by Tia Fielding
“Yeah, but Mom, he didn’t have much clothes on and it’s really cold out there,” the boy whined.
Then he looked at Quinn and from the first moment Quinn got a proper view of the kid’s face he saw…himself.
Jesus Christ. Cold shock rushed over him like a blast of icy water, but his years of experience with tough situations saved him.
“Hey, I’m Quinn,” he said, and held his hand over the table for a shake.
Lennox looked at his hand and frowned, then took it and shook firmly. “Lennox Kyle.”
“This is my old friend, Quinn MacGregor,” Charlie said in a tone that suggested no further questions were allowed. It was a motherly tone that should’ve surprised Quinn but somehow didn’t.
“He’s right, the wind is pretty bad today,” Quinn said and looked at Charlie.
She cussed up a storm, then held up a finger and marched to the kitchen. When she came back, she wasn’t wearing her apron, but still had her nametag on with a coat on her arm.
“Let’s go. You have a car, right?” she asked Quinn.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll take Lennox back to school first—”
“But Mom—”
“No. You’re going back to school and staying there. We’ll find your grandpa and take him home.” She pulled the coat on and pushed the kid toward the door. “Now hustle, I can’t miss more than an hour at most.”
That made Lennox move. It was obvious he knew what it meant if Charlie missed work. They clearly needed the money.
“Side lot,” Quinn called after them and stuffed a few fries into his mouth as he got out of the booth. He left money—including a big tip—on the table, then followed Charlie and her son out.
She was lingering, waiting for him, and as soon as he caught up, she asked, “You carrying?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, once we’re in your car, you’ll put it into the glove box.” Her tone didn’t leave room for argument.
Quinn lifted his hands. “Alright.”
In short order, they were in his car and he put his weapon away.
“Nice Glock,” Lennox quipped from the backseat.
“Shut up,” Charlie snapped.
Quinn didn’t dare to thank Lennox, but the boy was right; it was a nice gun.
* * * *
Quinn slowed at one of the entrances to the combined Spruce Creek Schools compound. Everyone from kindergarteners to high schoolers went to school here. There were several buildings, but if you grew up in this town, this was the place you were stuck at for your childhood.
“Do not slam the door,” Charlie warned when Lennox started to leave.
The boy huffed, then said, “Bye Quinn, bye Mom.” He didn’t slam the door.
Quinn steered the vehicle back to the direction Charlie pointed and a tense minute or two followed.
“Yes, he’s yours,” she finally said when he couldn’t get the words out to ask. “I guess condoms aren’t reliable after all.”
He hadn’t checked. It had been one time and they’d been so ashamed after. He’d never been with a girl before and he hadn’t asked if he was her first. He remembered her lectures of virginity being a social construct anyway so it hadn’t been something he would’ve thought about.
“It’s like fifty, fifty-five right now?” he asked, when a gust of wind rocked the car.
“Yeah, something like that.”
He turned the heat on higher. He wasn’t a fan of Benny Kyle’s, but he didn’t want the man to die of exposure either.
“Try here,” she pointed at the road to one of the trailer parks. “He had a dealer living here last year.”
“Not anymore?”
“No, he lives here, but he stopped selling to Benny when he stopped being able to come up with the cash.”
“Can you hand me my gun, please?” he asked evenly. If there was a possibility that Benny had somehow made it to the dealer…yeah.
Charlie opened the glove box and took out the gun in a way that suggested she was used to handling them now. A big part of Quinn hated that so, so much.
She put the gun on her lap. “You’ll get it once we stop.”
“Okay.”
“It’s in the back road near the mountain,” she said. “Near where Brody tried to grow his own weed.”
They both smiled at the memory. That had been an unmitigated disaster. At least Aaron’s dad had been—no, Quinn couldn’t think of Sheriff Larsen right then.
“What’s he like?” he asked instead as he concentrated on avoiding most of the potholes in the old dirt road.
