15. QUINN
QUINN
I’m a nervous wreck as I watch Beck walk up to me from the stables. Daisy came in a few minutes ago, and she gave me a thumbs-up on her way in. I have no idea what it was for, but I’m taking it as a sign that she had a good talk with her uncle.
My heart is still breaking for Beck. Watching him spiral after the cruelty he suffered this afternoon left me wrecked. Having to explain it to Jace and watch his fierce demeanor crack after learning what happened to his brother was tear-jerking.
Jace looked ready to burn down the whole town for Beck, but even he understands that this is a process. We are going to have bumps in the road, and today we suffered a pretty huge one. I just hope Beck doesn’t back out of our agreement because of it.
I wouldn’t blame him—today was brutal, and most people would crack under such extreme hate.
Hell, I would too. I’m just hoping Beck is stronger than that.
I need him to be. I see so much potential in him, and I want to share the version I saw today in that playroom as he interacted with the kids with the rest of the town.
They need to see that he has changed and is no longer the troubled teen from back then.
So I rehearse the words in my head—arguments I’ll use to pull him back if he tries to quit.
Logical reasons, emotional appeals, anything to keep him tethered to our plan.
Because if he walks away now, it’s not just his image that goes up in flames.
It’s my work, credibility, and chance to get the investment I’m working my butt off for from the Morgans.
He finally gets to me, shoulders squared, jaw set, the storm I’ve braced myself for nowhere to be found. His eyes sweep over me, steady and deliberate, before he says, “So, what’s next?”
For a second, I just blink at him. That’s it? No resentment, no fight, no declaration that he’s done? I’d been ready to wrestle him back from the edge, and instead he’s standing here, calm, waiting for direction.
“You want to keep going?” The words come out sharper than I mean, my disbelief slipping through.
He lifts a brow. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
I don’t bother denying it. “Yes, I thought you would be halfway across the state by now, and I’d have to chase you down.”
He chuckles, the sound music to my ears. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Atwood.”
“Can you blame me?” I retort.
I’d braced for it so much that I can hardly process the relief now washing over me. I feel my spine loosen, air slipping deeper into my lungs. He hasn’t abandoned this. He’s here and ready to keep working.
But even as I’m thinking this, I can’t ignore the truth pressing at the edges of my mind.
This isn’t just about Beck. His redemption is tethered to mine, and if he had walked away just now, everything I’ve built would unravel with him.
The Morgans would take one look at my failed project with him and close their checkbook before I could even get a single cent from them.
It’s not fair that his choices hold the keys to my future, but that’s the reality.
I’ve spent too long climbing, too long proving myself in boardrooms full of men who smirk at my last name and assume my father paved my way.
If Beck gives up, they’ll be right about me—that I’m nothing but wasted potential and family connections.
I can’t let that happen. Not after how much I’ve sacrificed to prove otherwise.
So when Beck looks at me, steady and resolute, I feel something shift in my chest. Gratitude, yes, but also a flare of determination that matches his. If he’s ready to fight for his second chance, then I’ll fight twice as hard. For him. For me. For everything riding on this.
I nod once, trying to disguise the gratitude threatening to soften my composure. “Good. Then we get back to work as of tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it,” he nods, and I can tell that he’s not lying or pretending.
I’m about to respond when my phone vibrates in my pocket, slicing through the moment. I retrieve it, and the name flashing across the screen knots my stomach. Dad.
I almost let it go to voicemail, but that would only make things worse. With a shaky breath, I swipe to answer.
“Quinn.” His voice is clipped, businesslike, not a trace of warmth.
“Father,” I respond, matching his tone.
Beck raises an eyebrow at me for my shift in mood, so I give him a quick reassuring smile. Unlike him, I don’t have the luxury of a warm, loving family.
“Your mother is worried—you haven’t called her since you left,” he attacks.
Of course he’s not personally worried about me. Mother probably forced him to make this call. They hate that I’m not under their roof to control and manipulate as they wish.
