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Quinn drove to her parents’ house, shoulders hunched, grip clenched, teeth grinding. She drove by houses where friends used to live and down streets where they used to play. If only life could be that happy again, when your only worry was coming in past curfew and getting the stink eye from your dad.
Now she lived in a world of crumbling dreams and aching hearts.
She needed Mom. She couldn’t call Claire. She’d get an earful she didn’t want. Would it be any better going to Mom? No. Of course it wouldn’t. But she needed her.
Mom must’ve seen her out the kitchen window because she met her at the door. Quinn didn’t try to mask her bloodshot eyes. Mom’s smile disappeared. “Are you all right? Come inside.”
Hands on her shoulders, Mom ushered her to the couch. Trying not to have a mental breakdown, Quinn let her words tumble out. The call from Cale, the trauma room, the fear that wouldn’t let her go, the decision not to go back.
Mom sat still and quiet, rubbing her hand in small circles across Quinn’s back the whole time. Until the last. Her hand stopped, and the tension began to mount.
“Kaitlyn Quinn Hawkins!”
Quinn recoiled at the name she hadn’t heard since she was a girl. Her breath caught and almost didn’t start up again. Then her cheeks heated, and her chin rose. “My name is Quinn Alexander.”
“Then start acting like it.” Mom stood and faced Quinn. “That man has been there for you. Stood by and let you heal. He’s waited, even denied his love for you until you were ready. And now you would abandon him when he needs you? You are going back. Life is tough sometimes. Get over it. Oh!” She slapped a hand to her mouth. But she couldn’t take it back.
Dad came in through the garage entrance, his brows crinkling up toward the glasses perched on his head. “What’s all the yelling about?”
Quinn stormed into her childhood bedroom. Mom called after her, but Quinn didn’t turn around. She slammed the door and fell face-first onto her bed, balled her floral comforter into her fists, and pressed her face into her pillow to smother a scream. Not such a good idea. Her throat hurt from all the screaming she’d already done.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she regretted acting like a high school girl. Dad had removed her door once because she’d slammed it. She’d never done it again for fear of not having a place to herself.
She pounded her bed with her fist. She was acting like little Kaitlyn Hawkins. The girl who used to kick and scream if she didn’t get her way. She’d grown out of that. Hadn’t she?
How long would they keep soothing her and getting her through the moments? Wouldn’t they get tired of it? There’d be a time when they broke, and for her mother, it was today.
Getting herself under control, Quinn rolled over and stared at the ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars grungy in this light. Her mother’s words were a slap in the face—a well-deserved one.
God, what am I doing?
Numb and tired, she feared slipping back into the abyss. The one place she didn’t ever want to go again. She’d wanted a normal life. Well, this was pretty normal. Bad things happened.
But so did good things. Nick was a good thing.
Since Cafe Cubana when he’d asked for her number for those I’m-having-issues moments, he’d always been a friend. Now, she was being a crappy friend in return.
This behavior wasn’t Quinn Alexander. This had never been her—and she’d had enough. Enough pain, enough letting her fears control her, enough focusing on herself. By running away, she wasn’t just hurting herself. She was hurting Nick.
He was a part of her whether she’d planned it or not. He had her heart. And she didn’t want it back.
She bolted upright to the side of her bed.
She didn’t want it back.
Nick was lying in a hospital bed, waiting for the doctor to tell him whether he’d be okay, and she didn’t want it back.
What she did want was to call him, talk to him. To make sure he was okay, that he knew he wasn’t alone.
Mom was right. Life happened, had been happening to everyone all over the world since the dawn of time. She wasn’t the first to lose a child, the first to lose a husband.
People like Mrs. LaRue and countless others had found it within themselves to give their love to someone else, to accept love. Quinn wanted to heal, even thought she could without ever loving again. But life was empty without love, a lonely and dark place—an abyss.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out, gaining control. Then stood, smoothed stray wisps back into her braid, and squared her shoulders. Life was tough. But she was still alive. And so was Nick.
She twisted the doorknob to the room she’d grown up in. In the sixth grade, she’d changed her name to Quinn. As she opened the door, she left Kaitlyn behind and went to apologize to her mother.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table with her, his massive hand covering hers. His hands had always been healing hands—they could fix anything. But this was something only Quinn could heal. “Mom?”
Mom stood to face her. “Oh, Quinn, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Her parents had been living through a hidden storm, one sweeping their daughter to a different death.
As Quinn took her mother’s shoulders in her hands, a gasping breath escaped her lungs. She pulled her into an embrace. “Yes, you should have.”
Mom let out a pent-up breath. Quinn reached out for Dad’s hand and squeezed it tight. He stood and put his arms around them both, and they stood there, holding one another up, taking comfort from each other.
There in that kitchen—the kitchen where she’d lost her first tooth, where Mom had sewn up the teddy bear the dog ripped to shreds, where they’d met countless boyfriends and ate ice cream after each breakup, where she’d introduced them to Brendan and later told them she was pregnant with Hope—she told them, “Because you’re right. You’ve always been right. I love Nick, and I won’t let fear win.”
