Quinn knew what was coming next, knew who was coming. And it didn’t take long before Bo was parked on her parents’ driveway. Quinn fled, taking refuge in what her mother now called “the craft room,” even though at one time, the room had been hers.
She wanted a minute. Just one minute to herself. To think. To breathe.
Breathing.
Someone was behind her.
She looked back.
“Go away, Astrid. I want to be alone.”
Astrid twirled a several-week-old, half-polished finger around a strand of hair. “Bo’s here. He just pulled up.”
“I’m aware.”
“You should talk to him.”
Astrid’s words were spoken as more of a challenge than sisterly advice. More: Do it. I dare ya, sis.
“I will when I’m ready. I need some time to myself. So, if you don’t mind ...”
“Dad said Marcus called today. I bet if you begged, he’d take you back.”
“I see Dad filled you in on what happened.”
Astrid grinned, leaned her shoulder against the wall. “He didn’t. Mom did. Good decision, by the way. I never liked him.”
“Why, because he’s the only man in my life you’ve never slept with?”
It was harsh. Maybe too harsh even for Astrid. If it had been any other day, she might have cared. Today she didn’t.
Eugene entered the room, draped his arms around Astrid’s shoulders, lectured Quinn like he was her father. “How could you talk to her like that? She’s your sister.”
“Stay out of it, Eugene,” Quinn replied. “This isn’t your business.”
“You’re wrong. We’re involved. Her life is my life now—her business, my business.”
The fact any man was foolish enough to think he could ever have a functional relationship with Astrid almost sent Quinn into hysterics.
“You don’t have any idea who you’re involved with,” Quinn shot back. “If you did, you’d run before she destroys your life like she does everyone else’s. Or don’t. Stick it out. See what happens.”
Astrid shot daggers in her direction. Quinn waved a hand through the air, stopping her from saying anything more. “We’re done talking, fighting, whatever you want to call it. I need to check on Jacob.”
Quinn exited the room, a rise of emotions mounting inside like a wave ready to crest. It couldn’t go up, only out, and she knew it. Her eyes blurred with tears. She refused to let them fall. Vision unclear, her body smacked into something solid. Hard. She stepped back.
Bo placed his hands on her shoulders. “Hey ... you okay?”
She considered saying something nice, but pleasantries didn’t prevail in the end. “Are you looking for Astrid?”
“What? No. Why would I? I was looking for you.”
Astrid poked her head out of the doorway, titillated with excitement as she drank Bo in. Her voice changed, the octave increasing the more she spoke. “Well, hi there, stranger. Long time.”
Bo looked past Quinn, swallowed hard. “Hey.”
His words were flat, emotionless.
“Looks like the two of you have a lot of catching up to do,” Quinn said. “Maybe you should go somewhere and talk. It will just be like old times. Right?”
The quip pained Bo. Quinn could see it on his face. She didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel bad, even though she did.
She stormed past him, her shoulder banging into the side of his.
“Quinn, stop,” Bo said. “Hold on a minute.”
She made it to the front porch before her legs buckled beneath her. A hand looped around her waist as she went down.
“I can’t breathe,” she said.
“Yes, you can. Take it slow.”
“Bo, don’t. I’m fine. You can let go.”
“No, Quinn. I won’t. I’m never letting go of you again.”