I haul my ass off the bed and into the shower. When I’m thoroughly warmed all the way down to my bones and utterly relaxed, I dress and pad downstairs to the kitchen. I make coffee and a slice of toast. Deciding to eat in my room to save any more questioning over my face, I walk back up.
Safe inside my room, I sit on the edge of my bed and eat my toast, taking sips of coffee.
With each one, the day seems brighter.
See, just needed to get myself sorted. A little hot water, a little coffee.
Placing the plate on my bedside table, I lay on the bed and roll onto my side. The pillow still smells like Quin. I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t. But it catches me by surprise again, regardless.
Letting my eyes fall shut, I drown out every bad thought rattling around my head with memories of early this morning. In the living room... on the sofa by the fireplace.
I fall into the abyss of sleep before Quin gets to the good part.
Banging downstairs has me flying off the bed and down the stairs.
Something smashes as I round the end of the stairs and follow the noise to the sunroom. When I make it to the brightly lit room on the eastern side, furniture is upturned and the few potted plants that anchored the corners of the room are tipped over, the plants pulled from their oversized ceramic pots.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Dad is stalking across the room, hands in his hair as he hunts for something. The urge to help flares. But self-preservation overrides it when he turns and spots me hovering in the doorway.
Fear snakes down my spine, making me nauseous the second it registers.
This is myfather.
He’s my dad, not some psycho maniac . . .
But right now, as he takes a step toward me, I can’t tell the difference. I slide my hand to my back pocket to grab my phone.
I need Quin.
The pocket’s empty.
Fuck.
Chapter
Twenty
QUINTON
Maise is dancing around to Christmas carols, the volume so loud I can barely hear myself think. Luckily, we’re about to head out. I have to help the crew with the last day of cleanup and pack up at the inn job.
“Maise! Turn it down, kiddo. We got to go in ten.”
She’s dancing, arms in the air, to some upbeat Christmas tune that would surely turn anyone who wasn’t already deaf off Christmas altogether.
When she keeps spinning, belting out the chorus in her high, lilting tone, I zip the lunch bags up and shoulder my backpack before padding to the speaker. I hold a finger on the power button, and the noise snaps out instantly.
Maisey turns on me, a frown plastered over her pouty little face, hands on her hips. “Daddy! I was in the middle of something!”
A crash from next door sees us both turn toward the noise.
Fuck.
“Stay here,” I growl out, flying through the front door. Barefoot, I plow through the snow toward CC’s front door.
