Page 42 of No Place Like Home

“His mom’s here, he has a great relationship with his father, and he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t need us.”

“He doesn’t want his parents with him,” Emma explained. “They’re leaving; he kicked them out of the house.”

Damn. Things were worse than I had imagined.

“He’s a grown man. He’ll bounce back from this,” I told them because he probably needed space.

He was Q: full of life and hope.

“He might not, Jess. He might have to say goodbye to his career,” Freya whispered.

I had a hard time swallowing the news. Okay, I thought he would take time off, then go back as if nothing terrible had happened. But to hear it might never work out again…I…wanted to make him feel better.

I opened my mouth, but Emma spoke and looked me straight in the eyes.

“His girlfriend left him.”

What a selfish bitch. Who would leave someone as great as Q, especially when he needed them the most?

“Maybe you could talk to him?”

I stared at Emma, hoping I didn’t hear her correctly. When she kept looking at me expectantly, I knew I heard her right.

“Me?” I pointed at myself in disbelief.

“Yeah, you,” Freya interrupted before Em could say more. “We knowyouhavetheprototype.” She saidthe prototypeas if I had won the lottery. “Don’t give me that face. He gave you a one-of-a-kind sweater from his brand. Not his mom. Not me, who was the love of his life. Not his Instamodel girlfriend.You.”

“He just feels sorry for me,” I said, almost like an accusation.

Both women gaped at me.

“Why would he feel sorry?” Emma asked.

Um, because I was the town's weirdo.

My father was a killer.

My mom was dead.

I was alone.

Of course, I didn’t say any of this. Instead, I glared at both of them, because how dare they ask what was already obvious?

“I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

After talking with the girls,I stomped my way over to the flower shop.

“Sorry it took a bit, Mrs. Riordan.” I handed her the coffee.

She took it as she scolded me. “I’ve told you to stop calling me Mrs. Riordan. Call me Susan.”

I grinned, but I wasn’t going to do as she asked, and we both knew it.

She put my flowers on the countertop, and I couldn’t help but smile. No guy had ever sent me flowers. When I was in college, looking at the empty space in my apartment, I decided I didn’t need them to do it either. I was a strong, independent woman who could buy her own flowers.

“They look gorgeous. Thank you.”

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