Chapter 2 #2
Quin leaned against the kitchen counter, a glass at his lips. Seeing her, he lowered it and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. She propped her hands on her hips. “I forgot to get you the spare pillow and blanket—”
He held out his free hand. “I can find my way around. Go to bed.”
She tapped her foot against the carpet. God, he unnerved her.
His mouth moved into a tentative grin. The same lazy smile that had always made her insides quiver. It was just Quin, who often acted about ten years old. But now. Now that grin made her belly dance.
She swallowed but her throat restricted the movement. What kind of woman was even slightly attracted to her deceased boyfriend’s best friend? Not to mention just shy of a year from his death. If she didn’t pay serious karma for this, Liam would shun her in the afterlife.
She brought her hand to her forehead and massaged the skin there. “Uh, yeah. I guess you can. Blankets are in the trunk and a pillow should be there or in the pullout.”
Quin stepped toward her, and his firm grip on her elbow made her lift her head. “What is it?” His tone was as heavy as cement. She’d forgotten how well he knew her.
“You’re wrong, Quin. No one killed Liam.” She let out an exasperated laugh, not pulling her arm out of his overheated palm. “Look where we live, for god’s sake.” She gestured to the small kitchen window that overlooked the backyard.
Quin moved his hands so they rested on her shoulders. “Jos. I’m not wrong about this. And I’m really fucking sorry that I’m right.”
Part of her wanted to push him away. Her mind returned to the day after Liam’s death. She’d been so focused on holding Liam’s mom together that she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything. She’d stumbled down the steps of his childhood home after fighting a dizzy spell and Quin had been there to catch her.
He’d gotten her food, forced her to drink water, and taken her home.
For the next four months he’d been by her house almost every day—as if he’d feared for her welfare.
He’d bought her groceries, fixed the railing outside, chopped her wood, shoveled her steps and walkway .
. . Without him, she might not have made it.
Grief overtook her, and she lowered her forehead to Quin’s sternum.
His hands fell away from her shoulders, and the heat from his palms hovered at her sides.
His body remained stiff, and then he cupped the back of her head.
She inhaled deeply and the smell of spice and earth filled her nostrils.
So manly, and not in the least bit similar to Liam’s scent.
Quin inched his body closer, so their middles touched.
His free arm folded loosely around her back, keeping her melded to his heat but in nothing more than a platonic hold.
“There’s something else,” Josie said.
The rise and fall of his chest stilled. He didn’t say a word, but the tension emanating from his body urged her on.
“It’s probably nothing.” She shook her head. It was nothing. Yes, the last voicemail Liam left her had been cryptic, but considering the way he’d died it didn’t make sense that there could have been foul play. Accidents happened in logging all the time.
“If it’s nothing, that’s okay. But I feel like you want to tell me anyway.”
She bit into her bottom lip. “Liam left me a voicemail the morning he died. I never—” She swallowed. “I never gave it a second thought until now.”
Quin’s shallow breaths puffed on her forehead. “What’d he say?”
“That he needed to talk . . . he asked me to miss circle, and he’d never done that before.”
Quin’s fingers bit into her biceps, and he gently pushed her away. “Do you still have the message?”
She nodded and retreated to her bedroom, where she snagged her phone. As she made her way back to the kitchen, moving through the space on autopilot, she thumbed in her voicemail password and hit the button that took her to her saved messages—the only saved message.
She handed the phone to Quin and he pressed it to his ear. His eyes darkened as he stared at her, and the creases in his forehead deepened. He slid her phone onto the kitchen counter and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, that could be anything.”
“I know.”
His jaw rocked back and forth. “He said something wasn’t right at work. But why wouldn’t he tell me?”
She lifted a shoulder, part of her wanting to shield him from the hurt in his eyes. “I’m sure he planned on it. Maybe you two were busy that day and he didn’t have the chance to get you alone. He called me to hear my intuition on the matter.”
Quin nodded slowly. “I’ve replayed that day from start to finish, over and over. We were swamped. I skipped our usual morning coffee break, and we had staggered lunch hours that day.”
“He called in the morning. It was probably during the coffee break.”
He hissed out a breath. Regret etched his face, making him age right before her eyes. “Did he say anything else that sticks out in your mind? Did he see anyone around that time?”
She grimaced. “I don’t remember. Nothing that sticks out as odd.”
He exhaled and stretched his arms so his palms gripped the counter at the small of his back. Brawny muscle flexed with the movement. His skin bore tattoos that were almost as familiar to her as Liam’s.
“I’m sorry, Josie. Sorry I couldn’t save Liam and even more sorry for leaving you. Can you forgive me?”
Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.
Quin cursed. He reached forward and pulled her into an embrace.
His heart thudded against her ear and that deep ache in her chest expanded tenfold.
She hadn’t been this broken before Quin arrived.
The past year hadn’t brought much strength, but the tear in her heart had mended a bit.
Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she’d just ignored the pain long enough that she could cope.
She nuzzled her cheek against the smooth cotton of his Henley.
“Don’t do it again.” Her voice came out raspy and uneven.
“Never,” he said.
She sniffled. Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks. She didn’t need his comfort, but at least he’d apologized. Keeping her chin tucked and her gaze down, she pulled away. “’Night.”
She trekked back to her bedroom and shut the door. This time she’d sleep and she’d replace every thought of Quin with Liam’s laughing brown eyes.