I hated stitches. More nowthan I ever had before.
No, I’d be fine. It’dcrust over, and the scar might be a little worse for it, but I didn’t mindthat.
If it was still bleedingtomorrow, I’dlet someone look at it.
“How’s your tea?” Quinnasked.
“Lovely,” I said, sipping itand fighting to hide a grimace at the bitter, over-steeped taste.
“It’s sweet that you’relying to me, but I can try again.”
“No, love,” I murmured. “Thisis perfect.”
Quinn shuffled closer to me,tucking himself against my shoulder and letting me take some of his weight.
That was good. I could feelhim breathing, almost hear his heartbeat from here.
… that might have been myownheartbeat, stillpounding in my skull, but I liked the idea that it was Quinn’s.
I would have killed for a napbut based on the lump forming on the back of my head and the fact that I wasstill fighting back nausea, that seemed risky.
I’d had enough risk for oneday. I was meant to be retired from constant life-threatening situations.
“How’re you feeling?” Iasked, determined to keep my mind off my own woes. Quinn had been through a lotthis morning, too.
“Like my contract isdefinitelygetting torn uplater today,”he said, snuggling closer.
“You don’t sound devastated,”I pointed out. That was a change from yesterday.
Quinn shrugged. “You know, theymade me choose between that contract and you, and I… as soon as I’d made thedecision, I regretted it. So. I’m glad I got the chance to put that right. Imean, I’m not glad you got hurt, but…”
“I know what you mean,” Isaid, sipping my tea again. I kept forgetting justhowawful it was,but then after every mouthful I remembered that Quinn had made it for me eventhough he had no idea what he was doing, and the taste didn’t matter.
It was a vicious cycle, andI couldn’twait to repeat it again and again.
“You’re really not mad atme?” Quinn asked, wrapping his arms around one of mine. I got the feeling hewould have liked to crawl into my jacket, and if there’d been enough space, Iwould have let him. Webothneeded it right now.
“I was never mad at you,” Isaid. “Only at myself for not protecting you better.”
“You’ve protected me everystep of the way,” Quinn responded, shifting to look up at me. “I couldn’t haveasked for more.”
“You could’ve asked for meto figure out it was dear old Uncle Vincent sooner, so you’d never be in a positionwhere youhadto choose. Thiscould all have gone very differently.”
Quinn sighed. “You’re notpsychic. And you know… I’m okay with this. I was never happy. You know that.”
“I know,” I agreed. Quinnhadn’tbeen happy, andI was secretly glad that he now had an excuse to get away from all this.
“Who helped Vincent?” Quinnasked. “You said you’d found them.”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell,”I said. “But I will, if it means that much to you. Icansay they thoughtthey were doing the right thing.”
“Was it Lucy?”
“No. No, I promise it wasn’tLucy. She seems all right.”
“She got me coffee when Iwas upset after you left,” Quinn said. “Even though she found me crying in thewomen’s bathroom.”
“Why the women’s?”
