20
Graham
Shehadn’twantedtosleep in my room again, which was fair, but I would’ve given it to her in a heartbeat.
I led her down toward the guest bedroom. Quinn was surprisingly steady on her feet, and other than the slight flush of her cheeks and bleary quality of her eyes, I wouldn’t have any idea she’d been drinking.
“Your house is always so…clean,” she mused, as she followed me into the tidy bedroom.
I shrugged, looking down at the bed with crisp, neatly made-up bedding. I’d always liked order. It comforted me, made me feel like I was in control of something.
“There were six of us growing up, so the house was always a bit chaotic and messy. Mom did the best she could in those days, but I always preferred things a bit more…orderly.”
She didn’t say anything right away, but she walked farther into the room. She slipped off her jacket and threw it over the end of the bed with a sigh.
“Six kids…” she muttered. “Raleigh is a saint, I think. That’s crazy.”
She plopped down onto the edge of the bed, and I let out a low chuckle. “I have no arguments there.”
Quinn fell back onto the mattress, her arms spread out on either side of her as she stared up at the ceiling.
Perhaps she was drunker than she first appeared.
I frowned as I looked her up and down, pausing at the large tear near the hem of her jersey. That hadn’t been there before.
“What happened?” I asked sharply, stepping closer, but still giving her space. “To your jersey?”
She reached for the ripped fabric without looking at it, her fingertips trailing along the frayed material. Her expression pinched.
“Nothing.”
I didn’t believe that. She’d gotten fired; something had obviously happened.
I approached her cautiously until I stood at the end of the bed. I leaned over, pressing my palms onto the soft mattress until she was looking up into my face and not staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Quinn,” I said, low and calm. “What. Happened.”
She suddenly looked so young. For a moment, she seemed lost and scared. But then she blinked, and her pale blues frosted over into a glare that lanced right through me.
“Why do you even care?” she asked, but the sharpness didn’t reach her tone. She just sounded tired.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I tilted my head, giving her a small smile, but she didn’t thaw.
“You don’t know anything about me, Graham.” The words were almost a whisper. “Not really. So stop pretending like you care what happens to me.”
My jaw clenched, a spark of irritation igniting in me. The fact that she was so unconvinced that someone could care about her was…frustrating. Heartbreaking.
I wasn’t sure whether she sensed the sudden ire radiating off me, or whether she read it in my face, but some of that ice cracked and she looked away.
“Why don’t you tell me then,” I said, steadying my voice. “Share with me who you are. Tell me all the things you’ve never felt like you could say out loud. You can trust me.”
She jerked back, like I’d asked her to do something totally inappropriate. Her mouth opened. The red in her cheeks deepened to crimson.
She searched my face like she was trying to decide whether I was serious.
I waited.
After a while, her jaw snapped shut, lips pressed into a tight line. “If you’re asking for secrets, Graham, you’re going to have to give up some of your own.”
