Page 203 of Quinlan

They used to live here, his parents. Now they live in the home Liam bought them in Miami. Far away from this mess so that they’d never be connected to this.

This is the first they called in two weeks. Liam asked them to wait until Quinlan has settled in, and she has.

“Oh, Rome.” Nancy’s, his mother’s, voice quivers. “This is it, honey. It’s finally happening.”

Quinlan’s whole expression changes. Her gaze shifts to Liam, wondering how much his parents know.

All of it. They’re okay with it too. His sharp nod tells her.

Liam’s parents are good people. The best out there. Damien, Anne and I had always been welcomed guests in their home. We were family. Day or night, their door was open for us.

But even people like them, especially like Liam’s dad, draw the line somewhere.

His father had to be talked down—not once, but dozens of times from murdering Aria.Wedid it. Three kids who’dpromised him she’d pay for what she’d done to his son. Sooner or later, we’d get to her.

The assurances didn’t soothe him. It did, however, help him stay out of prison. By his wife’s and son’s side, where he belonged.

Damien saunters in, sitting by my other side.

“Yes, it is, Mr. and Mrs. F.” I’m as choked as Liam’s mom sounded. Damn it with these emotions. “Thank you. For calling. For waiting. We’re starting to set the record straight.”

“Of course, Rome. And for the love of God, Mr. and Mrs. F? You haven’t called us that since you were, what, eleven?” She chuckles. “Damien wasn’t half as formal when we talked to him just now. Am I missing something?”

I can see her as if she were right here in front of me. Amber eyes lighting up, black, curly hair rolling in waves down her shoulders. Liam got her looks. He’s still very much his dad’s son. He might not be slim or have his dad’s red hair and green eyes.

On the inside, though, they’re almost the same person. Somber. Serious. Never one to complain. Aria took advantage of that. When Liam had withdrawn into himself during the months she’d tortured him, his parents thought nothing of it. They figured he was just being himself.

Granted, his parents have never shared that part with us. They haven’t made excuses or tried to victim-blame their son. I overheard them one night when I slept over at Liam’s. Heard them weeping, both of them. Cursing themselves.

“I’ll never be formal with you, pretty Nancy.” Damien wags his eyebrows.

This isn’t a video call, my glower tells him. He wags them still. He wouldn’t let them see him in pain, not ever.

“Well,” I start, when I feel the weight on my chest isn’t going to crush me.

It helps that Quinlan curls her body into me. That Liam’s hand is on one shoulder and Damien slaps me over the back of the head. The bastard knows what to do to snap me out of it.

“Oooh, I see.” Nancy giggles, sounding the youngest she has in years.

“Nance.” Her husband’s reproach isn’t mad at all. He’s never so much as upset with her. He worships the ground she walks on.

“Hush, Gerald.” The silence means he’s suppressing a smile. “What I was saying is, Rome is pretending to be polite because Quinlan’s with them, right? Sweetie, are you there? How have they been treating you?”

Quinlan’s cheeks are redder than the fresh cuts on her stomach. More than the bloody wedding bands on ours. Her eyes widen again, askingagainwhether Liam’s parents knew about this.

The answer for that is again, ayes. They were the ones asking us to be nice, which we have been. Eventually.

Liam’s palm slides to her cheek, turning her to him. “She’s here.”

“You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting to meet you.” Another one of Nancy’s friendly chuckles filters through the speakers. “And talk to you.”

“Hi. Yes. I’m here. Everyone’s been great.” Quinlan stares at the phone, the corners of her lips tugging up. Her eyes grow misty. “I’m so happy to meet you too, Liam’s parents.”

“Nancy and Jerry, please.” That’s his dad, firm and warm at once. “From what the boys—”

“Men, Gerald,” she chides, her love for him pouring through her voice.

My fingers dig deeper into Quinlan’s hips. I hope—fuckingwish—to have this kind of bond with her. All of us crave that. Forever. The kind of love that lasts.

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