Page 64 of Quinlan

Making a scene and being inches from punching someone is where I draw the line.

We have to stop letting grief dictate our lives.

Losing Blake is a constant pain that I live with. I barely knew him—anyone barely knew him; he was so young at thirteen months—but it hurts. He wasours.

I’ll never forget him. Neither of us will. We have to move forward, anyway. Keep him locked tight in our hearts and carry him with us while we find our happiness. While we find reasons to live.

As I near the cocktail bar where I’m supposed to meet Ray and the others, I feel hopeful. Hopeful about Rex’s message, wishing he’s gotten over himself. That this text he sends me will be a peace offering. That it’ll end with him telling me he’ll never do it again.

I don’t answer him as I rush on my heels toward the bar. I’m late, so I’ll have to answer him once I’m there. If I’m not paying attention, chances are I’ll stumble over.

The only places I go to in heels are meetings, when I sit with my clients from Chicago. Every other day I’m either barefoot, in slippers or in sneakers.

Yeah, I’ll definitely fall over if I type out a message while I’m walking. My black, midi dress will scrunch up my waist. The entire street will have a full view of my black panties.

I run my free hand over the keyhole neckline and the smooth fabric of my dress. I love this garment. I won’t ruin it, or the leather jacket I have over it by being careless.

I won’t embarrass myself out here where someone or someonesmight be stalking me.

Rex will have to wait. I straighten my spine and roll my shoulders back. My long hair that I left down bounces on myback with every step. Smooth and straight after twenty minutes of ironing.

This is fun, this escapism. For a few hours, I’m not Quinlan Palmer. I’m not Rex’s half-sister, not my parents’ daughter. They’re taken care of for tonight.

There are no men that get me all hot and bothered, then disappear.

I didn’t lose a brother in a terrible tragedy. Not tonight.

I’m just another twenty-three-year-old, heading for a night out with her friends. Even if the only person I know there is Ray.

Determined, I throw the phone into my bag and march forward. The red and white sign of the cocktail bar gets closer with every step I take. In a minute, I’ll be there. A little late, but…it is what it is.

“Ray Wilson?” I give her name to the host. “They’re supposed to be here.”

While he taps on the screen of his tablet, I twist my head to look inside, searching for her. The place is packed. So many patrons either sit on the bar, occupy low tables or booths or hang around, a drink in their hands. No wonder she had to make reservations.

Other than being full, the cocktail bar is gorgeous. Swanky. Elegant sphere light fixtures are spread around the restaurant, spreading dim light in the otherwise dark space. Cherry wood panels cover the floor and the walls.

The moment I recognize that “Love into a Weapon” by Madalen Duke plays over the speakers is when the host looks up at me.

“Yes, they’re here,” he reaffirms what I just said. “Follow me, please.”

Two steps inside after the light-haired host, and my phone vibrates in my bag. Again and again and again.

A call. It has to be Rex. He must be freaking out, to call instead of waiting for me to text him back.

I’m not going to be an asshole. I won’t screen his call. I’ll tell him I’m fine and hang up.

It’ll be over by the time I reach Ray. No one will ever realize I’m having family drama.

Just another twenty-three-year-old. That’s me.

“Rex.” Unlike this morning, I checked the caller ID. “What’s up?”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” I can hardly hear him over the music, pressing two fingers to my other ear.

“Where. Are. You?”

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