Charlie chuckled. “Stubborn. Incredibly kind. Brave. Too old for his years.” She glanced at him and then back to the road. “He likes Marvel more than DC and will fight you if you disagree. He gives some of his allowance to his grandpa even though he knows Benny will just buy drugs with it. Lennox says it’s because he doesn’t want his grandpa in pain.”
Quinn could relate. To the pain, that was. Withdrawals sucked.
“I just got out of rehab couple of weeks ago.”
She turned to look at him sharply. “What for?”
“Coke mostly. I did ninety days and I’m sober. I don’t even drink and I don’t smoke weed.”
“Ninety days? That takes funding. How did you manage that?” Her tone was more curious than anything.
She wasn’t wrong. “That’s a longer discussion, we should have a talk—” He slammed on the brakes and his right arm shot out to protect Charlie even though she had her seatbelt on.
“What the fu—oh shit!” She handed the gun to him and was out of the car before he could move.
He could see what had to be the dealer’s trailer in the distance. There were at least two angry-looking dogs barking at the very end of their chains. Benny Kyle hadn’t made it there, he’d collapsed at the last bend of the road, and Quinn had almost driven over his stick-like legs that pointed out from the brushes.
He left his gun on his seat and went to grab a blanket from the trunk. When he made it to Charlie and Benny, he grimaced at the state of the man.
Benny was barely fifty, but he looked eighty.
“He’s alive,” Charlie said, and glanced at Quinn. There was an unsaid “for now” that passed between them.
He handed the blanket to Charlie and she spread it nearby. Benny weighed next to nothing when Quinn lifted him onto the blanket. He watched Charlie wrap it around the frail, used-up, barely dressed form, and then picked the bundle up.
They got Benny into the car and Quinn made a U-turn next to the closest dog.
“Where to?” he asked.
“His place.”
No hospitals for Benny. Quinn understood. Benny would just walk out when he woke up. He was alive for now, and whatever shit was in his system had clearly protected him from the worst.
Once they were on Main Street again and headed for yet another trailer park, Charlie looked at him.
“Did you know that Aaron is in town?”
Quinn nearly swerved off the road. “W-what?”
“Aaron is in town. I went to check up on him. He’s at their old house.” She glanced at Benny in the back seat, probably to see if he was stirring in the oppressive heat of the car. When she turned back, she added, “I didn’t tell him about Lennox.”
“Okay.”
“Look, he probably knows you’re in town too. You’re going to run into him sooner or later. He’s…” She stopped and gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment. “He’s not doing well, Quinn. He’s different.”
Even though he knew it would sound a bit glib, Quinn said, “Aren’t we all?”
Instead of getting mad, she huffed and chuckled.
In the backseat, Benny grunted in confusion.
“Forty-five minutes,” Quinn said.
“What?”
“You’ll make it back to work within forty-five minutes.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.” She smiled at him, reached over, and took his hand.
&nbs
p; That’s how they drove to Benny’s place, and Quinn’s heart felt slightly better. For now.
Chapter 6
The knock on the door jolted Aaron awake, and he blinked into the darkness. It took him a moment to realize where he was. He’d crashed out on the couch in the den, because he’d been too sore after tearing most of the wallpaper down—and too drunk once he rewarded himself when he was done—to climb the stairs to his bedroom. He’d even been too drunk to take his prosthetic off, not that he was complaining about that now, since he couldn’t remember where he’d left his crutches.
He hauled himself to his feet, and limped awkwardly to the door.
What the hell time was it? It was dark, and that was all he knew. Maybe Uncle Will was finishing his shift and had taken pity on him and was bringing him dinner. Or maybe it was Charlie, or Brody. Hell, that was three more people than would knock on his door back in Phoenix. Aaron didn’t know if that was a good thing, or if he really did just want to be left alone.
Whoever it was knocked on the door again.
“I’m coming!” Aaron called. “Hold your fucking horses!”
He grimaced as pain shot through his leg, and wrenched the door open.
Jesus.
It was Quinn MacGregor.
Aaron’s jaw dropped, and he stared.
