30. Quinn #2
Embarrassment and regret settle deep in my gut. This day was supposed to be different—a day for just us and Blake.
A day filled with lightness and laughter, where she could see the kind of life we wanted to offer her and how well she’d fit in our pack. Instead, Graves poisoned it with his bitterness, and I let my temper get the best of me.
I reach for my phone to text my mom and Blake to let them know there’s been a change of plans, but the moment I try to curl my fingers around it, a brutal wave of pain radiates from my hand.
“Fuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
Sterling cradles my hand in both of hers. She presses a kiss to the back of it and looks up at me.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her scent is tinged with bitterness and unease. She’s clearly distressed and worried, and I hate it.
“For what, love?” I ask gently, but she doesn’t answer.
Instead, she tugs me toward the truck with more strength than I expect, her grip tight, her eyes fixed forward.
“We’re getting you to urgent care,” she says, her voice firm but edged with concern. “Now!”
I try to wave her off, but she’s already looking around. “Where are your keys?”
“My pocket,” I sigh. “But you’ll have to grab them.”
Her eyes flick to my jeans.
Then, she hesitates.
Watching her fluster, knowing she has to rummage around in my pants to help me, seeing the way her cheeks flush, it’s the kind of distraction I need.
Her delicate fingers brush against my hip as she slides a hand into my pocket, her touch burning through the fabric. My Alpha stirs at the contact, pleased in a way it shouldn’t be right now.
“Not there,” I tease, my voice rough—trying to joke, to bring back the levity we had earlier.
Sterling makes an exasperated sound, shoving her hand into the other pocket—this time retrieving my keys.
“Get in,” I say, motioning to the truck, because if I let her keep touching me, I might forget that my hand is broken and kiss her instead.
She slides into the driver’s seat, her grip tight on the wheel as she starts the engine. I can see the way her fingers tremble, the way her breath comes too fast, the way she won’t look at me for too long.
She’s upset and all I want to do is make it right.
As we pull onto the road, I let out a slow breath, trying to ease the tension settling between us.
“Sterling,” I say softly.
She shakes her head, her breath hitching. “I can’t believe—” She stops, pressing her lips together, her grip tightening on the wheel. “I can’t believe he said those things about you, about Cass and JP.” And I’m just now realizing how angry she is.
My jaw tightens. She’s upset for us?
As furious as I am about what Graves said, I know the words he threw at her cut deeper. That bastard knows exactly what he’s doing—how to press into every old wound, every insecurity, every dark, twisted fear a person has ever had about themselves.
And even though I know he’s full of shit, I also know words like that have a way of festering.
I won’t let them.
“You know he’s full of shit, right?” I watch her from the corner of my eye. “That you’re not?—”
“A gold digger? A slut? Unclaimed for a reason?” She lets out a harsh, humorless laugh. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, Quinn.”
I knew she’d been through some shit, but hearing her voice waver and seeing her white-knuckled grip on the wheel sends a blade twisting in my chest.
I shake my head, fury simmering beneath my skin.
“Sterling, look at me,” I say, voice rough.
She doesn’t.
I reach over, my good hand settling on her thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, forcing her to feel me, to hear me.
“That was bullshit. Every single word. Every single fucking word a lie.” My voice is low, firm, and unshakable. “You are not any of the things he said to you.”
She exhales sharply, blinking hard. “I just don’t get it…Why does he have it out for me? I’ve literally never done anything to him.”
“Sterling, nothing he says is anything more than his own hate. He’s looking for something to hurt. He’s a fucking black-hearted man, determined to infect the rest of the world with his darkness.”
“Why do you guys put up with it?” she asks, barely above a whisper.
I blow out a breath, dragging a hand down my face. “That’s the ten million dollar question, right?” I say, because I don’t really know how to explain it in a way that makes sense. Not even to myself.
The Graves dynamic isn’t just complicated—it’s toxic, knotted with years of history and obligation that none of us really know how to escape from.
“I guess the only real answer is…the only way for Cass to get the North Star is through Graves. The charter business. The boat. The dock lease. It’s all still in his name. He holds it over Cass like a goddamn leash.”
I glance over at her. She’s quiet, but I can see her chewing on that—on the idea that we’re still tethered to a man like Graves.
“And the rest of it?” I shrug, the words bitter in my throat.
“It’s just…messy. Twisted. He’s the kind of Alpha who poisons everything he touches.
But he’s Cass’s father, and Cass feels connected to him despite all the shit.
