Chapter 51
51
Quinn
R oman kisses Carrie’s cheek. “I’ll talk to Esmeralda and make sure it’s all running fine with the hospice provider,” he says. “Quinn will help you to bed before we go.”
He heads for the door. “Take care, Carrie. If you want or need anything, you let me know.”
“Thank you.” Carrie blows him a kiss. “I will.”
Then he’s gone, and it’s just her and me. Then, I realize how exhausted she is, and I support her as she walks inside.
Roman’s gesture has left me speechless. Buying this house for Carrie, ensuring she has a place to live out her days in peace, is more than I ever expected—more than I could have hoped for.
My heart swells with gratitude and love for him, and I feel a tear slip down my cheek. Carrie notices and stops, turning to face me.
“Quinn, are you alright?” she asks, her voice full of concern.
I nod, wiping the tears away. “I’m fine, Carrie. Overwhelmed, I guess. Roman did something incredible yet again, and I don’t understand why. What does he even see in me?”
She smiles, a knowing look in her eyes. “He loves you. That much is clear. But love is a complex thing. It’s beautiful but will lay bare the best and worst in both of you. You must stick together and be honest with each other if you want to make it last.”
“I know.” We reach the bed, and I flip the blanket so she can sit on the mattress. “It’s a whole new world. His life is complicated, and now so is mine.”
She takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Life always is, my dear. But trust is the foundation; without it, a good thing can wither and die.”
I remove Carrie’s house slippers and lift her legs onto the bed. She always had sore, cracked heels when I saw her at Two Pines. It’s a classic hallmark of the near-bedridden, but now they look far better. It’s extraordinary what high-quality palliative care can do.
Her eyes are already closing. I dim the lamp on the nightstand and kiss her forehead. “I was wondering,” I say. “You mentioned you had two wishes, and Roman granted them both. One was to get this house back, but what was the other?”
“To know my Quinn was adored by someone,” she murmurs. “It’s all over him like a suntan, sweetheart. To Roman, every love song is about you.”
I smile and kiss her cheek. “I’ll be back soon,” I whisper. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Despite her tiredness, her voice is light. “Don’t count me out just yet, my Quinn. Right until the moment I die, I’m alive. And I promise you, when I go, you’ll be smiling.”
I think about Carrie’s words as we drive back to the city.
Before I met Roman, I wasn’t living. I was existing, getting by, putting one foot in front of the other. My aspirations were dreams, not goals; I had no plan.
My uncle saw the raw wound of my grief at the loss of my parents and ground dirt into it, destroying what little self-esteem I had. By the time I ran away from home, I’d forgotten who I was.
It’s funny, but things are coming back to me—things I haven’t thought about in years. My dad, before the drugs, when he had a day job and a spring in his step. Mom, when she had nothing to do except love us. We three were a team—a family.
I suppressed these memories. Buried them deep for fear of being overwhelmed by the pain. But Roman came along and did something to me.
His obsessive adoration shone a beam into every dark corner and forced the real Quinn into the light. The girl who knew love and could know it again.
The more I saw myself through his eyes, the more I wanted to live up to his perception. He drew out the person I was before trauma and abuse bludgeoned me into numbness.
“You changed me.” I glance at him. “You know that, right?”
He shakes his head. “I only reminded you, rusalka . You were your strong, kind, wonderful self all along.” Mirth creeps into his tone. “Although Mrs. Kazanova is one hundred percent my creation.”
“Seriously, though. Thank you for what you’ve done.”
He keeps his eyes on the road, but there’s a weight to his words. “I have to ask you something. I have experience, so I know what I’m looking at, but I wondered—do you see what’s happening with Carrie?”
I turn my face to the window. “I see it but don’t know exactly what it means.”
“She’s dying.” I feel Roman’s warm hand on my thigh. “She’s losing ground, and fast.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s not as though I couldn’t figure this out for myself, but to be confronted with it is hard to bear.
“Be angry with me if you must,” Roman says, “but you have to face it, or you deny Carrie her truth, and that’s not acceptable, not when she’s about to leave this world.”
I slip my hand into his, and he squeezes it. “Visit her as much as you can, Quinn. There will always be a car available. I’ll come with you or won’t—it’s up to you. But don’t waste time lying to yourself, or you’ll regret it.”
“I’m not angry,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’re right, but I wish so much that I could change it.”
“If it were in my power, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save Carrie’s life, but I can’t.” Roman’s brow furrows. “I hate that I have no way to take your pain away, but I’m here for you, always.”
I unlock my apartment door and head into the kitchen, only to slip and fall flat on my ass. Roman bursts out laughing as he picks me up.
