Page 57 of Make Me Mean It

“Can you stand?” I ask, eyeing the amount of weight he’s still putting against the door.

“Obviously.”

There’s enough bite in it that I almost believe him.

Then he pushes himself upright and sways.

I catch his elbow the second he sways, gripping firmly enough to steady him, but Connor rips his arm free and shoves me back.

“Don’t.”

The word is low and fucking vicious, my hand dropping away.

I shove both of them into my pockets before instinct can win again and force myself to stay exactly where I am. Every part of me is still waiting for him to tip sideways, ready to catch him if he does, but he told me not to touch him.

So I don’t.

The silence that follows is fucking unbearable. Bass thuds dully through the wall behind us while Connor stares past my shoulder, tugging his clothes straight and pretending he wasn’t just shaking hard enough for me to feel it through my hands.

I last maybe five seconds.

“You wanna tell me what that was?”

“No.”

I nod and glance towards the mouth of the alley, mostly because staring at him clearly isn’t helping, but my eyes find their way back anyway. His face gives me nothing. No clue whether I should leave, stay, find Marcus, drag him home, keep my mouth shut. All options I’m spectacularly bad at.

Connor shifts against the door, hands curling into fists at his sides, the familiar irritation settling back over everything else. By the time his eyes finally cut back to mine, he looks pissed off enough to start an argument.

Thank fuck.

“Just forget it happened, Knox,” he bites out.

My brows pull together as I look at him.

Forget it happened.

Right.

“Bit difficult,” I huff, shaking my head.

“Yeah, well, try.”

His arms wrap around his middle, pulling tight.

I stop.

There’s something about the movement that shuts down whatever smart-ass comment was about to come out of my mouth.

He folds in on himself without seeming to realise he’s doing it, shoulders curling forward, gaze dropping away from mine. Like if he can make himself small enough, close himself off enough, I’ll stop looking.

I press my lips together.

I don’t fucking like it.

But I nod.

“Fine,” I grit out. “If that’s what you want.”