by Camden Leigh
“I actually wanted to talk to you.”
I glance over the people one last time then turn my full attention on her. “Okay.”
“It’s about the other night.”
“The questions game?” I fold my arms. She’s treading dangerous waters. “Did you drink too much and can’t remember anything? I’m not rehashing.”
She laughs and tosses her chin in the air. “Don’t be silly. I took as many questions as shots. It’s the Covington girls who needed a wheelbarrow ride home.”
I nibble my cheek and stare at her perfect button nose with its slightly flattened tip and graceful arc leading to her heavily made-up eyes. Freckles spill across her cheeks in a failed attempt to blanket her tan skin. They’re much more sedate than mine. Cute even. She really is a striking girl. Too bad she isn’t likable. “I’m not up for another round, sorry.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you and Quinn.”
I narrow my eyes. She’s kidding right? Unless she means thinking of killing me and saddling Quinn.
“It’s great he’s committing to his feelings for once.”
“For once?”
“Yeah. In high school he was tough to pin down. All the girls tried—and he’s probably sampled most of our class—but no one had that je ne sais quoi he needed to give his all.”
“And I suppose you did.”
Annabeth moves to the railing and slides her hands along the banister. “I’ve known him for years. We know everything about each other.” She looks over her shoulder to me. “And I do mean everything.”
“What’s his favorite color?” I haven’t a clue but I’ll humor her.
“Green.”
“No wonder he can’t take his eyes off mine.” I blink rapidly.
She frowns.
“Favorite food?”
“Snack, boiled peanuts. Main course, rare fillet. Breakfa—”
“And right after sex? He’s always starving when we finish. What quenches his hunger, Annabeth? What should I serve him in bed? What will energize him for rounds two, three, and four?” I move into her space and mirror her smug expression.
“The point is, you aren’t familiar. You aren’t me. Quinn always comes back to me. Always.” She taps her hands against the railing and the vibration travels up my arms, sending angry heat to my head. “He’s honest and genuine. And we both know he’s the first to right his mistakes.” She crosses her arms. “And he made a mistake with me.”
“I think he considers your breakup a relief.”
Her jaw flinches, then slides sideways. She twists her lips in irritation. “Don’t think you’re special. He sees you as a project. A summer fling. A means to an end.”
I’ve exhausted all reasoning on why Quinn would choose me, even thought maybe I was nothing more than a fleeting attraction. Like a festival—here today, gone tomorrow. It made no sense when I met him and he lit a spark, but makes perfect since now that I’ve spent a little time in his fire. “What if I am the end, and you were the means that got him here?”
Magenta brushstrokes surge across her cheek as if I’d slapped her. With her silence, I take my cue, and figuring since Quinn is nowhere around that he remembered to give his speech, I move down the stairs toward one of the carriage drivers. I tell him I’d like a ride once Quinn arrives. As I wait, I stare up at the moon and the dancing stars around it when someone approaches.
“How could you be the end? You know nothing about his family. You don’t know why their family is so disjointed,” Annabeth screams at my back. “Or how to piece them back together. You make things worse.”
Wheeling around on my heels, I say, “For who, Annabeth? For you?”
She closes the gap between us and points her perfectly manicured finger at my nose. “For me. For his mom . . . for Quinn. Mostly for Quinn. Don’t ruin things for us or Mrs. Covington will be sure to ruin you.”
“News flash, I knew that the second I decided Quinn was worth more than my diploma. Don’t go feeding me bullshit, Annabeth. It won’t work. Make your excuses, do your damage . . . I don’t care. It won’t change how I feel for Quinn, and I’m certain it won’t change how he feels about me.”
“His mom wants him to marry me, and she gets what she wants. Don’t stand in her way.”
That’s it? This is about a wedding Mayor of Crazyville planned before the bride has a ring? “You do realize marriage takes two consenting people, right?”
“Not exactly.” She breathes a heavy sigh but grows taller.
