26. Graham
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
graham
When we got back from the restaurant last night, we stood there in the hallway dividing our rooms. My arms ached to hold her as I had the night before. And from the torn look in her eyes, she wanted that too. But she also had questions she knew I didn’t want to answer.
Instead , we said goodnight and slept in separate beds.
The pillow she used still smelled of her.
I hated every second of it.
Somehow , I managed a few hours of sleep. Now dressed, I sluggishly drag myself into the living room to find Quinn pulling on her coat, ready to leave for the bakery.
“ Hey , you.” Her voice is upbeat, and her smile meets her eyes, which chips away at the worry clinging to me from last night.
“ Morning ,” I croak and cough into my fist. “ Did you, um, want something to eat before you leave?” I stand there awkwardly as I fight the need to wrap her in a hug.
She shakes her head as she zips up her coat. “ Nah , I have some leftover pastries I doubt will sell today. Unless I can finally entice you to try one… ”
The laugh that bursts out of me when she waggles her eyebrows at me surprises us both and dissolves any last doubts. I internally curse myself for thinking Quinn would allow last night to monopolize what’s been happening between us.
When Jenna accused us of fabricating our relationship to make her jealous, I should have jumped in and corrected her. This was never about making anyone jealous, let alone her.
Quinn had no qualms in opening up to me about her mom. She trusted me, and in return I closed myself off. I trust her, no question. I just don’t want her to look at me in a different light. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking. And would also give anything to not know the truth, from fear she sees me just as Jenna did.
“ I’m sorry about dinner,” I say, my voice still groggy with sleep, and walk over to her.
Her brow crinkles as she slips on her Chucks . “ You have nothing to be sorry about. Graham , she’s awful, and I just can’t understand how you could be with someone like that. I just wish you?—”
The sound of my ringtone has her pausing, and I look down at my smartwatch to find an incoming call from Patrick . She peers down at my wrist and squeezes my arm. “ It’s fine, go ahead and answer it. Let’s talk later though.”
I nod slowly, thankful I’ll have time to prepare for our conversation.
“ Okay . Talk , yeah. We can do that.” Pulling out my cell, I tap Accept . “ Hey , what’s up?”
My brother lets out a deep breath that sends a chill down my spine as a morbid sense of déjà vu hits me. “ I hate it when people say this, but please don’t panic…”
I panicked.
What else do you do when you hear that your mom is in the hospital?
If my mind was working in overdrive from last night, it’s gone completely off the rails now.
As soon as I hung up the phone, I was throwing on my coat and flying down the stairs. Quinn didn’t hesitate as she followed me into my car, and I was too rattled to remind her she had a bakery to open. We met my brothers at the hospital in record time, and Patrick managed to get in contact with Florence to let her know.
Now , the sickening fear from Patrick’s phone call has died down, but I’m still on edge.
“ Would you all stop fussing over me. I’m fine,” my mom chides and shoos us away from her hospital bed.
“ Not happening. We’ve all aged twenty years. We need to wrap you up in Bubble Wrap , you nuisance,” Booth teases, but I can see he is weighed down with worry like Patrick and me.
She’s not fine, but it’s not as bad as my intrusive thoughts led me to believe. She was taking out the trash when she slipped on a pile of rotten leaves on her driveway, leaving her with a broken tibia, sprained wrist, and a nasty cut on her chin. According to the doctor, it was a clean break, and by the time we made it to the hospital, she was already getting her leg casted while cheerfully chatting away to the orthopedic nurse.
Our mother is formidable. But so was Dad . Our worry and panic aren’t misplaced, and she knows that. The fact that she fell and injured herself while alone—so similar to how we lost dad—has us all reliving our darkest memories.
“ Hey , Claire ,” Quinn says softly as she returns from the cafeteria. “ All they had was diet, is that okay?”
“ Oh yes, that’s perfect, sweetheart. Thank you.” She takes the can of soda from Quinn , but my little brother promptly snatches it out of her hand and pops the cap before handing it over. “ Booth , I’m not broken.”
“ Get used to it, Mom . Because I’m moving in with you.”
“ You are not!” she shouts.
“ I am,” Booth counters.
“ I do not need you babysitting me,” my mom gripes.
They bicker for several minutes, but ultimately, she agrees to Booth living with her for the next two weeks, and despite her annoyance, Mom gets her precious baby boy back under her roof. She would never admit it, but she’s been suffering from extreme empty nest syndrome since Florence moved out.
I’ve hardly said a word since getting here. The longer we sit in this hospital room, the more my skin feels like it’s being stretched. I talked with the doctor when we first arrived, taking mental notes of her recovery, physio appointments, medication, and what to avoid as she heals.
Luckily , Mom is discharged a short while later and Quinn and I are sitting in my car, waving goodbye to my family as they leave the hospital parking lot.
I’m grateful to be out of there, but I’m so mentally drained that silence seems like the best option right now.
