Edward
Connor was shaking.
Not the small kind of shaking. The big, ugly, full-body kind that comes right before you break something. Or someone.
The second I closed the door to his bedroom, he ripped away from me and paced. Three steps to the window. Three steps back. His inside-out shirt was twisted, and his hands kept opening and closing at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them.
"Get off me," he snapped, even though I wasn't touching him. Not yet.
I let out a slow breath and leaned against the door. The house was too quiet now. Downstairs I could hear the kettle click off, and then nothing. No Ted. No Mel. Just the sound of Connor's breathing, fast and ragged, like he'd run a marathon. "Connor," I said, carefully. "Breathe with me."
"Don't you dare," he said, whirling on me. His green eyes were wild. "Don't you dare use that calm voice on me right now, Edward. Not after that. Not after Ted."
He said Ted's name like it burned.
