Page 2 of One Night Entanglement
There’s something different about Quinn. We’ve seen each other a handful of times over the years, usually from a distance because this is Bellehaven and if we so much as glanced sideways at one another, the rumor mill would fly. But I still knew him. I still recognized the boy I’d once known in the man I saw. Now, I’m not so sure about that. There’s something in Quinn that I’ve never seen before. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it vulnerability because he’s still Quinn and he doesn’t do that. But there’s something a little broken in him now, and that terrifies me. Because anything that could break him, even a little, could shatter the rest of us like glass.
But that’s not what’s keeping me up. No. I’d be a damned liar if I said it was. It’s not the mountain of bills I can’t pay anymore. It’s not the job or the unemployment benefits they’ve been fighting me on tooth and nail over nothing more than spite. It’s not even that little part of me that grieves every single day that I’m giving up what was really the only home I’ve ever known. Because my dad’s house was never my home. It was too full of controlling assholes, toxic manipulation, and unrealistic expectations for that. My mamaw’s house was always my escape. And as soon as we figure out what the hell to do about the divorce that wasn’t, then the sale will go forward as planned.
I turn over for about the hundredth time that night, this time flat on my back as I stare up at the ceiling. I’m wide awake because of thatmomentin the hallway. I’d gone to take him fresh towels, and what I’d seen when he opened that door—all bare skin and rippling muscles and the faded remnants of my name inked on his shoulder—yeah. And for just a second, I considered offering him a lot more than just towels. And he would have taken me up on it. But that’s literally thousands of memories’ worth of complications that neither one of us needs right now. Doesn’t make it any less tempting though.
That’s going to keep me up for a while.
Giving up on sleep, at least for the time being, I get out of bed and ease the door open. Down the hall, I can see the light under Quinn’s door. But that’s a can of worms best left alone. So I head to the kitchen. By the light over the stove, I get a glass from the cabinet, then open the fridge door to get the pitcher of lemonade I’d made earlier. After I fill my glass, I ease open the sliding door that leads to the side porch. Settling down onto the battered old patio sofa, I unlock my phone and open up my favorite true crime podcast. Nothing puts me to sleep quite like serial killers.
Down the street, a pair of headlights click on. They’re obnoxiously bright—blinding, even. Wincing, I try to see who itis, but all I hear is the revving of an engine. It hits me a second before it's too late.Jenna. Or Lucy. Or possibly both.
The car speeds past the house and I throw myself to the patio floor just as glass explodes against the screen frame. Even then, it doesn’t spare me all of it. Tiny little slivers have made their way through the holes in the screens that I haven’t gotten around to replacing yet. I can feel several of them digging into the palms of my hands as I struggle to get to my feet.
“What the actual fuck, Cecily?”
I glance back and see Quinn standing in the doorway, shirtless, wearing a pair of black boxers and looking like sin. “Nothing like a little midnight vandalism to get the old heart pumping,” I joke. It falls flat. Mostly because my voice is trembling and he can probably hear my heart pounding even from that distance.
He reaches down and grips my arm, pulling me to my feet and tugging me inside. “That’s more than vandalism. You could have been hurt.”
“Yeah. I know. It was stupid of me to go outside… I just—well, I couldn’t sleep.”
His jaw hardens and I can feel how pissed he is. It’s rolling off him in waves. “You have the fucking right to turn on a light and walk out on your own goddamn porch without some wannabe badass throwing fucking glass bottles at you, CeCe.”
“I should be able to do a lot of things, Quinn. But life isn’t fucking fair. If it was, I wouldn’t be unemployed, I wouldn’t be selling my house, and we would either be completely married or completely divorced and not stuck in this goddamn limbo,” I tell him. “But I can’t sit around bitching about how unfair things are.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because what fucking good does it do? I’ve been doing it for months and it hasn’t changed one single thing!”
“Tomorrow, we go see Troy James,” he says. “Maybe bitching about how unfair shit is won’t change it, but that doesn’t mean you just have to take this shit.”
I storm past him and into the kitchen. I’ve talked to Troy. I’ve talked to everyone. And no one can do anything because there’s no proof. But that’s not an argument I want to have right now.
Opening the cabinet door, I snag the first aid kit. Before I can even fumble it open, he’s there. And he doesn’t say anything else. He just carefully plucks tiny slivers of glass from my palm and then covers the cuts with antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids. And however mad he might be at the situation, and even at me because I’m not fighting the good fight like he thinks I ought to, his touch is impossibly gentle. And when he’s done, he doesn’t let go. Not immediately.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick with ancient history and our far too confusing present. But there’s no future here. We both know that. And I’m not even sure it matters.
3
Quinn
"Next time they throw something at her, I'm going to come out with my gun instead of wearing a pair of underwear," I warn Troy as the two of us stand in the gym of Bellehaven High School.
He chuckles. "I'd expect nothing less. You're entitled to have that gun, Officer Carter, and no one would think less of you for doing it."
"What did you tell her?" I ask him, still irritated that Cecily wouldn't let me sit in on the meeting she and Troy had.
He sighs, rocking back on his heels. "Same thing I told her before. There's not a lot we can do until we have proof, Quinn."
"That's bullshit and you know it. You and I both know that family is as crooked as a group of politicians."
"Look, I'm not saying I don't recognize what you're impressing upon me. I do. But if we don't go by the letter of the law, we're just gonna irritate them. They're gonna get out of jail, and then they'll come for her even harder than they are now."Troy hooks his thumbs into his bulletproof vest. "You know that as well as I do."
Even though I'd like to argue with him, I do know that. This may be the first time I'm a cop, but it's not the first time I've dealt with people who think they're better than others and feel as if they're above the law. Sighing heavily, I tuck my thumbs in my vest too and gaze out at the court. "Y'all must be proud of him." I hitch my chin toward where JT is going in for a layup.
"We are." The pride is evident in his voice, and I wish my dad had been that proud of me. "Graduation is coming up fast, too. Two weeks."
I guess I'm lucky I came on at the end of the year. There's already a plan in place for what I'll be doing during the summer months, but I'm thankful to be here just long enough to get the lay of the land. "Got an email this morning that I'll be expected in the library tomorrow as he signs his letter of intent to play for UK. How excited are you?"