Despite my mom being in good spirits and the doctor giving her the all clear, I can’t shake off the grief that’s slowly been trickling in.
The call was too similar to the one Patrick made the day we lost Dad .
“ Graham ?” Quinn’s soft voice cuts through the quiet like a breath of fresh air, but the fog overhead starts to close in again.
With all the effort I have left, I shift to face her. If I wasn’t already struggling to speak, her beauty would leave me speechless.
“ Do you want to talk about it?”
All I can do is shake my head.
“ What do you want to do?”
My head tilts a fraction, enough to tell her I don’t know.
“ That must have been scary.” She sighs. “ When I’m in need of a distraction I like to do something that stops me from thinking. Usually I bake something for myself or do one of those adult coloring books. What would distract you right now?”
You , I want to say. She’s the perfect distraction from the agonizing memories surfacingfrom seeing my mom injured. But that’s not fair to her. I want so badly to explain how I’m feeling and to apologize properly for last night. Nothing sounds right as I recite it over in my head and the silence being dragged out becomes painful.
Not wanting to sit here for much longer, I go to start the engine when Quinn shuffles to her knees and jerks her head toward the backseat. “ Move your seat back.”
I don’t question her and do as she says.
With enough space between the wheel and me, she hitches a leg over the console and settles herself on my thighs. Before my next breath, she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her face against my shoulder, relaxing into my rigid body.
“ What are you doing, honey?” Despite my confusion, I tug her closer and breathe in the scent of brown sugar and vanilla.
“ I’m distracting you with a hug. We don’t need to talk. I just wanted to let you know I’m here for you.”
She’s doing more than distracting me as she molds herself to me. The calmness and sweet scent have the stress unraveling from me like a ball of string.
The sadness, grief, and worry gradually ebb the longer she stays in my arms. She has that power; to bring a shimmering light into the darkest of places. Jenna would get angry when I got like this, yet with Quinn , she joins me in the silence and brings the sunlight with her.
After my dad passed, Jenna placed a time limit on my grief, telling me to stop moping around and spending so much time with my family. You have a girlfriend too. It can’t all be about them , is what she said to me four months after his death. Which had me pulling away further.
We sit here, wrapped around each other for what feels like hours. It allows me to piece together my emotions and put them into words. “ You know how my dad died?”
She strokes down my arm and nods.
I’m glad I don’t have to explain that side of the story. About how my family and I experienced a devastating loss none of us were prepared for. How he fell from a ladder in the restaurant and broke his neck. How Patrick was the one to find him. How we never got to say goodbye. How I lost one of the few people who understood me.
“ It was a normal day. He headed to work and none of us knew that would be the last time we saw him. We were really close—my dad and me. I love my mom, but she’s more outspoken and extroverted like Booth and Florence . Patrick and I are a lot like our dad. I’ve always been quieter than most people, and being the awkward, shy kid made school difficult. From a young age my dad understood my struggles with communicating how I felt. He sat me down after a particularly rough day with some bullies, but I was so embarrassed I couldn’t even talk to him. He dropped a pad of paper and a pen in front of me and told me to write down what I was feeling.”
“ Like a journal?” She raises her head, eyes glossy.
“ Yeah , exactly like that. It worked. And has for the last twenty years.”
Confessing that to Quinn feels like I’m shedding a piece of long-standing armor. Jenna never understood my need to write down my thoughts, even once telling me to Man up.
She drags her fingers down my jaw, combing through my beard. “ I like that. Words hold a lot of power, especially when they’re written down. Books , letters, poetry.”
I hum in agreement. “ When he died, I found it harder than usual to express myself, plus, I just wanted to be with my family more than ever. I think today reminded me—and my brothers—that we only have our mom left.” My eyes lower, tracking the gentle rise and fall of her chest. “ I wasn’t prepared to see Jenna last night either. The last twenty-four hours brought up a lot of old feelings. I’m sorry for freezing up on you last night and today.”
She studies me with a furrowed brow. “ Why do you do that?”
“ Do what?”
“ Apologize or make it seem like you’re not allowed to feel a certain way. They’re your feelings, Graham . No one should fault you or hold that against you.” The hand that’s been resting on my cheek curves around my nape. “ She did, didn’t she?”
Quinn’s body tenses, and I’m not sure what it is about my expression that answers her question. I wait for the mortification to strike, but it never comes. In its place, solace winds around my heart, settling me.
“ I hate her for making you think you handled your feelings wrong. There hasn’t been a single moment where I’ve wanted you any other way. I hear you talking confidently to clients over the phone. The way you tease and play with Lottie . The banter and quips you have with your brothers. The attentiveness and time you show your mom. Every act of kindness you’ve given me confirms you’re an amazing man.” She shakes her head softly, as if to say she can’t believe I don’t see it. But through her eyes, maybe I’m starting to. “ And do you know what?”
“ What ?”
“ Her loss is my gain.”