And Graves knows it—uses it. He twists that bond, weaponizes it, and hurts Cass over and over again. ”
I shift my weight, the guilt sitting heavy in my chest. “For whatever reason, lately, Graves has just been…more. Meaner. Sharper. Or maybe he’s just always been this way and we’re finally outgrowing the excuses.”
My voice trails off. It’s a lame answer, and I know it—and so does she. But it’s the truth I’ve got right now.
Her throat works as she swallows, her breathing uneven.
“Quinn, I don’t—” she starts but clamps her mouth shut.
“What?” I press, squeezing her fingers lightly.
She hesitates, voice small. “I don’t want to cause problems for you guys.”
My chest aches.
“Sweetheart.” My tone softens, but my grip stays firm. Trying to hold on to her because I can feel her start to pull away “You’re not the problem.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “But Graves?—”
“Graves is the problem. He’s been the problem since the day Cass was born,” I growl. “And you? You’re not even in the same fucking universe as him. Do you understand me?”
Her lips part, but no words come out.
I take a slow breath, trying to reign in my Alpha instincts. She’s still vulnerable and raw, and the last thing I want to do is overwhelm her.
So I loosen my grip, tracing slow, reassuring circles over the top of her thigh.
“We don’t give a fuck what Graves thinks about anything,” I tell her, voice steadier now. “But I do care what you think.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, her storm-gray eyes searching mine, filled with hurt, fear, longing and heartbreaking sadness.
I keep my voice low. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours…please.”
She swallows, her lips trembling slightly. “I?—”
My phone buzzes against her though where it sits on the seat, cutting through the silence.
She flinches before she takes a deep breath.
Then, she pulls away from the curb and picks up my phone and gives it a quick look.
“Cass and JP are on their way,” she murmurs, eyes darting toward the screen before she tucks it back into her lap between her legs.
I know it’s going to take more than words to make her believe that we’d trade a lifetime of Graves harassing us for her in our lives.
By the time we pull up to urgent care, my hand is throbbing. It’s a dizzying, persistent ache radiating from my knuckles up my arm. Sterling throws the truck into park and practically jumps out, rushing around to my side before I can even reach for the door handle.
“Come on,” she says, tugging me out.
I roll my eyes but I let her fuss, let her loop her arm around mine, guiding me toward the entrance like I’m the one in need of saving. Maybe I am.
The glass doors slide open with a quiet hiss, the sterile scent of antiseptic and recycled air hitting me instantly. It’s quiet inside—just a few people scattered throughout the waiting room, heads buried in magazines, the occasional cough breaking the stillness.
We approach the front desk, where a Beta nurse looks up from her computer with a practiced smile. “What brings you in today?”
Sterling answers before I can. “His hand. It’s definitely broken.”
The nurse arches a brow, her gaze flicking to my bruised knuckles. “What happened?”
“Asshole’s face happened,” I mutter.
Sterling pinches my side, shooting me a look. “He punched someone.”
The nurse sighs like she’s seen this a hundred times before. “Alright. Name?”
“Quinn Shawnacee.”
She types something into the system, her nails clicking against the keyboard. “Insurance?”
I rattle it off, shifting my weight as Sterling hovers beside me, arms crossed, foot tapping. She’s anxious. And I know it’s not just because of my hand.
The nurse hands me a clipboard. “Fill this out and take a seat. We’ll call you back shortly.”
I grab the clipboard and turn to Sterling, about to tell her to sit down, when the doors burst open?—
And Cass and JP come storming in, tension crackling around them and worry clearly etched in their faces.
Cass’s eyes lock onto mine, sharp and assessing, already searching for the damage. JP’s nostrils flare, scenting the air, his gaze cutting to Sterling, to me, to the barely restrained fury thrumming between us all.
I know the second Sterling sees them, because she stiffens, shoulders curling inward, her arms wrapping tight around herself.
Regret.
Guilt.
Doubt.
“Hey guys, I left something in the truck I need to get. Be right back,” she blurts, already turning.
I narrow my eyes. She’s lying.
But Cass and JP are already on me, and before I can stop her, she’s gone, disappearing through the sliding doors.
JP crouches beside me, gaze flicking to my swollen hand. “What the fuck happened?”
I don’t answer right away, watching the spot where she just stood, my chest tightening with the truth I already know.
“Goddamn it,” I murmur.
Cass’s brows furrow. “What?”
I exhale sharply, flexing my injured hand. “She thinks she’s the problem.”
JP’s jaw clenches, his hands fisting. “That’s the biggest fucking joke.”
And we all know it. Without another word, Cass takes off to try and stop her.
The question is—how the hell do we get her to believe it? And how do we keep Graves away from her?