Several people gather on the steps near the main door and I cast a quick glance at their faces. Quinn’s hugging his sister and has a huge grin on his face. Ellie waves him off and he glances in my direction.
I look back at Annabeth. “You planning on kidnapping him? Stowing him in a suitcase and whisking him off to Vegas for a sham wedding?”
She smiles, accenting her best feature, a straight line of pearly whites. Sickening. I move my eyes up to meet hers. Quinn’s laughter registers and then Ellie’s.
Why can’t I shake the feeling I’m missing something? “Then what do you mean, not exactly? Just say it and deem me too stupid to get it.”
My heart takes a dive into my feet. Are they married already? I step back. “Wait . . . are you two—”
“Let me break it down for you, sweat pea. Quinn’s resilient and independent. His family doesn’t understand this new Quinn. They’re walking on eggshells around him. I, on the other hand, know what he needs. I know who he needs. I love him, but his mom loves him more, and she’ll do whatever it takes to keep him from leaving. With you.”
This girl is off her rocker. She’s mad. Quinn’s already told me he isn’t leaving. I know we haven’t talked about what we’re to do after the wedding, but him leaving isn’t an option, especially if his family is as nervous as Annabeth says. I’d never ask that of him.
“Mrs. Covington has the ammo to make him stay, but I told her I’m not ready to open a nasty bag of worms.” She dusts her hands like she’s too good for blackmail, but it sounds like that’s exactly what she’s threatening. “I’m biding my time. Waiting for him to get you out of his system. If I’m not careful, he’ll run again. Once the wedding is over, you’ll leave. Quinn will be devastated.” She taps her heart. “That’s the only thing keeping me from laying down the final card and the only thing keeping Momma C from firing you.”
“Firing me?”
“You stand between Quinn and his happiness. Taking you out of the picture could send him running, but if done correctly, could land him right back where he belongs.”
“With you. Here in Lucas Hill.” I breathe.
“With me, who already has her blessings to extend the family line. With me and my four-year-old son.”
“You have a kid. So what?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, my gut clenches. A tightening fear that my calculations are right make breathing a challenge. For once, I need my math to be wrong. Be wrong dammit. I huff a single breath. Another labored one. My corset feels tighter with each opening of my lungs. No. No. No. I shake my head. I’m worrying for no reason. Someone would’ve told me. His sisters would’ve said something.
“That’s impossible,” I breathe.
“I thought so, too, but a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with Covington blood running through his veins is proof it isn’t.”
“Have you told him?” I rub my stomach.
“We’re waiting.”
“We?”
“His mom and I.” Annabeth folds her arms. And checkmate.
“What about Ellie and his sisters? How did you keep it from them?” None of this makes sense. This can’t be happening. I tread a small circle, scared of falling over and crashing to my knees right along with my heart.
“I live overseas for a reason.” She studies her nails, then waves me off. “I’m not here to crucify the Covingtons or slander their good name with news of an illegitimate child, but I can’t safeguard that information forever. Mrs. Covington knows it and now y
ou know it.”
I double over and the boning in the corset digs into my sides. Standing straight and walking in circles, I reach for air near the moon, clean, unadulterated air.
“Are you so selfish you’d deny a boy his father? Would Quinn want that after losing his own father?” She looks over my shoulder. “This is your chance, Cassidy. To do the right thing.”
I can’t fathom seeing the look in Quinn’s eyes when he realizes I know he has a kid. He’ll think I hid it. Besides, a kid changes everything. Annabeth’s right. He’ll do what’s honorable. He’ll claim the boy, as he should, but I wouldn’t put it past his mom to weave some fantastical story about how he and Annabeth were married overseas and she’s delighted the . . . family is moving back to the States. Putting me in the crosshairs of the entire Southeast.
“I . . . um—”
“Go. I’ll take care of Quinn.”
Hearing her words hurts more than the pain of leaving. I trip up the carriage steps and push away the driver when he tries to help me. I collapse on the floorboard, my dress pluming over me like a bruised raincloud filled to the brim with sadness. Annabeth tells the driver to go, and Quinn’s voice calling my name grows dim as the carriage makes its way down the drive.
