To the people who gave me a community and a family that would show up for me at a moment’s notice. Amoment’snotice.
I meet Quinn’s eyes. “I’ll miss you all,” I tell them.
Quinn’s brow pinches together, and I see the tears she’s trying to hold back, feeling a sob in my throat. But then she drops her eyes, staring at her drink, and I wait, but she doesn’t look at me again.
I don’t have anything else to say.
The patio is silent, and I’m a piece of shit, but that’s it. It’s over.
Madoc’s smile falls a little, but he recovers quickly, coming in for one more embrace.
I ignore the eyes of everyone waiting for more. They don’t understand, because they can’t. It is what it is.
Except Farrow Kelly. I catch him as he stands there like a stone, staring at me and knowing he’s probably the only one here who knows why it’s best that I leave.
Others approach me—Fallon, Juliet, Tate, Jax, and Jared—some of them hugging me one last time, and others shaking my hand. I thank them for coming.
When I finally lift my head, Quinn is gone.
My heart skips a beat, subtly scanning the pool deck and lawn. She wouldn’t leave…
“I’ll be back,” I tell Madoc.
I head around the house again, to the lower-level patio, but she’s not there. Slipping into the basement, I bolt up the steps, enter the kitchen, and head for the front door. As soon as I open it, I see her walking across the driveway, pulling on a white button-up over her bikini top.
“Quinn?” I call.
What the hell? She walks past cars like she’s leaving.
She turns, the shirt still open.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Home.” She won’t look at me. “It’s just a short walk.”
Turning, she continues for the end of the driveway and the quiet neighborhood road beyond.
I bolt. “Wait.”
She stops, and I see her exhale before she spins around.
I step toward her, pulling the cap out of my back pocket again.
I start to offer it to her, but she laughs. Bitterly. “I don’t want it.”
Looking at me now, her eyes are hooded, her fists clenched.
And I see the moment the curtain in her heart closes. No flexed jaw, no softness in her eyes, no anger, no trembling chin…
Just finality.
“You asked if I was mad at you,” she says.
I did? Oh, yeah. Days ago. In her shop.
“Yes,” she replies. “I am mad at you.”
I swallow through the pain in my throat. I don’t want to hear this.
