My eyes took a minute to adjust to the Lantern’s dim light. Winter on Glenvulin meant fewer tourists and at this time inthe morning, there were only a few people in the pub. I spotted Quinn, staring stonily down into an untouched pint while his best friend Forde studied him. It was the look on Forde’s face that set my alarm bells ringing.
Forde Dallas was a pretty boy who attempted to cover his pretty-boy looks with scruff and tattoos. He used humor and charm as a guard and even after all these years, I didn’t feel like I really knew him. The one thing I did know was that Quinn was his family, and he’d do anything for him.
Right now, Forde Dallas looked absolutely gutted as he looked on at his friend.
What the hell had happened?
I was hurrying across the pub before I could think. “Quinn,” I said his name breathlessly as I approached the table.
My boyfriend’s head snapped up, his eyes flaring for a few seconds before his jaw clenched. “What are you doing here?”
The chill in his tone knotted my stomach with dread. “We need to talk. Please.”
That hardness in his blue eyes melted. But not with relief. Instead, they seemed to glisten with emotion. “Taran, what are you doing here?” he repeated, like he was terrified of the answer.
“Please, Quinn.”
Forde reached over and tapped Quinn’s knee. “Go talk to her, mate.” Why was his tone and expression so grim?
I was missing something.
Quinn nodded dazedly and pushed up to his feet, taking a second as if to steady himself. Without looking at me, he gestured toward the exit. “We should talk at my place.”
As I hurried to keep up with his long strides, the icy silence between us as we walked down Main Street reminded me of our last night in Glasgow. I told myself not to panic, that all the tension coming off Quinn was because I hadn’t apologized yet or asked for an end to the breakup.
But as this awful feeling emanated from him, I realized I’d made a selfish error in not communicating at all with him over the last few months.
What ifhedidn’t want to end the break?
I was out of breath from fear by the time we made it upstairs and into his small flat.
Quinn threw his keys on the coffee table in his living room and then slumped down onto an armchair, putting his head in his hands.
Not the repose of a man relieved to see me.
“Quinn …” His name was almost a whisper as I tentatively took a seat on the couch near him. I reached over to touch his knee. “I’m so sorry. I should have called over the last few months. I just … I’m sorry for putting you through this. My head was all over the place, and I just needed the break to figure things out.” I squeezed his knee, but he didn’t move. Didn’t look at me. “Quinn, I love you so much. That’s what the breakup made me see. I love you and we can figure this out. I … I don’t want to take a break anymore. I’ve missed you unbearably.”
Silence echoed around the room upon my declaration, but it was quickly filled by the whooshing of blood in my ears as my unease grew at Quinn’s brooding demeanor.
Finally … “Mo luaidh …” The Gaelic endearment he’d started using when we were sixteen sounded like it had been scraped from the depths of his soul.
Then he dropped his hands from his head and looked at me.
And I knew … I didn’t know what … but I knew something was terribly wrong.
“Quinn, what’s happened? Is it your Mum? Cammie?”
He searched my face, tears brightening his eyes. I had never seen Quinn cry. “I … Oh fuck, Taran, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
I pulled my hand back, starting to shiver as if my body knew before I did. “Tell me what?”
His breathing turned ragged. “Kiera … Kiera Donnelly is two months pregnant.”
Instantly, my heart plummeted.
“I’m … I’m the father.”
No.