Quinn glared back, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, and was hunched over like he was trying to disappear. At the same time he was bristling, like he was fueled by a low-burning anger, just the same as he’d been so many times when they were kids. Aaron could see it in his clenched jaw, and in the lines on his forehead, and in his dark, penetrating stare.
And fuck him, because Aaron was still a little bit drunk, but already working his way towards a hangover, and Quinn MacGregor was the last person he wanted to see. Well, unless he was in the mood for a fight, he guessed. Aaron might not have known how to fight the first time he’d challenged Quinn, but he’d sure as shit learned a thing or two in the past decade.
He drew a breath and tried to keep his voice steady. “We have nothing to say to one another.”
“Wait!” Quinn pulled his hands out of his pockets and held them up as though he was expecting Aaron to slam the door in his face. His expression shifted for a second, and that sudden flash of vulnerability underneath his anger went straight through Aaron’s defenses like it always had. “I have a kid. Me and…me and Charlie, we have a kid.”
Aaron felt a jolt of shock, followed by the sting of betrayal. Not because he gave a fuck about Quinn MacGregor, but because of Charlie. She was his best friend, and she had a kid now? With Quinn? No, actually, that part hurt more than he wanted to admit.
“Sounds like none of my fucking business,” he said, his grip tightening on the door as he prepared to shut it.
“I—” Quinn clenched his jaw tight before he spoke again. “I just found out. Today.”
“What do you want, Quinn?” The words didn’t sound as angry as Aaron had intended. They sounded tired. “What the fuck do you want me to say to that?”
“I want…” Quinn’s mouth twisted and his eyes blazed in the bright moonlight. “I want you to make it make sense, Aaron! That’s what you always did! You made it all make sense!”
Aaron thought back to the night down by the creek, when he’d pushed Quinn up against a tree and held him while he raged. He thought of how he’d carded his fingers through the waves of Quinn’s long hair. And now he just stared at Quinn stupidly, and said, “You cut your hair.”
Quinn’s mouth quirked. “Yeah.”
And then he stepped inside the house.
Aaron could have yelled at him to leave—a part of him still wanted to—but since when had Quinn MacGregor ever listened to him? A sudden flash of memory assaulted him: Him and Quinn, standing in the kitchen, a decade ago.
“Hey,” Aaron had said. He’d been trying to play it cool, but had ruined it the second the rest of the words tumbled from his mouth: “You can’t be here.”
Quinn’s mouth had lifted in a faint smile, and he’d shrugged. “Well, I am.”
“Where’s Jimmy?” Aaron had known he had to be here somewhere. Jimmy and Quinn always hung out together. Whenever you saw one of them, the other one wasn’t far behind. Except Quinn had only shrugged.
“He left.”
“You need to leave too.”
“Come on, man, I just poured this.” Quinn had held up his beer.
“You can take it with you.”
Quinn had looked at him like he was crazy. “What the hell is wrong with you? I thought this was supposed to be a party.”
“You weren’t invited,” Aaron had said, his heart beating faster.
Quinn had tilted his head. “Do you even know how parties work?”
“Just go,” Aaron had crossed to the back door and opened it. “Just get out.”
“Dear Trip Advisor,” Quinn had said, rolling his eyes. “Zero stars. The owner was rude and unwelcoming and wouldn’t even let me finish my beer.”
Jesus. Quinn had always been a mouthy asshole. Aaron wondered if ten years had changed either one of them enough that this time he’d actually take a hint and Aaron could throw him out. But then he thought of what Quinn had just said. Not about having a kid with Charlie, though that was fucking insane, but about Aaron making it all make sense for him. Was that really true? Instead of throwing Quinn out, he found himself closing the door after him, and sliding his hand up the wall to flick on the interior light.
Then he turned around to face him, and Quinn stared back at him warily.
