âItâs not that simple,â he tells me, a tremor in his usually brick-walled voice.
âIt is!â I shout at him. I point at my chest. âYou either fucking played me or you didnât!â
âI love you,â he refutes, his gaze daggered on me.
It takes me aback. Because Connor has admitted to only loving himself. To then loving Rose. No one else. But I know this isnât sexual or romantic. Itâs the kind of love that I have for my brother. The kind that Rose has for her sisters.
He grimaces like the fact is hard for him to accept. âLo, I donâtâŚlove many people. But there is no manipulation in what I feel for you. The truth is, I gave you what I thought you needed, affection and praise, but I had no motives for it. I didnât use you for anything.â
I open my mouth to speak, but he raises his hand quickly.
âWait, let me finish.â His Adamâs apple bobs. âYouâre my liability because I love you. The night you relapsed, I thought you were going to die.â He pauses. ââŚand that fact nearly crippled me. I couldnât even drive, Lo.â He shakes his head like he doesnât want to imagine that night. âI care about you, what happens to you, and itâs a weakness any way I look at it. Like your father once asked, what do I get out of it? I told him the truth. I get your friendship. Thatâs all I want.â