“…yes, I made that.” Quentin’s voice drifted from the living room to greet us.

  I was definitely intrigued. Extra dick it was. But who was he talking to?

  “I wish she wouldn’t flaunt that trashy game,” Mary Russel’s voice sent ice spilling through my veins and killed any arousal I had.

  Sonya frowned and dropped my hand. “Hey, I guess my mom’s here.” Her voice was subdued.

  19

  Sonya

  Tension ratcheted through me at the sound of my mom’s voice, and I was instantly both more exhausted and wider awake. Sometimes visits with her were great, and other times they were a subtle reminder that I didn’t live up to her expectations—I wasn’t the daughter she could parade in front of her friends and brag about.

  But Jeremy being around tended to make things a billion times worse. He didn’t like her.

  Above all else though, she was still my mother. I squeezed his fingers and dropped his hand. “You should probably go home.”

  “No.”

  I didn’t want to do this. I’d rather have his company, and that he and she got along, and that this night end on an up note. “Please. You’re going to be miserable if you stay.”

  “Sonya—”

  “Please.” I didn’t want to beg. I didn’t want him to go. I needed him to.

  “Sonya, is that you?” Mom’s voice floated closer.

  I looked at Jeremy with pleading on my face and he stared back with a mixture of fury, hurt, and resignation.

  “I thought I heard you.” Mom joined us. “Jeremy, hi. Nice to see you.”

  “Thanks.” His voice was tight. “I was just making sure Sonya got home safe. I need to go.”

  “You can stay for a while,” Mom said.

  He kept his attention focused on me. “I really can’t.” And with that he was gone.

  “Hmm.” Mom’s tone was noncommittal as the door closed behind him. She pulled me into a tight hug. “I missed you.”

  Quentin stood behind her, expression unreadable.

  I squeezed back. This would be fine. This was friendly, sweet mom. Besides, I had TV deals pending. I was a bestselling author. I was full of brag-potential. “Missed you too.”

  She pulled away and tugged me into my living room and Quentin followed. “Your boarder was telling me all about your life right now,” she said.

  “Did he?” I almost froze to the ground, but I forced my feet to keep moving. If she thought my books were trash, there was no way she’d approve of what I was doing with Quentin and Jeremy.

  “Mhm.” Mom settled onto my couch like she’d always been there. “Volunteering. Working hard. I’m so happy to see you doing well in management.”

  I took the seat across from her, and Quentin settled into the other recliner. This wasn’t so bad. “I’m really enjoying the work,” I said.

  “And your name is out there. You’re a big deal right now.” Mom sipped what was probably water from one of the delicate glasses she’d sent me as a gift two Christmases ago that I didn’t dare use or get rid of.

  “How have you been?” I wanted to leave things about me in a place we were both happy with.

  Even this time of night, she was made up and put together more than I was on my best days. Given my schedule this week, I was grungier than normal in my most comfortable jeans and sweatshirt, with my hair in a ponytail, my mascara smudged, and my lipstick gone hours ago.

  “Good.” Mom’s voice was pleasant. “Wonderful, even. Everyone at the office is excited to meet you and work with ideas that you created.”

  This wouldn’t be so bad. I could probably breathe again. As long as she didn’t freak out when I said something along the lines of there are multiple offers on the table, and I haven’t decided yet. Fortunately, my lawyer told me not to talk about that, so I could take a page directly from her book. “Mhm.”

  “I’ve always known how very talented you are. It’s lovely to see that shining through. It’s so amazing to brag to my friends that my little girl’s name is on the best seller lists.”

  “I’m forty, Mom. Hardly a little girl.”

  What did Quentin think of all of this? He was being awfully quiet.

  “I’m a mom, I have some privileges. Of course, when they ask about your books…” She sucked in a sharp breath.

  Fuck. Here we went. “I haven’t eaten yet tonight. Can I make you some dinner?”

  “I’m fine. I grabbed food before I came over.”

  “Go grab some dinner. I’ll keep Mary company,” Quentin’s tone was difficult to read.

  Somehow that seemed like a worse idea than leaving Jeremy alone with her. “I’m good. I’ll get something after you head out.”

  Mom sighed heavily. “It’s just so hard on me. I want to brag about you to everyone, and when you sign with us, and we clean up your words, the world will know you’re my daughter.”

  “Sonya’s words don’t need cleaning up.” A growl rolled through Quentin’s retort.

  “You know what I mean.” Mom waved a hand dismissively.

  Quentin scooted forward to the edge of his chair. “I don’t. Explain it to me.”

  Fuck.

  Mom gave him her full attention, brows raised. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  No. I wouldn’t listen to her do this. Couldn’t. I was used to the backhanded compliments and I knew she loved me regardless, but my friends didn’t get it, and she could be cutting when she wanted to. “It’s late and it’s been a long week.” I stood so abruptly my chair nearly toppled. “Could we pick this conversation up tomorrow or this weekend?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Mom stared at Quentin. “I’d like to hear your boarder explain to me what he’s thinking.”

  “He’s my friend, not my boarder.” I clenched my jaw. “And I need some rest.”

  Quentin stood as well, and moved to my side. “Ms. Russel, I’d be happy to see you to the door.”

