Connor

“WAIT, YOU’RE LEAVING?”

My arms froze with the shirt partially over my head, and when they started moving again, my movements were careful as I finished pulling the shirt over my chest. With a deep breath in, I turned to look at the pissed-off girl. “That’s how this works, sweetheart.”

She pulled the sheet up on her chest as she used her other arm to sit up. “Then tell me what your definition of this is, because apparently it’s different from mine.”

Letting my hand slide to the back of my neck, I left it there as I shrugged. “I picked you up at a bar. I’d met you not even an hour before we left; I don’t know what else you could expect from that.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she scoffed. Her face scrunched together in anger, but even in the dark room I could see the wetness gathering in her eyes. “What else would I expect from some prick who picks up women in a f**king bar?”

I focused on her eyes a moment longer, willing myself to feel something for making her cry. Regardless of not remembering her name, it should bother me to see a woman cry—especially if I’d been the reason behind those tears.

But there was nothing.

There’d been nothing since I’d returned from my trip to Texas six months ago. Just countless, nameless women who never filled a void that shouldn’t have even been there. Turning around, I slapped my hand over my phone and wallet resting on the chair, and walked toward the hall.

“For the record, douche, it’s called a one-night stand. One. Night! Not one hour,” her voice broke as she continued to scream insults as I left her apartment.

As soon as I was in my car, I pulled up the texts on my phone and tapped out the same message I did every night.

I need to know you’re okay Cassidy. Please call.

My thumb hovered over the SEND button for a few seconds before going up and hitting CANCEL instead. I dropped the phone into one of the cup holders and scrubbed my hands down my face before cranking the engine and starting home.

She’d briefly come back into my life more than six months ago, and was only there for a little more than a week. But that week had f**king wrecked me.

My partner and I had gotten the call six months ago about a house fire that looked suspicious—and later ended up revealing the bodies of Cassidy’s mom and stepdad—early that morning. And when Cassidy had shown up hours later, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I don’t know if it’d been the obvious black eye she had, or if somehow, even during all the craziness of interviewing neighbors, I’d known that I recognized her—but she was all I could see that day. Days later, when I remembered her from a family-disturbance call I’d gone on years before, the completely innocent girl started haunting my every thought.

She was on my mind constantly. Knowing I’d made the wrong decision in not following up on that call killed me more than I’d ever be able to explain. With my past, and what my father had done to my sister and me, I hated knowing I’d let her live through years of abuse. And then she walked into the coffee shop that morning, and everything changed.

I hadn’t been big on relationships before officially meeting Cassidy—for shit’s sake, I was only twenty-five years old and had been career focused most my life. I’d had girls, and claimed a few as mine for a while, but something about actually settling down had always scared the living hell out of me. Not with Cassidy, though. With her, I would have done anything to make her stay in California with me instead of going back to her boyfriend in Texas.

It wasn’t just that she had a past like mine . . . that she knew what it was like to grow up being physically abused by a parent. It wasn’t just that she would understand my fears of turning into my father. And it wasn’t just the fact that she was the strongest person I’d ever met, emotionally—and in a way, physically. It was all of that, added to something that was just Cassidy. Something that the small and deceivingly fragile-looking girl exuded from deep down that drew me to her. That within minutes had me ready to make her the center of my world.

When she’d left for Texas, I went out of my mind worrying about her with her boyfriend. He’d been the cause of her black eye, and no matter what she’d said about it being an accident as she tried to break up a fight, I couldn’t get the sight of her sporting it out of my head. I’d gone after her, intent on bringing her back with me, and positive I’d find her looking much like she had when she’d come to California the morning of the fire. What I hadn’t been ready for was her telling me to leave, or how she’d relaxed into him when he came near her, like he was a safe place for her.

But I hadn’t stopped worrying about her, and no matter how many girls there were, and how many nights I’d tried to wash away thoughts of her with drinks . . . she was always there. Her honey-colored eyes and soft smile still haunted me, and it was a daily battle to not contact her even though I was dying to know she was okay.

I pulled into my spot and slowly made my way up to my apartment. I’d been so lost in my thoughts of a girl over a thousand miles away, I didn’t notice the one right in front of me until her voice filled the otherwise silent hall.

“Hey there, super-mysterious neighbor. You’ve been gone a lot lately.”

“Maci,” I grunted by way of acknowledgment.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Is that your business?”

“Wait, wait! Don’t tell me.” She stopped trying to unlock her door, raised one dark eyebrow, and pointed at me. “I can smell you from here . . . was her name Sweetheart? Or maybe it was Sweetheart.”