Page 58 of Make Me Mean It

“Just-”

Connor stops.

I wait, watching him struggle with whatever he’s trying to get out until his eyes finally lift to mine.

The sight of them pulls something tight in my chest.

He looks exhausted.

Not pissed off. Not embarrassed.

Just fucking tired.

“Don’t tell Marcus,” he sighs.

My jaw locks so hard my teeth ache.

That’s asking a hell of a lot more than forgetting it happened.

Marcus is my best friend, and Connor is his little brother. I’ve just followed him into an alley and found him smashing the back of his skull against a metal fucking door.

Every instinct I have says Marcus should know.

But Connor keeps looking at me, all that rawness still sitting there despite how hard he’s trying to hide it.

Fuck.

I dig my nails into my palms inside my pockets, letting the sting bite deep enough to keep every argument sitting behind my teeth exactly where it is.

Then I nod.

Once.

Because apparently, when it comes to Connor Reid, I’m already making fucking terrible decisions.

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

My brows pull together as I look at him. Forget it happened. Right.

“Bit fucking difficult.”

“Yeah, well, try.”

I open my mouth, but Connor wraps both arms around his middle, and it dies behind my teeth. His shoulders curl inward, eyes falling to the ground, looking far too vulnerable for my liking.

I run my tongue over the edge of my teeth, giving him whatever space I can without actually leaving him alone out here.

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

“Just-”

Connor stops, his arms wrapping around himself. I press my lips together, keeping my mouth shut, watching his jaw work until his eyes finally lift to mine.

He looks exhausted. His face is slack with it, eyes heavy while he looks at me with an expression that makes me wish he’d go back to telling me to fuck off.

“Don’t tell Marcus,” he sighs.

My jaw clenches. Asking me to forget what happened in the club is one thing. I’m more than happy to pretend I didn’t almost kiss my best friend’s little brother in the middle of a fucking dance floor.

But this isn’t that.

I found Connor slamming his head against a metal door, my hand still throbbing from stopping him. Marcus is my best friend. Connor is his brother. There shouldn’t even be a decision to make here.

Except Connor is still looking at me.

Standing there, hugging himself, waiting, and I dig my nails into my palms inside my pockets while every sensible thought in my head tells me not to agree.

“Fine,” I say eventually, the word scraping reluctantly out of my throat.

Connor’s shoulders loosen slightly.

I should probably be more concerned by how quickly that makes the decision feel worth it.

Instead, I just shake my head.

Apparently, when it comes to Connor Reid, knowing something is a fucking terrible idea has very little bearing on whether I’m going to do it.