I toss an empty pastry bag into a nearby trash can, frowning. “What's wrong?”
"About Alison… I haven't heard anything back from the hospital yet, but I've got a contact in the city mortuary who said he'd look into it. It's just...difficult to track anything down without any official paperwork."
I’m glad he’s brought it up. I didn’t want to push the subject.
"Maybe you can ask your father." Unease settles in the pit of my stomach. “Maybe he’d know?”
Quin winces. "I will, but I'd rather save that as a last resort. Give me a week or so more, if I don't get answers, then I will."
I nod, sighing as dread presses down on my shoulders. What a mess.
Quin takes my hand. “We’ll get our answers, darling. I promise.”
“I know.”
“Then what is it? You look…worried.”
I nibble on my bottom lip, hesitant to voice my irrational fears. Or maybe they’re rational. Something in my gut is telling me that the trip he’s leaving on tonight isn’t exactly as safe and normal as he’s painting it out to be.
"Are you sure you need to go to Texas?"
Quin casts me a weak smile, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's only for a couple of days, love. I'll be home before you know it."
I eye him warily, uncertainty gnawing at me. "Fine. But be careful."
He brushes off my concern with a dismissive wave. "It's just a study, darling. I'll be?—"
I cut him off, my tone firm and unwavering. "Becareful, Quin. I mean it."
Right there, in that moment, I see a flicker of dishonesty in his eyes. I want to pry. I want to force him to spill his guts to me, but I stop, protecting myself from the havoc the truth may cause. Maybe he knows me better than I know myself. Whatever he’s hiding, maybe it’s for the best. Maybe it won’t hurt him. Or me.
“I love you, darling.” Quin caresses my cheek with the back of his cold hand. “More than anything in the entire world.”
I lean into his touch, praying that he’ll make smart choices, that he won’t do something stupid. I’d die if anything happened to him. I’d cease to exist. “I love you too.”
Quin swallows, a silent understanding passing between us as he leans in to kiss me goodbye. His lie lingers on my lips as I watch him leave. I wipe it off, unwilling to let it soak into my skin.
When I step into the elevator, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see my mother's name flashing on the screen.
My unease triples.
Oh God.
Racing through the corridors of the office building, my heart pounds inside my chest, matching the frantic pace of my steps. I reach my office door and fumble with the code as my phone continues to ring. I've been avoiding her calls for weeks now, dodging her questions and evading her probing meddling. But I can't keep this up forever. Sooner or later, I'll have to face the inevitable.
The last text she sent still burns in my mind.
I will take your lack of communication or visitation to mean you've found yourself a man.
I wince, the memory like a knife slicing my fragile reserve. I've always been good at lying to my mother,but the thought of deceiving her in regard to the two most important men in my life, men who saved me, both physically and mentally, fills me with a deep sense of shame.
But how can I tell her the truth? How can I explain that I've been keeping secrets from her, that I've been living a life she knows nothing about? A life she won’t, in a million years, understand. It’s not like I can introduce them both. It’s not like I can say I love them both. She’d have a heart attack. Literally.
My phone buzzes again, interrupting my train of thought, and I stare at the screen with a mix of dread and resignation. With a shaky breath, I answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Emery," my mother's voice comes through the line, crisp and composed as always. "Your father and I are coming to Manhattan to visit you next week. Let me know if you have hypoallergenic pillows or if we need to bring our own."
