“Hope there’s a tub in the room, you need a soak.”
For once, Aaron didn’t object.
* * * *
There was, indeed, a tub in the room. Charlie said she’d have Lennox either sleep or do his thing until nine so she could get some shut eye, and they agreed to leave town by midday.
“So everyone figures their stuff out and if you guys want to go look at cars, you can. But only after nine.”
“We’ll grab Lennox with us when we go, give you a while longer to sleep. Be up at nine, buddy,” Quinn told the kid who beamed tiredly, clearly ready to go back to sleep whether he knew it or not.
“Okay!”
When Aaron and Quinn finally set their alarm for eight thirty and cuddled up under the motel sheets, Quinn felt a modicum of peace.
“You okay?” he asked Aaron quietly.
“Yeah. I will be.”
“Same.”
And that was all they were going for anyway, wasn’t it? To be okay eventually, somewhere far away from Spruce Creek. This was just the first leg of their journey there, but one day, they’d be content and all together and nothing would change that if Quinn could help it at all.
“Now sleep. We’ll get the car and the antibiotics and an obscene amount of takeout breakfast stuff and go wake up Charlie later.”
“The man with a plan,” Quinn teased, kissing Aaron’s neck.
Snorting, Aaron shook his head against the pillow. “Time one of us had an actual plan, eh?”
Chapter 22
Aaron didn’t believe in happy endings, not exactly, but he was a fan of new beginnings. And nothing came easy that was worth having anyway, in his experience. Reaching Vermont and renting a place surrounded by trees didn’t suddenly make everything better—they were all way too stubborn to not butt heads every couple of days or so—but it gave them something to work on.
Charlie was having difficulties settling, because she figured now that the danger was gone, why not go back to Spruce Creek?
“Go back?” Quinn asked one morning, lifting his brow as he fried bacon in the pan. “What the fuck for? That place was a dead end, Charlie, and it was sucking the life out of you.”
“Like you two won’t?” She tossed her head. “Besides, my dad’s still there.”
“Your dad’s a dead end too.” Quinn smirked. “Take it from someone who knows.”
“Okay!” Aaron got between them before things could get too heated. “Charlie, you promised you’d give it a few months at least, remember? If you still hate it then, I’ll drive you back to Nevada myself.” He put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder, his fingers digging in. “And maybe stop being an asshole, okay?”
Which was like telling water to stop running downhill.
“He’s right,” Charlie said. “About my dad. But that doesn’t mean I want to hear it! You don’t have to tell me like it’s news, Quinn, like you think I’m stupid enough that I don’t already know it!”
Quinn showed her his palms in apology. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, it’s what I heard, okay?”
“I’m sorry.”
Jesus. Every day it was hackles up with these two, and Aaron knew he wasn’t much better. The rubber tips of his crutches squeaked on the floor as he made his way over to the breakfast bar—he’d been taking it easy with his prosthetic since things had come to a head in Spruce Creek. Too much running around that night had caused pressure sores on his stump that were slow to heal.
Quinn was walking wounded too. He wore a sling to keep his arm supported, and bitched about it too. Now, as Quinn turned back to frying the bacon one-handed, Aaron could almost see the gears ticking over in his thick skull and figured it was only a matter of time before he got pissed and tugged the sling off in a fit of childish pique.
So could Charlie, clearly. She took the spatula off him and nudged him out of the way.
