42. Isobel
My heart seizes at Simon’s confession, and if I hadn’t been nursing Arina, I think I would have thrown something. I don’t know what, just something. Anything to divert the boiling fury I can see rising under Quin’s skin. It burns down our bond like lava from an erupting volcano.
“You’re in love with me? Since when, Simon?” I cry out, clutching at Arina reflexively. Everything is spiraling out of control, and I don’t know what to do. Part of me wants to scream and rage over the futility of it all, part of me wants us to sort this out like adults, and the last part of me wants to run and hide away with my daughter until the storm blows over.
This is not the reunion with Quin I’d imagined.
Simon winces but doesn’t look away from my mate. He needs to do or say something, and fast, because this version of Quin is swift to anger, and seems to have a very short fuse.
“Quin, look at me. Really look at me. Check our bond. Listen to my words and feel my sincerity and truth. Yes, I love your mate and daughter. Yes, I’m in love with your mate. No, I have not acted on these feelings. No, I haven’t betrayed you in any way. No, I have no intention of ever seeking anything other than friendship and a sense of family from you. If you need me to move out and give you guys space, I will. If you want me to limit my interactions with Isobel so that we’re never alone together, I will. But I won’t disappear from your lives. I can’t. You all mean too much to me, and to Tálstrom. I refuse to put him through that again. You’d be better off killing me before I’ll willingly leave.”
Quin continues to glare at Simon, but the lion never flinches. He just meets my mate’s stare with a steady gaze of his own.
The seconds tick by, and little-by-little I see Quin begin to relax. The incandescent fury dies down and is replaced with confusion and sorrow.
“I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m so fucking confused right now. Part of me thinks that you need to take a step back now that I’m home. Another part of me is happy that you’ve been here, stepping up on my behalf. Then there’s that nasty little voice in my head spurring me on, telling me I need to rip you to shreds.”
Quin shoves his hands through his hair and clenches them into fists, tugging at the strands in frustration. A low groan unfurls from his chest, and as it tapers off, Quin drops his hands and looks up at both Simon and me. His eyes glint with the amber glow of his tiger, sincerity and acceptance shimmering in their depths.
“And then there’s my tiger, who not only isn’t fazed by what you’ve just said, Simon, but also wants to keep you close. He wants you to stay by our sides, help us raise our cub, and… fuck!”
I reach through the bond, and the roiling knot of emotions I find there leave me speechless. I need to take a moment to sort through them all before we can go any further.
I quickly glance down at Arina, noticing that she’s no longer actively suckling, but is instead staring up at me while she mouths at my breast. I tuck myself back away and move her up to the burp cloth on my shoulder, rubbing my hand in circles over her back as I help her release any trapped wind. While I wait, I dole out instructions.
“I think we need to take a little break. Simon, would you mind going out and seeing what can be done with the door, please? I’d rather not leave it until tomorrow. Paw Paw will pitch a fit.”
Arina chooses that moment to emit a burp, capturing her father’s attention. He can’t keep his eyes off her, and it gives Simon the opportunity to leave us alone for a moment. I continue rubbing Arina’s back for another few moments, and once I’m satisfied that she’s done, I stand and walk over to him.
“Quin, would you like to hold your daughter? I think you should both get further acquainted while I rustle us up something to eat.”
Quin looks as though I’ve just offered him the world. He stumbles over to the couch, falling onto the cushions rather than sitting, and then scrambles to sit upright with plenty of back and arm support. His hands are shaking as I gently lower Arina into his arms. I have to swallow back tears as adoration and awe flood through our bond as Quin presses a soft kiss to my cheek before lowering his head to nuzzle at his daughter’s hair.
Arina squirms a little, so Quin jiggles her in his arms, moving her around until he can free one hand. He offers her his finger, and she grabs it, bringing it to her mouth. Quin is so enraptured with the experience he doesn’t even notice as I head back into the kitchen.
Simon’s nowhere to be seen, and the back door is missing off its hinges, so it’s my guess that he’s gone out to grab some tools and such to fix the door.
I open the fridge and start pulling out food. Quin used to love my chicken fried steak and gravy, so I decide to make it for his first meal back home with us. I can only assume that, while he hasn’t been starved since he disappeared nine months ago, neither would he have enjoyed some good, old-fashioned home cooking.
It doesn’t take me long to prep the ingredients, and I have the steaks frying in no time. While they’re cooking, I get out potatoes and set them to boil, before destringing a good amount of green beans.
The steaks and potatoes are done, and the gravy and beans aren’t far off when Simon comes back inside with a mended door. He leaves it propped up against the wall, as he needs to fix the frame before he can reattach it, and supper is just about done.
“Wash up and go help Quin with Arina, while I plate up and set the table.” I instruct softly, my attention mostly on the food and not on the people inside the house with me. I feel the air move as Simon shuffles past me, hear his quiet murmurs as he apprizes Quin of Arina’s evening routine, and then the subsequent sounds as the two men take my baby girl down the hall for a diaper change and sleepy-times.
This moment feels so surreal. My mate has returned home after enduring gods-only-knows what, and he is learning our newborn daughter’s nightly routine with the man who survived the depths of Hell alongside him.
Quin and Simon arrive back in the kitchen just as I finish plating. They head to the sink and wash up, then Simon collects the glasses and a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge while Quin grabs two of the plates, leaving me to carry the last plate and cutlery.
We sit and eat in a companionable manner, chatting about inconsequential events and goings-on, nothing deep or contentious, but simply surface conversation. I know by the tense way he holds himself that Simon is anxious, and I can feel the seething mess of emotions that fills Quin radiate down the bond. For myself, I’m overwhelmed. So much has happened in such a brief period of time, and I don’t know how to feel about it all—Quin’s return, his argument with Simon, Simon’s confession, and my own feelings.
They’re both my best friends, essential to my happiness, and I know if either one was to leave, they’d leave behind a gaping wound in my soul that will never heal.
I have no idea how we’re going to solve this.