CHAPTER 16
Quinn sat beside her grandmother’s bed, her fingers wrapped around that delicate hand, thumb stroking back and forth over the prominent veins and age spots. Each breath her grandmother took sounded labored, a rattle deep in her chest that made Quinn’s own lungs ache in sympathy.
The room smelled like lavender sachets and the faint antiseptic scent of the medical supplies Nathan had organized on the nightstand. The lamp cast soft shadows across her grandmother’s face, highlighting the translucent quality of her skin that made her look like she was already halfway gone.
Dax stood in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. But his dark eyes never left Quinn, watchful and worried. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her back, steady and grounding.
Down the hall, she heard Nathan moving around in the kitchen—the quiet clink of mugs, the sound of the coffeemaker gurgling. Busywork. Something to do with his hands while they all waited for the inevitable.
“Gran,” Quinn whispered, leaning closer. Her grandmother’s hand was so cold. Quinn rubbed it gently between both of hers, trying to warm it. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her grandmother’s eyes fluttered open slowly, lids heavy. Her eyes were cloudy now, the irises ringed with white. But they still found Quinn’s face, still focused with an effort that Quinn could see cost her.
“Quinn.” Her name was a whisper that Quinn felt more than heard against her cheek as she leaned in.
“I got the video, Gran. I saw Dad.” Quinn’s voice cracked, and she had to stop and swallow hard against the lump in her throat. “He left me a message. He said he was proud of me.”
A faint smile touched her grandmother’s lips, pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her free hand lifted from the quilt—such a small movement, but Quinn could see the tremor in those fingers, the effort it took. Quinn caught that hand too, cradling both of her grandmother’s hands in hers.
“Of course he was.” Each word came with visible effort, her grandmother’s chest rising and falling unevenly. “You’re everything good about him. Everything bright and stubborn and true.”
“I’m going to finish this.” Quinn’s tears fell onto their joined hands, warm against the cool skin. “I’m going to make Wheeler pay for what he did.”
“I know.” Her grandmother’s breathing hitched—a horrible sound that made Quinn’s heart stutter—then steadied again. “You’re stronger than you know, Quinn. Stronger than me. Stronger than your father, even.”
“That’s not true.” Quinn shook her head, her long dark hair falling forward to curtain them both. She could smell her grandmother’s familiar scent—rose water and powder, the same perfume she’d worn for as long as Quinn could remember.
“It is.” Her grandmother’s fingers twitched in Quinn’s grip, a weak squeeze. “You’ve already survived so much. Lost so much. And you’re still fighting. Still standing. That takes a strength most people never find.”
Quinn pressed her grandmother’s hands to her cheek, not caring that her tears were soaking into the papery skin. “I don’t want to do this without you. I need you, Gran.”
“No, you don’t.” Her grandmother’s gaze shifted, moving past Quinn to the doorway. “You have everything you need already.”
Quinn followed her grandmother’s line of sight to where Dax stood. He’d straightened from his lean against the doorframe, his hands dropping to his sides. Even from across the room, Quinn could see the way his jaw was clenched, the muscle jumping there. His eyes were suspiciously bright.
“And you have him,” her grandmother continued, her voice barely audible now. “That good man who looks at you like you hung the moon.”
Quinn felt heat creep up her neck despite everything. “Gran—”
“Don’t let fear keep you from love, Quinny.” Her grandmother’s breathing was becoming more irregular, each inhale a struggle. “I made that mistake once. After your grandfather died, I closed myself off. Thought it was safer. Easier.”
She paused, gathering strength, and Quinn waited, still holding those cold hands.
“But all I did was waste years I could have spent living. Loving.” She took another labored breath. “Don’t make my mistake.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Quinn leaned down and pressed a kiss to her grandmother’s forehead. The skin was cool and dry beneath her lips.
“Good.” Her grandmother’s eyes drifted closed, the lids seeming too heavy to keep open. “That’s good.”
For a moment, Quinn thought she’d fallen asleep. The breathing continued, ragged but steady. Quinn counted each breath, her own chest rising and falling in time, as if she could will her grandmother to keep going through sheer force of synchronization.
But then her grandmother spoke again, so quietly Quinn had to lean close enough that their foreheads almost touched.