“I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Okay. Do you have anything to report?”
“No.”
I hear him intake a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
I force a smile he can’t see, my voice pitched steady. “Forgot what?”
“The budget meeting.” There’s the rustle of papers in the background, a familiar sound of his office at home. “The fundraiser numbers have to be finalized. It’s your report, Quinn. I need you in that boardroom.”
For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut, guilt pricking hard. When I left home, I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. They would have locked me in my room if they found out I was moving in with the Morgans. They hate this family, especially Beck, who I’ve been spending most of my time with.
I made up an excuse about needing time away to gather the required funds. In their minds, they think I’m off somewhere corporate, working deals to get the investment that I need. They are not halfway wrong, but I know they don’t expect me to be here, holed up at Iron Stallion, in enemy territory.
“I’ll be there,” I say quickly, maybe too quickly. “I’ve been… gathering the last pieces. I’ll be ready.”
He falls silent, then sighs again, heavy, disappointed. “You always were a dreamer. I hope you’re finally learning to put that aside. The board expects results, not excuses.”
My throat tightens. I hate lying. I hate that if he knew the truth, if any of them knew, I’d be crucified for setting foot on Morgan land, let alone living here.
“I’ll have it,” I promise, pushing steel into my tone, even as my pulse thunders. “Trust me, Dad. You’ll get what you need.”
“You’d better,” he replies, not unkind but firm enough to leave no space for doubt. “We can’t afford missteps.”
The line clicks dead, and I stare at the phone a moment longer, my pulse still racing.
I slip the phone into my pocket and glance at Beck again. He’s waiting, maybe curious, maybe oblivious to just how many strings are pulling me in different directions. To him, this is about clawing back his reputation, silencing whispers, and regaining a little dignity. For me, it’s so much bigger.
If he falters, I fail. If I fail, the Morgans close their doors. And if the Morgans turn me away, my father will finally be proven right—that I was never cut out for this, that my ambitions were always too loud, too reckless.
The pressure presses in from every side—Beck depending on me, my career balanced on an investor’s approval, my family’s expectations like iron chains around my neck. For a second, it threatens to crush me.
But then I straighten, breathing through the weight. Failure isn’t an option. Not for me. Not for him. Not now.
I meet Beck’s gaze, letting the steel settle back into my voice. “Looks like we’ve got no time to waste.”
The words steady me as much as they do him. Because this isn’t just his fight, not anymore. Every step he takes toward redemption pulls me closer to the future I’ve staked everything on. If he rises, I rise. If he falls, I fall harder.
I draw in a breath, quiet but certain, and lock the thought down. This isn’t just Beck’s second chance. It’s mine too.
“It’s been a long day. Why don’t you go in and get some rest? You reek of hospital,” I playfully turn my nose up at him.
He doesn’t—he smells incredible as always, but with a hint of the day on him.
I might be mocking him now, but inside, though, I’m thanking him for not making me fight him on this, for not letting my plan collapse before it’s even taken shape.
Because if he had quit, that would have meant I failed.
And failure isn’t something I can afford.
“Wanna help me wash off?” he teases with a suggestive smirk.
And if I wasn’t convinced that he’s back, his flirting has just confirmed it for me.
I roll my eyes at him. “You wish, cowboy.”
Deep down, though, I’m tempted to give in. The night we had sex at the strip club lingers in my mind, and so does that night Beck doesn’t remember. But I cannot indulge myself again—I’m here to work, not mess around with him.
“Your loss. Have a good night, Quinn. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bright and early.”
“Not so early.”
“I make no promises.”
He grunts in annoyance as he pushes past me, heading inside the house.
That could have gone south fast, so I’m grateful that Beck isn’t giving up, and I have a feeling Daisy had something to do with it. That explains the thumbs-up she gave me. I can’t ask her about it, but I’m grateful for whatever she did to bring Beck back from the brink.