  “I suppose I should be going.” Mom took her time setting her glass on a coaster and smoothing out her clothing as she rose. She picked away a few pieces of invisible lint. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Sonya. We’ll have lunch.”

  Quentin moved between us and took a step toward her. “She has work tomorrow.”

  “They have to let you eat, don’t they? You are the boss.” She turned away. “I’ll call you.” She gave me another quick hug, passed a look of disdain to Quentin, and strode from the house without waiting for either of us.

  I sank back into my chair with a heavy sigh. On a scale of One to Five, Five being our best visit ever and One being our worst, this was a solid Three. Thank Goddess for that.

  Quentin crouched in front of me and took my hand in his.

  I couldn’t deal with whatever he was about to say. Anger, sympathy, pity—I didn’t want any of it. “How was your day?”

  “Come with me.” Command cut through his words and he tugged me to my feet.

  I was too drained to argue, and I let him lead me into the kitchen. He sat me on a stool at the bar running along one side of the island in the middle of the room.

  “I’ll tell you, but you have to eat, too.” Quentin was already going through the cupboards and fridge.

  “You’re a master negotiator, did anyone ever tell you that?”

  He set a can of soda and a glass in front of me, followed by a plastic storage container and a fork. He popped the lid off the container, revealing leftover pasta salad which he must’ve made at some point during the week. “Never in those words. Pretty sure I’ve been called a bossy asshole, though.”

  “Pft. Whoever said that didn’t appreciate you enough.” When the words passed my lips, he raised an eyebrow. Was this where the retorts about my mom would start?

  He shrugged. “I guess they didn’t. Eat.”

  “Yes, sir.” I put a forkful of pasta drenched in the yummiest sauce ever into my mouth. My stomach grumbled in response and I shoveled in more food.

  Quentin leaned against the counter by the sink, facing me, his stance casual. “My day was… interesting.”

  “How so?” I managed between bites of food. I needed to sate the hunger and dull the edge of my mother’s visit and unwind enough to sleep tonight.

  “I met with Mick.”

  I almost choked on my food.

  Quentin waited until I’d stopped coughing.

  “How’d that go?” I finally managed.

  “I don’t know. I was furious at first, but he apologized, and he sounded sincere this time. What if he meant it?”

  Something clenched in my chest, and I paused in my eating. Was I about to lose Quentin? Or worse, see him destroyed again? “Oh?”

  “He didn’t want to get back together or anything. I thought it would hurt to hear him say that, but it didn’t. That’s part of what I’ve been thinking about. He just wanted to apologize and explain.”

  “So… are you friends now?” I didn’t have the mental capacity to process this on top of everything else, but worrying about Quentin was more important than whatever petty things I had going on.

  “No. I walked out.”

  “Oh.” Words were hard. “I might have some good news.” Goddess, I hoped he saw it as good news. “Jeremy has an old garage on his property—it used to be a carriage house, but he doesn’t use it for anything—and he was wondering if you could use it for a new workshop.”

  Quentin frowned.

  “You don’t have to. And it’s not charity. And he’s really not using it for anything so you wouldn’t be intruding. And…” I let out a noisy exhale. “I don’t know.”

  Quentin pushed away from the counter and moved closer. “It’s a kind offer, and good news. I’ll have to think about how I can use it. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I felt like a child out of my depth—the realization hit me hard, and suddenly I wasn’t hungry anymore. I shouldn’t. Quentin and I talked all the time. I was a fucking adult with a good life and career that I'd earned. Why did I want to wither and hide from it all, until I felt like I was good enough to be in my own shoes again?

  “I grew up in a traditional, religious household.” Quentin’s statement came out of nowhere.

  It wasn’t about me, which made it easier to listen to.

  He sat on the stool next to me and rested his forearms on the bar, his shoulder pressing into mine. “My father was the man of the house, my mother was a homemaker, and we were always in the third pew from the front at church. Every fucking Sunday.”

  I couldn’t imagine, but I’d never talked to Quentin about his past and I wanted to hear more.

  “I tried so hard to be my father’s son. Baseball, track, whatever he did or wanted me to do, I was there. But I also wanted to be in my room reading about dragons and spaceships. I wanted my mom to teach me to cook.”

  “Variety is good. Keeps the brain sharp.” It was tempting to lean in closer and rest my head on his shoulder, but that was an impulse I shouldn’t indulge.

  He chuckled. “It’s true, it does. I was never quite good enough at the things that mattered to him—I suck at baseball. I’d rather only run if a monster is chasing me. And when I was seventeen, and my father caught me kissing my best friend…” Quentin clenched his fist.

  I covered his hand with mine, and he relaxed under my touch.

  He breathed in through his nose. “He said some horrible things, the least of which was threatening to disown me. I had to prove to him I was still his son, so I enlisted. Nothing’s more manly than being a Marine, right?”

  “I’m sorry.” That hardly seemed like an adequate response.

  “It’s okay. I’ve dealt with it now, but back then… I excelled after I enlisted. Promotions. Top marks. Straight track to becoming an NCO. When I was on leave my father would show me off to all his friends. I resented that this was what it took to earn his recognition and at the same time I felt like I’d finally found a place I belonged. It was a confusing time.”

