There was nothing I hated more than people apologising over it. It was a ridiculous notion to apologise over something that had nothing to do with them. An apology didn’t right the wrong in my life.
I shrugged. “I was eighteen when it happened. They were on their way to Scotland when the sleeper train derailed.”
He squeezed my hand and when I looked at him, an unfamiliar softness laid in the depths of his green eyes.
“I’m sure they’re both proud of you, wherever they are,” he said.
“I hope so.”
The sting of tears caused me to blink rapidly. My grief was private, and I didn’t plan to share it with anyone soon.
“Quentin?”
It was strange to hear Matt call me by my given name.
“Yes, Matthew?”
“I was wondering —”
“My, my.” Grayson’s voice cut across the rest of the sentence. “Doesn’t this look cosy?”
I ripped my hand away from Matt’s and turned to see the God standing by the back door.
“Cuff, Grayson,” I snapped.
“Ask nicely,” he replied with just as much heat.
Matthew stood up from his chair. “Do as she says.”
“Or what?” The black aura sparked to life around its owner as he walked over to us. “You really are as stupid as you look.”
I shot out of my seat and moved towards Grayson, wanting to curb the argument before it started.
“You know the rules, Grayson,” I said.
He tore his gaze away from Matthew and looked at me, but I refused to look at his face. He reluctantly held his wrist out to me, and I fastened the cuff around it. At least if they scrapped again, it would be more of an even match.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I told them, picking up the plate and walking towards the house.
“Quentin,” Matt called after me.
“Can I trust you both to keep your egos in check and not ruin my home?” I called back.
“Of course.”
I spent the rest of the night in my bedroom. It had changed little since I was eighteen. The walls were painted sky blue, the desk still had a wobbly leg, and photographs of my parents and my brother and the places I had visited sat on shelves. Clothes were strewn across the floor, and printed copies of scientific and medical papers littered any available surface.
When I glanced at the time on my laptop, I was surprised to see that it was past midnight. Stretching out on the centre of the bed, my back cracked before there was a heavy knock on the door. With a groan, I got up to open it.
“Matth… Grayson?” My brow furrowed in confusion.
He was still dressed in his shirt and trousers while I was in my pyjama shirt yet again. His eyes moved down my body slowly and I wished I had something on hand to cover up a little. Something about his gaze made me feel less modest than I was.
“What do you want?” I asked briskly. “It’s late.”
“You’re still awake,” he pointed out.
“I was looking at data.”