Quinn looked as though he’d done some hard living, which wasn’t any surprise. Not for Spruce Creek, and especially not for a MacGregor. Aaron might have been through some shit these last couple of years, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have as many crow’s feet as Quinn. When they’d been teenagers, Aaron had been baby-faced. Quinn never had been. All his angles had sharpened with adulthood, and there were shadows under his eyes as dark as bruises.
“You look like shit,” Aaron said.
Quinn dug a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one without permission. “Yeah? At least I didn’t dye my hair.”
“Fuck you. It got darker as I got older, okay? You think I’m seriously vain enough to dye my hair?”
“I liked you better as a hot blond.” Quinn cast his narrow gaze around the room. “You got an ashtray in here?”
“No, because I don’t fucking smoke.” There was something maddening about the way Quinn had always done this: just barged his way into Aaron’s life and did whatever the hell he wanted and expected Aaron to be okay with it. It gave him a weird twinge in his chest to know that at least some things never changed.
Quinn walked into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later with a mug. “So can I talk to you about this, or are you going to bitch and moan and try to throw me out?”
“Fuck you,” Aaron said, and limped his way over to the couch and sat down. When he looked back up, Quinn was watching him with a faint frown.
Quinn looked around at the lack of furniture, and sat down on the couch beside Aaron. He flicked ash into the coffee mug. “We left,” he said abruptly. “After my father’s trial, when we knew he wasn’t coming home again, Mom and I left Spruce Creek.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Chicago,” Quinn said.
“What’s it you do there?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” Quinn drew in another lungful of smoke and exhaled it slowly. It hung in the air like a ghost before fading away. “Point is, I was here a while after you’d already gone. And me and Charlie were both pretty fucked up, I guess. We got drunk one night, and, well, it happened. Only once, but I guess once is all it takes, right? So now it turns out I’m a dad.”
“You’re not a dad,” Aaron said, his voice hardening at the word. “You’re a sperm donor. When did you get back into town?”
“Two days ago.” Quinn
huffed out a breath. “This kid is nine, Aaron. He’s like his own little person, and I never even suspected he existed. I can’t even wrap my head around it.”
“There’s a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen,” Aaron said.
Quinn shrugged. “I don’t drink.”
Aaron let out a burst of laughter. “Since when?”
Quinn held his gaze. “Since I got out of rehab a couple of weeks ago.”
“Jesus.” Aaron searched his face again, reading something new into every line.
“What? You’re surprised?”
Aaron raised his eyebrows. “I’m not surprised at a MacGregor with a drug habit, no. I guess I’m surprised about the rehab part though. That doesn’t seem like your style.”
“It wasn’t by choice,” Quinn said. “But it’s done now, and it was fucked up, and I hated every minute of it enough not to waste it by backsliding, you know?”
“Nope.” Aaron pushed himself to his feet.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the fucking whiskey.” Aaron tried to walk naturally as he went into the kitchen to fetch the bottle, but he knew his gait was too stiff to hide. He grabbed the whiskey off the counter and brought the bottle back into the den. He sat down on the couch again, ignoring the pain shooting up the remains of his leg as he untwisted the cap on the whiskey bottle and took a swig. “So what are you doing back in Spruce Creek?”
“Family business,” Quinn said, his tone suddenly flat.
“Oh yeah? You’re suddenly not so chatty, huh?” Aaron took another swig of whiskey. “And here I thought we were catching up like old friends.”
He couldn’t read Quinn’s expression as Quinn leaned down and set the mug on the floor, dropping the butt of the cigarette into it. Smoke curled up. “We were never friends though, were we, Aaron?”
“Fuck buddies, then.”
Quinn studied him for a moment. “That’s really what you think we were?”
Aaron felt hot anger uncurl in his gut. “Whatever we were, asshole, was ruined the night your father shot mine in the back of the head and left him to die on the side of the road like he was less than an animal.”
He expected Quinn to say it wasn’t his fault. He expected him to defend himself, to remind Aaron that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t like his father or the rest of the MacGregors. But instead, Quinn only held his gaze and said, in a voice softer than Aaron could handle right now, “How much are you drinking these days, Aaron?”