  Quentin turned his hand so our palms were pressed together, and tangled his fingers with mine. Which one of us was holding the other?

  “It took some time, and…” He closed his eyes.

  I squeezed his hand.

  He shook his head. “And then I met Mick. And he helped me figure out I needed my successes to be for me, not for someone else. That I was my own person—I wasn’t my father’s trophy.”

  His words cut deep, which he had to know they would after meeting my mom.

  “She doesn’t hate me. She just wants what she thinks is best for me.” Or for her.

  Quentin leaned his head against mine. “Your situation isn’t mine. Do what you think is best for you, and regardless of what that is, I’m still your friend.”

  “Thank you for that.” I was grateful to have him as a friend, and there shouldn’t be any part of me that wanted more. He belonged with Jeremy.

  Yet, I was glad I was the one here right now. It wasn’t selfish to hold onto this for tonight, was it?

  “What do you want to do tonight?” Quentin asked.

  “Anything that doesn’t require me to think.” About anything.

  “I have the perfect solution. Supernatural marathon until we fall asleep.”

  I grinned. “You say the sexiest things.”

  Quentin cleaned up quickly from my impromptu meal, then led me into my bedroom. “If you’re going to fall asleep, we have to get ready for bed.”

  The puzzled look I gave him faded to surprise when he undid my jeans. He pushed those to the floor and stripped off my sweatshirt. Then he pulled one of my oversized shirts over my head.

  If I felt small and lost before, this was a hundred times more potent. But so was the feeling of safe that came with it.

  Quentin shed his jeans as well, turned down the blankets, and nudged me into bed. He curled around me, blocking out the rest of the world.

  The TV played in the background, but I didn’t give it much attention. All I wanted was to lose myself in Quentin and this sense of security for the brief time that I had it.

  When sunlight hit my face through open blinds, panic kicked in before the rest of my mind caught up.

  It was February. If I was seeing sunlight…

  I shot out of bed, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  “What’s wrong?” Quentin looked drowsy and perfect lying in my bed.

  “I’m late. So late.” It was almost ten, and I was supposed to be to work before seven. “Shit.”

  He was up in an instant too. “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing. I need to go.” As I talked I yanked on some clothes. I ran a brush through my hair, slipped on some shoes, and was out the door in under ten minutes.

  As I drove to the office, I let my phone play back the series of text messages waiting for me. From Judith. Luna. Jeremy. All asking where I was and if I was all right.

  “Fuck.” I screamed in my car.

  20

  Quentin

  I hated seeing Sonya wake up in a panic and not being able to help beyond staying out of her way. There were some things I couldn’t play the guard dog against and being late for work was one of them.

  I couldn’t believe I’d told her the story of my past last night, but I was glad I’d had the chance. No one but Mick knew that story before now. Back before he was the enemy. Back when it was okay to fall. Okay to trust.

  Did I really regret my past with him?

  No. The answer surprised me. I hated what happened to us and the way he left and the mess I was still recovering from. But I didn’t regret what we had before then.

  When I glanced at my phone to see a missed call from one of the temp agencies who sometimes had work for me, my heart dropped. They’d called almost three hours ago—there was no way the job was still available. Still, I had to call them back, just in case.

  I started the coffee maker while I waited on hold. I gave the man who answered the phone my information. I waited a little more.

  “Quentin. Oh my gosh, hi. Thank you for calling me back.” Diane sounded like she was out of breath. “Your information says you can do tile. Tell me you’re comfortable doing tile unsupervised.”

  “I can lay tile, no problem.” Easiest question I’d had to answer in days.

  “Oh good. Yay. I have a place that needs someone, and one of the two guys we sent over this morning was just… He lied about what he was capable of. Can you get there in the next half hour?”

  Work would be wonderful. A little extra cash plus something to occupy my mind. “As long as it’s in the valley, yes.”

  “Amazing. You’re amazing.” She gave me the address, promised to email it as well, and said she’d call the contractor and tell him I was on my way.

  The site was about fifteen minutes away. An office building with a massive interior remodel, and the contractor was having trouble finding and keeping people. After about thirty seconds of rapid-fire questions around how I felt was the best way to lay tile, he pointed me in a direction. “Other guy is already in there. He’s got all the information you need.”

  I headed to the room in question, one that was meant to be an on-site kitchen when we were done, and stalled in the doorway when I saw Mick in the far corner, on his hands and knees.

  “Oh.” The surprise escaped me before I could stop it.

  He glanced over his shoulder, gave me a said smile, then nodded at the supplies. “At least they found someone who knows their shit.”

  My thought as well. I joined him, and we worked in silence. As much as I’d hoped this would be a respite from my thoughts, the conversation with Sonya kept bouncing in my head. Every bit of it, including the offer to use Jeremy’s empty garage as a place to work.

  I’d enjoyed the time spent in Brooke’s workshop, and this was nice too, though I’d love the ability to improvise. Did I dare hope I could get back into something to do with welding?

  Not without equipment.

  “Is there anything left?” I asked Mick. “Any tools? Any gear at all?”