“Your father’s waiting for me.” The words came with a smile—peaceful, almost joyful. “I can feel him. Can almost see him.” A sigh, soft as falling leaves. “He’s so proud of you, Quinn. We both are.”
“Gran, please.” Quinn’s voice broke completely. “Please don’t go yet.”
“It’s time, sweetheart.” Another breath, shallower than before. “I’m so tired. Been fighting so long. Keeping secrets. Carrying weight.” Her eyes opened one last time, finding Quinn’s face. “You’ve set me free. You and that stubborn heart of yours.”
Quinn felt movement beside her and realized Dax had crossed the room silently. He stood just behind her now, one hand resting gently on her shoulder. The warmth of his palm seeped through her shirt, an anchor to the living world while her grandmother slipped away from it.
“You rest now, Gran.” Quinn had to force the words out past the tightness in her throat. “You did everything you needed to do. You told me the truth. You helped me find the way. You can rest now.”
“Love you...Quinn-y...” The words were barely shaped, more breath than sound.
“I love you too, Gran. So much.” Quinn lifted her grandmother’s hands to her lips, kissing the knuckles. “Thank you. For everything. For raising me. For loving Dad. For being brave enough to tell me the truth.”
Her grandmother’s mouth moved, trying to form words, but no sound came out. Quinn leaned closer, her ear near those lips.
“Be...happy...”
And then…nothing.
The chest that had been rising and falling went still.
The fingers Quinn held went slack.
The eyes that had been watching her with such love drifted unfocused, looking at something Quinn couldn’t see.
“No.” Panic hitting her square in the chest. She wasn’t ready! Quinn’s hands tightened on her grandmother’s. “No, no, no. Gran. Gran, please.”
But there was no response. No breath. No movement.
Just silence.
Quinn made a sound—something between a sob and a scream—and buried her face against her grandmother’s shoulder. The body was already cooling, already not-Gran anymore, just flesh and bone without the spirit that had animated it.
Dax’s hand on her shoulder tightened, and then his other arm came around her, pulling her back gently. “Quinn. Sweetheart, she’s gone.”
“I know!” The words came out harsh, angry, even though Quinn wasn’t angry at him. She was angry at everything—at death, at Wheeler, at a world that kept taking people she loved. “I know she’s gone. I know.”
But she couldn’t let go. Couldn’t release those cold hands. If she let go, it meant accepting it. It meant her grandmother was really gone. It meant she was alone.
“Quinn.” Dax’s voice was rough, thick with emotion. He knelt beside her chair, his hands on her arms now. “Let me help you. Please.”
She turned to him blindly, and he caught her as she collapsed forward into his chest. His arms came around her immediately, solid and warm and alive, and Quinn clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning.
Because right now, he was.
“She’s gone,” Quinn gasped against his shoulder. “She’s gone and I can’t—I can’t—”
“I know. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Dax’s hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. His other arm was a steel band around her waist, holding her together when she felt like she was flying apart.
Nathan appeared in the doorway, took one look at the scene, and crossed himself quietly. His face was wet with tears too.
“I’ll call the funeral home,” he said quietly. “Give you some time.”
Quinn barely heard him leave. She was aware of nothing but Dax’s heartbeat against her cheek, steady and strong. The scent of him—soap and coffee and something uniquely him. The warmth of his body against hers. The way his hand moved in her hair, gentle and soothing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” His voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear.
“For falling apart. For—”
“Stop.” Dax pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, tilting it up so she had to meet his eyes. His thumbs swept across her cheekbones, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You just lost your grandmother. You’re allowed to fall apart.”
“But I need to be strong. I need to—”
“You are strong. The strongest person I know.” His dark eyes were intense, burning into hers. “But even strong people break sometimes. And when they do, they need someone to help hold the pieces.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Quinn’s voice was small, broken. “Holding my pieces?”
“For as long as you’ll let me.” He leaned his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them. “I’m not going anywhere, Quinn. I promise you that.”
She believed him. God help her, she believed him.
Quinn closed her eyes and let herself be held, let herself break, let herself grieve.
Behind them, her grandmother lay peaceful and still, finally free of pain and secrets and the weight she’d carried for so long.
Ahead of them, there was still so much to do. A funeral to plan. A case to build. A monster to bring to justice.
But for now—just for now—Quinn let herself have this moment. This grief. This comfort.
This man who held her like she was something precious.
***
The next hours passed in a blur.