If Quinn had just told me that she was flying to the moon to do a show with Aerosmith, I wouldn’t have been more shocked. “Um, what? Why?” Panic gripped me. California was a whole fucking continent away from me. Nate had said I had to give Quinn some space, but give me a fucking break! This was too much.
She leaned against the wall, as though she needed the support in the wake of my outburst. “My boss, Dawn—she has a friend who needed a ghostwriter. Dawn thinks I’ll be perfect for it.”
“A ghostwriter?” Apparently I’d been reduced to simply repeating words now.
“Yeah.” Quinn tilted her head. “You know ... this guy wants to write a book, but he needs help. He has the story, but he needs someone to make it happen. Organize it, polish it ... make sure it flows. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Oh.” I braced a hand against the wall, surprised to see I was still holding the crumpled chip bags.
“He’s a football player, actually.” Quinn glanced up at me through her lashes, as though she wasn’t sure how I was going to take this news.
“Who is it?” My forehead drew together. Goddammit to hell if I was going to let my girl be out there on the West Coast, cavorting with one of these dickheads who used his football celebrity to get as much tail as he wanted. Fuck, no.
As though she’d picked up on my thoughts, Quinn sighed a little and shook her head. “His name is Allan Crocker. He played for San Francisco a long time ago.”
“Crocker?” The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Yep. He was on the 1989 team, the one that won the Super Bowl against Denver. So he played with some of the greats, but from what Dawn says and the research I’ve done, Allan wasn’t really a star. He was a defensive end, played well enough, but you know.” She lifted a shoulder. “Just a supporting player.”
“So why’s he writing a book?” In my mind, most football players had very little business writing a book. Who the hell wanted to read about what we did on the field, unless it was in the Monday morning newspaper?
Quinn smiled a little. “After he retired, he and his wife started up a hamburger franchise. They named it after their son, Gunner.”
“Gunner’s Burger Bistro?” NowthatI’d heard of—hell, I’d eaten at a Gunner’s more than once.
“That’s the one.” Quinn nodded. “Gunner was their only child. He was also born prematurely, with a degenerative muscle disease. He died when he was sixteen. That’s kind of what Allan wants to write about.”
“Jesus!” I exploded. “And Dawn thought this would be good for you? Haven’t you been through enough?”
Quinn cocked one eyebrow. “Dawn thought it would be healthy for me to get away, to have a fresh start some place new. And Allan feels like I’ll be a good fit, because I have some experience with what they lived through with Gunner.”
“And what doyouthink, Mia?” I gave in and reached across to her, letting one finger slide over a curl that hung just below her cheek.
She shivered and her eyes fell closed, just as they used to when I kissed her, or when we were in bed together. It took every ounce of my strength to stop myself from slipping my fingers under her hair, around the back of her neck, and pulling her face close to me.
Quinn moved back, just slightly, but enough that it broke the spell. “What do I think? Honestly, Leo, I don’t know anymore. I feel like at the time my life’s supposed to be starting, I’m treading water. I’m living with my mom, two lonely women—two widows—rattling around in that house until she sells it and leaves, and I’m working at a job that doesn’t challenge me in any way. I’m tired of waiting for life to begin, so I’ve decided I’m going to go out and find where it might be.”
“And California’s the answer to that?” My voice sounded rough, like a growl.
“It might be. I found out Virginia sure as hell isn’t.” She snapped out the words, smacking me in the face with them as sure as if she’d struck me.
“Quinn.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “God. Don’t—what happened last month shouldn’t make you feel like you have to move across the fucking country to have a life. It’s only been—not even three months since Nate—since he passed. Maybe you just need some time.”
“Yeah, I do,” she agreed. “I need the time, but I need the space, too. The distance. Nate said it might be a good idea. I mean, before, when we talked about what was going to happen ... after.”
“Oh, did he?”Fucking Nate.He’d been telling me how I needed to act in order to be good enough for Quinn, while at the same time, he was telling her that she might have to move away from me. A spurt of irrational anger shuddered through me.
“He said it might be easier for me to have a few months away. It was already on my mind, and when Dawn brought up this job, it felt like things fell into place. Allan and his wife have friends whose apartment is going to be empty for this next year while they travel, so they’ve arranged for me to live there.” She smiled a little. “I’ve never been to that part of the country. I’m excited about it. I’m looking forward to the change.”
I grunted, and she rolled her eyes.
“Leo, please. Can’t you be even a little bit happy for me? You’ve got everything you ever wanted—your career, a beautiful home and a life. I don’t have anything right now, and all I want is a chance to see if I can find it.”
“I don’t have everything I ever wanted.” It was as close as I could come to admitting the truth, to pouring out my heart to her. But despite the fact that I didn’t want to accept it, part of me realized Quinn was right. This was exactly what Nate had been trying to tell me: she had to find a little of herself before she could belong to me. Or before we could belong to each other. I just had to hope and pray that herself was all she found on the West Coast. The idea of her meeting another guy made me physically ill.
“Leo.” She laid her fingers on my arm, and I could feel the heat of her through my thin sweater. “Last month, I made a big mistake, going down to Richmond and basically begging you to take me back. It was ... humiliating and hurtful. I don’t want to do that to you or to me again. But if I stay here and keep going through the motions that I am now, it’s going to happen again. I’ll get desperate, and you’ll be my only lifeboat. I can’t let that go on. It’s not good for either of us.”
I wanted to fall down onto my knees and admit how much it had fucking killed me to turn her away last month. How sick I’d been when she’d left, and how I’d gotten drunk off my ass to wipe away the memory of her tear-stained face. But it wasn’t the time, not yet. If I told her, she’d think I was just trying to persuade her not to go to California. And maybe I was.
