Aaron: Be careful, Quinn. Please.
Q: I’ll do my best.
* * * *
Aunt Karen was ready for whatever would come, that much was obvious. She looked Quinn in the eye, gave him orders on what to do to help with the funeral, and then went to do her own thing.
Arthur, Eric, and Henry came by at nine, and all of them were clearly affected by Uncle Ian’s death. Arthur the most, of course, and Quinn couldn’t help but to hug him briefly when he caught Arthur in Ian’s study just before ten.
“You ready to leave?” Quinn asked him quietly.
“As soon as we get the last guests out of this house, I’m putting your aunt in my car, we’re getting my Therese, and we’re going.”
“Good. I’m taking everyone that’s mine and leaving tonight, too.” There was no shame in admitting as much. “I hate to leave it all in Jimmy’s hands, but…”
His cell phone buzzed loudly in the relative quiet of Uncle Ian’s study, and he frowned apologetically.
“I don’t mind,” Arthur assured him and went back to checking something at Ian’s desk.
Charlie: Two bikers with vests just marched past the diner windows.
Q: Stay safe.
Quinn cursed out loud, making Arthur look at him sharply.
“What’s going on?”
“Bikers in town,” Quinn replied, briefly wondering what Arthur’s reaction would be and how he could get a message of this to Day when he hadn’t actually brought his burner phone to the MacGregor house.
Arthur stopped what he was doing, let his head drop a bit, and then cursed out a storm under his breath. “That fucking little rat! I swear if I had the manpower he does, I’d take him down myself…”
Quinn shook his head. “Don’t even think about it. You’re retiring tonight, Arthur. Don’t do anything rash today, not even when you really feel like doing something to teach him a lesson. Think of Ian, okay? Think of Therese and you guys’ kids and grandkids.”
Arthur took in a few deep breaths, then looked at Quinn. “You’re right. I can’t do anything to bring hurt to them.” He put away the papers he’d been examining. “Thank you, Quinn.”
In that moment, Quinn wanted to come clean. But he couldn’t. Quinn had been born MacGregor, but he wasn’t one anymore. Now, he was a worse enemy than Jimmy; a cop. If he told Arthur that, as much as it would break Arthur’s heart, he’d get rid of Quinn. It would be fast, probably merciful if for nothing else than as a show of respect to Quinn’s mother, but he’d end up in a shallow grave in the desert before he could get a word to Day to look for him.
Of course, Quinn would try to go out guns blazing, literally or figuratively, but he had no doubt in his mind how he’d be accepted if anyone in this house knew. It was all about the unspoken code that the family came first, up until someone betrayed their ideals. Becoming something opposite of what the MacGregor legacy had been for a few generations now was the worst thing Quinn could’ve done.
Even being queer and fucking the late sheriff’s son were things the MacGregors could see past because of the fact that he was Robert’s son. But no son of a MacGregor would ever disgrace their family name like this and live to tell the tale.
There were raised voices in the front of the house, and Quinn and Arthur quickly moved there.
Jimmy was standing right inside the door, swaying on his feet with a troubled looking Caroline hovering behind him.
“Are you going to behave?” Karen asked, her voice steel and her back ramrod straight.
“He’s going to behave,” Caroline replied in Jimmy’s stead. “Right, Jimmy?”
It was barely ten, two hours until the graveside service, and Jimmy was drunk. Then again, if Quinn had killed his own father, he might’ve been drunk too.
Jimmy grunted, then stepped forward and laid eyes on Quinn and Arthur. Something dark twisted his expression then.
Two of Jimmy’s guys, Zeke and Mason, stepped inside, hovering awkwardly behind Caroline.
“No. Absolutely not,” Karen said. “You boys are welcome at the graveside, but not under this roof.”
Quinn stepped closer to Karen on instinct.