“Sorry, moya zhena , but that was hilarious.” He brushes me down. “You alright? Where did all this water come from?”
“Oh, shit,” I say, spotting the problem. “I left the icebox open. Everything’s defrosted.”
He smiles indulgently. “Silly girl. So, no Eggos?” He pouts. “Not a frozen lasagne to be had? Ice cream turned to soup? Only one thing for it; we’ll have to order in.”
“Can’t we go out?”
“No,” he heads for the bathroom. You can choose whatever cuisine you fancy, and I’ll have it delivered from a Michelin-starred establishment, but I’m not going out.”
“Is that necessary?” I ask. “Not everything has to cost the Earth, you know. I can go to McDonalds like the rest of the peasants. Or even go to a normal restaurant, like couples do.”
He turns in the doorway and leans against the jam, his hands in his pockets. “What if I want to eat your pussy for dessert? I’m not giving those diners a free show. I’ll enjoy my sweet treat behind closed doors.”
I laugh. “You’re ridiculous. Get clean and wash your filthy mouth out while you’re at it. I’m gonna borrow a mop from the janitor’s closet.”
Roman wrinkles his nose. “Okay. But be quick. As much as I’d love to do a kinky Cinderella role-play, I’m starving, and I gotta eat some actual food before I eat you.”
I run down the stairs and outside. The janitor keeps his gear beside the trash store, and the same key opens both; all the residents have one.
The door is on the side of the building, and I’m reaching into my pocket for my keys when I hear a voice.
“Quinny.”
I hear the nickname I always despised, and I’m catapulted back in time, a kid again. My parents are gone, but it’s okay, the social worker told me—you’ll always have your Uncle Julian.
I wheel around, hoping I’m having a psychotic break; the alternative is far worse. But no. There he is, larger than life.
Julian looks terrible, and given how bad he looked when I last saw him, that’s saying something.
His hair is matted and thinning, with a pronounced bald patch catching the light, and his skin is pallid and pockmarked. He turns his yellowing eyes to mine.
I want to run or scream, but I can’t move. My throat is closing up, panic suffocating me, and I sink to my knees.
No. What the fuck does he want?
“How did you find me?” I say in a hoarse whisper. “Leave me alone. Don’t do this to me.”
“There’s no need to make a fuss,” Julian says, taking a step toward me. “You were always such a drama queen.”
“When?” It comes out as a strangled cry of fear-soaked fury. “Do you mean those times when your friends threatened to screw me? Or when you beat me?”
“See?” He hocks up a ball of phlegm and spits it into the bushes. “That’s not what happened. You caused me a lot of trouble, did you know that? Anyway, I’m here to help you.”
Help me? How?
He doesn’t wait for me to ask. “I’m sick. Sick and tired. I got no beef with you or that degenerate prick you married, but I do wanna see out my days in comfort. You could do that for me, right? After all, I took care of you after your mom and dad got killed. You don’t want the same to happen to me.”
The initial shock is fading, replaced by adrenaline, and I find my feet again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m hiding, Quinny. Your husband is looking for me, and if he finds me, I’m dead.”
Roman promised me he’d let it go. As much as I hate my uncle, he’s a pathetic creature, and I don’t want his murder on my conscience because that would make me worse than him. Roman knows that because I told him, and he agreed to back down.
“I have some information to trade for my life,” Julian continues. “About your parent’s murders. I heard some stuff about the grapevine at the time, but I kept quiet. All I want is five million dollars and to be left alone; in exchange, I’ll tell all I know about it.”
This is almost certainly bullshit, but it doesn’t matter. Five million is chicken feed if it gets Julian out of my life forever, and I have the money in my account.
“I can’t do this now.” I hate myself for sounding so cowed. Just seeing my uncle has sent me spiraling down to where I was before, beaten down and afraid. “I can meet you tomorrow in the daytime, somewhere public.”
“Fine. What about the Rose Gallery at the library, ten a.m? Quiet, lots of people around, no funny business.”
I should say no and go straight to Roman. But I know him; he would not let it go this time.
It’s one thing to allow Julian to live in peace but quite another to ignore a clear provocation. If my bratva husband found out, he would kill him with his bare hands.
I’m gonna deal with this myself, once and for all. It’s not Roman’s fight; it’s mine, and I can get through with my morals and self-respect intact. I can choose to be the better person.
“Fine,” I say, looking Julian in the eye. “Now get out of here.”
He turns his back on me and walks toward a parked car on the other side of the street. As soon as he drives away, I release the agonizing breath I’d been holding, and the strain in my lungs eases as I pull in fresh oxygen.
Keep it together. Roman doesn’t need to know.