I grab at the laces on my back, pulling the ribbon until the knot gives. My breathing grows shorter and raspier. Is this why his mom told me to stay away? Were all the times she pushed Annabeth on Quinn because of her grandchild? I don’t know what’s worse, Annabeth keeping it from Quinn, or his mom keeping it from him. Annabeth and that child were her plan to keep him here. And her plan to end me.
I tug at the fabric around my stomach. Oh God, I’m going to be sick. That poor boy. Four years is too long for anyone not to know their father. Especially someone as gracious and loving as Quinn. I can’t be the reason another day passes without them knowing each other.
Besides, Quinn knows the reality of having a father and losing him. He won’t want that for the boy. All Annabeth has to do is tell Quinn she and their son permanently live overseas, and I’m ninety-five percent sure he will follow. For the boy, not her. And I’m one hundred percent sure I’d break apart, watching him go and pretending I’m okay with it. So why not simplify it for the both of us and remove myself from the equation before it comes to that?
The carriage jolts to a stop and I clamber from the tight quarters. The horses’ hooves beat the gravel, growing quieter as I stand there like an idiot trying to figure out where to go. What to do. I take several steps toward my rental only to remember Quinn convinced me to turn it in to save money. I run to the side, under the oak, and stare at the spot like the car will suddenly appear. Still unable to breathe, I unthread my bodice, yanking the ribbons until they break, then lift the stiff clothing over my head. I roll forward and rest my hands on my knees as much-needed air floods my lungs.
I drop the bodice on the ground when more hooves clop against the gravel; this time growing closer. There’s the door to the kitchen, Quinn in the carriage or the barn. Choosing the kitchen means confronting Quinn. I refuse to play the messenger. The look on his face will crush me. I shake my head. He’ll try to talk me out of leaving. He’ll say we can work it out. Until he realizes what he wants doesn’t matter because someone else’s life now depends on him.
I dash down the hill toward the barn and roll the door open far enough to disappear into the darkness. God, how many times has darkness been my light? It’s the one thing I enjoyed when I lived at home. Darkness meant the house slept. My mom slept. And now, I need it to mean Quinn will sleep. I need it to comfort me so I can figure out how to disappear and how to patch up the mess my heart’s become.
The kelly-green truck that fated our meeting sits in one of the bays. I kick off my heels and throw them in the back then hoist my skirt hem to my hips. In two tries I manage to find stable footing on the bumper and crawl into the truck bed. I sit back against the cab and listen to the silence. Close my eyes to my problems and wait for my breathing to ease. When I’m grounded as much as possible, I pull my phone out and call the one person I trust.
“Hey, girl.” Noise junks up the connection, but hearing Lilian’s voice brings relief. “Cass?”
The ease I’d managed disappears and my breaths increase. Tears swell in my eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.
“I think I get it. Just tell me it isn’t true,” she asks.
She has no idea what her words actually evoke. True: I fell for the nice guy. True: He has a son he doesn’t know about. True: He’ll make a great father. True: Life royally sucks right now.
“So, the Not-a-Cowboy?” The clamor in the background grows dim and then a door shuts. “Did he hurt you?”
A sharp ache locks my answer inside.
“Tell me what’s up, Cass. I know it’s big.”
I search the dark barn for something to focus on so I won’t cry. I spot an old rusted watering can reflecting moonlight from the door I’d left cracked. I stare at the shape. Study the depth and the colors, how they shift under shadows. I analyze the shit out of it so I can speak without a waiver. “I fell. Hard.” One, two, three holes in the spout. Three tiny pinholes. I stare at the watering can, holding in why I called.
“Falling can be good.”
“It was great.” My cheek twitches and I grit my teeth.
“Who fucked it up, you or him? Did you fart during sex? That would so end a relationship for me.”
