Page 157 of Make Me Mean It

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.