
I step closer without thinking. My hands tremble, but I reach out anyway, because I have to.
My fingers skim over the worst one, following its rough, uneven edges, tracing it like I can somehow rewrite the pain it left behind.
Connor flinches. Barely. Just a flicker of tension in his shoulders. But I feel it.
And still—he doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t move.
I press my palm over the scars, covering them, shielding them from the air, like I can protect him now in a way no one did before.
Like I can take away even a fraction of what he suffered.
"You never deserved this," I whisper, my voice breaking.
Any hope of keeping my distance is long gone.
Chapter twenty-nine
