Page 67 of Confession
“There are only two of us,” I point out.
Quinn is still resisting, so I pinch him in the side. He jerks away from me. “Hey!”
“It’s a small space,” Sasha argues.
“Not really,” I say as I usher Quinn toward the sink.
“Every space is small with you in it, Vitali.”
Quinn grumbles under his breath, “That’s certainly true.”
I harass him again, this time pinching his ass through his gray sweats. He flinches, spraying water. It splatters the window and the counter.
“The fuck, Vitali,” he mutters, glaring at me over his shoulder. He flicks water at my face. At my flinch, the corner of his mouth tugs. There. That’s better.
When I smile, pleased, he shakes his head and goes back to washing his hands. I move ahead, snagging both our coffees from the island.
Quinn dries his hands and mops the water from the window and counter. Then he glances from me to Sasha.
He says, “I can do the—”
“Go away,” Sasha tells him without looking up from chopping green onions. “I can make eggs and drop bagels in a toaster. I’ve done it before.”
Quinn sighs and starts to follow me. Sasha snags his hand, letting their fingers brush as he walks by. The fact that she doesn’t look at him as she does it tells me how well she knows him, and I have a sudden, overwhelming, poignant sense of family. I haven’t felt anything like it in years, and it’s so sharp that I have to have to turn my face away.
When I hear Quinn’s bare feet following me, I walk out into the sitting room. Except for the fireplace, I don’t love this room. I like style and fine structure, but it’s too formal with its wingback chairs and elegant tables. Sometimes I think about changing it or other parts of the house, but I haven’t been able to make myself do that.
My mother chose the style of the room, and I’ve been stuck in it. I’m not sure I actually realized that until I go to sit on the cream-colored couch with Quinn. I don’t know why I realize it now. I feel like things are moving that haven’t for years.
When I hand Quinn his coffee, he rests it in his lap because his hands are shaky.
The egg wasn’t the first victim of his unusual clumsiness this morning. There’s a cut on his neck from shaving. He’s still on overload.
I don’t see the depression right now, but I’m going to have to watch out for it. I’m going to have to learn what he needs. I thinkhe’s going to have to learn that too because all he’s ever learned is how to ignore it.
I curl my hand around his thigh. I love being allowed to touch him. His hazel eyes flick to me. He takes a deep breath. I sip my coffee and try not to worry. I make myself stop staring at him. It’s hard.
Quinn’s hand curls around my thigh, mirroring my action. I feel him relax. From the corner of my eye, I watch him sip his coffee. His hand is steady.
My fingers flex on his thigh, stroking idly as I drink my coffee.
He complains, “I’m gonna get hard if you keep doing that.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“There are things to deal with. I need you to catch me up. Cecilia had a reason for giving you that information.”
“Hm.”
“Oh, hell no. You are not keeping me out of this.”
“I can deal with it, Quinn. I’d rather you—”
His hand pulls away from my thigh. “I don’t give a shit what you’dratherI do. You’re not keeping me out of it.”
I take in the anger in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw. It’s very familiar to me. His stubbornness. His toughness. But I know what’s underneath it now. I saw it last night.
“You almost got yourself killed a few hours ago,” I remind him, keeping my voice as soft and steady as I can manage. “On purpose.”