I bust out laughing and then my cheeks soften and my huffed laughter morphs into strained breaths. And tears. I release the pins holding my hair up and lay down, resting my head on a flattened hay bale. “He’s one of the good guys.”
“And?”
“He’ll make a great father.”
“Whoa, are you pregnant?” she squeals.
My heart flutters imagining a future with Quinn and our kid standing between us. I shake the nonsense out of my head. Nothing but a fairytale. A nightmare. “His ex was.”
Lilian sucks in a breath. “Shit. Meaning?”
I release the pent up air in my lungs. The sweet, dusty scent of hay fills me on my next inhale. “He has a son he doesn’t know about.”
“But you do?” My silence answers her questions. “You ran, didn’t you?”
I close my eyes. I shouldn’t have run. Maybe I should’ve told him. He deserves to know, but that isn’t my news to tell. I’m not involved . . . and can’t be. “Running or not, I can’t stay. This wasn’t a part of the plan. He wasn’t part of the plan.” Quinn needs a clear head for when Annabeth tells him. He’ll need his family. Not a distraction. Not. Me. “I should’ve stayed away. I should’ve stuck to my plan.”
“Let me ask you something, and don’t feed me bullshit because you get all defensive. Okay?” Lil says.
“Be open-minded. Got it.” I wipe tears from my face and stare up at the beams crossing over my head.
“Numbers are your nemesis. I can hear you calculating percentages for different outcomes right now. Why does everything you do have to follow some goddamn structure? Life is crazy, Cass. People get dealt shit all the time. You of all people should know that.”
I know I’m crazy about structure. Numbers. Even when I try not to be. I even have a formula for reacting to shit. First reaction: disbelief. Second reaction: disappointment. Third reaction: figuring out a solution to the problem.
I bite my lip to hold in my first and second reaction and work on my third. The solution is giving Quinn space to figure out this twist. The solution is me leaving so he can go with a clear conscious.
“You can survive and you can succeed without plotting your life on that stupid graph you have taped above your bed,” she continues. “High marks and accolades will not help you through this. You need to go back to him. Talk to him. If there’s something real between you and this guy, then fight for it, otherwise, your life will never be anything more than a paint by number someone else designed.”
Every choice I’ve made has been to better my chances a
t reaching success, to plot smack on my success line on the graph like Lilian said. I obsess over the perfect line, joining plot points marking each and every major event in my life. I never let myself be put in a position where real failure is possible. Like friendships. Besides Lilian, who have I really let into my life? I avoid close relationships because I don’t need another person telling me everything I’m doing wrong. Loving someone, letting them in, means being okay with hiccups in my graph. It means my plan is no longer a perfect straight line.
It means charting my life won’t make the outcome I want. It means I can’t work the equation backward to foreshadow the hiccups. I can’t dissect happiness into neat little columns of must haves and must avoids.
It means, if X equals birth and Z equals death, then everything in between has infinite possibilities.
Chapter 27
Quinn
“Have you found her?” I pace the foyer, following the medallion outline circling the inlaid letter “C” and its indigo leaves. Just like I did after Dad died. When I needed him to walk through the door and make everything okay. Here I am again, waiting for another fucking miracle.
Kat squeals through the phone, “How do you lose a girl? You followed her home, so where is she?”
I didn’t lose her. She ran.” She came back to the plantation and then she evaporated. I saw the carriage. I talked to the driver. There was no Cassie in sight. Just her stuff in her room. Hell, I waited on the edge of her bed for two hours. I should’ve been out looking for her.
I’d called Kat when I’d realized that. She and Wes left the ball and drove to town to see if Cassie ended up at the café. Ellie stayed at the ball, quizzing her guests. No one remembered seeing her, which I found surprising. She’s hard to miss. Like a clearly labeled jar with a bright red Don’t Touch sign hanging around its neck. Now it’s been thirty-two hours since anyone’s seen her.
Kat’s yell for Wes to turn left muffles. More clearly, she says, “I don’t know why you let her out of your sight. Why did she go to the carriages in the first place? You’re an idiot. You should have—”