Chapter 1
Chapter One
Quinn piled her hair on top of her head, securing the mass in a messy bun. A quick glance at the clock sent a jolt of urgency through her. If they weren’t out of the house in the next twenty minutes, they’d be late—again.
“Gabriel, Maxim, let’s get going, boys!” she called, grabbing their lunches off the counter.
As expected, Gypsy was already out the door. He’d told her last night—late, after shutting himself away in his office for hours—that he had meetings first thing in the morning. Again.
She was tired of it. The early meetings. The late nights. The way their conversations barely scraped the surface of anything but the club and his work. She missed him. The kids missed him. Lately, it felt like he wasn’t interested in her at all. Not as a wife. Not as a partner.
She forced the thought away, pushing a tired smile onto her face as she handed the boys their lunches. “Where’s Tatiana?”
“Still in her room.” Maxim hesitated. “Quinn—I mean, Mom. Sorry.” His wide eyes searched hers, like he expected her to be mad.
She softened, ruffling his hair. “It’s fine, Maxim. You can call me whatever makes you happy.”
But it wasn’t fine. Not really. After all these years, after everything she did—cooking, cleaning, school pickups, late-night fevers, parent-teacher conferences—she was still Quinn more often than Mom. No matter how much she loved them, they still hesitated. Still held back.
Shoving down the sting, she walked down the hall and pushed open Tatiana’s door.
The room was dim, the curtains still drawn, and her daughter—because that’s what she was, hers, whether they realized it or not.
Tatty sat on the edge of her bed, barely dressed for school.
Her head hung low, dark curls tumbling around her face like a curtain.
“Tatty?” Quinn’s voice gentled as she crossed the room. “Are you okay?”
Tatiana peeked up, her little face pale and drawn. “I don’t feel good, Mama.”
Quinn had barely knelt in front of her when Tatty’s stomach pitched—and before she could react, warm vomit splattered down her blouse.
Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing back her own reaction as the smell hit her. Behind her, Maxim gagged from the doorway, and Gabriel groaned. “I’m gonna be late for school!”
Tatiana whimpered, her small body shuddering. Quinn barely had time to grab her before another wave hit, drenching her even more.
God help me.
She took a steadying breath and reached for the trash can beside the nightstand, holding it in front of Tatiana. “Maxim, go wait in the living room,” she said, her voice calm despite the mess soaking through her clothes. “Gabriel, check outside. See if Angel or one of the guys is out front.”
Maxim gagged again as he retreated, and Gabriel hollered at him to move faster.
Heavy footsteps thudded toward the bedroom, and Quinn’s stomach tightened. She was standing there half-naked, covered in puke, and instead of her husband, it would be one of the brothers walking in to help. It should have been Gypsy.
“Quinn, what can I do?”
Angel’s voice came from the doorway, laced with concern.
She didn’t turn, keeping her back to him as she clutched the soiled blouse to her chest. “Can you grab me my robe from the laundry room? And I need Bishop or Sloan—Tatiana is sick. Have someone call Gypsy.”
Angel answered without hesitation. “Yeah, I got it.”
As his footsteps retreated, Quinn turned back to her daughter, scooping her up carefully. Tatty whimpered, curling into her.
“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured, carrying her into the small bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She didn’t let the tears fall until the door was closed behind them.
She stripped them both and turned on the shower, steam curling into the air as she tested the water with her hand. The warmth was a relief against her chilled skin, the lingering scent of vomit making her stomach churn.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Just leave the robe hanging on the knob, Angel,” she called over her shoulder, already reaching for the washcloth.
“Got it,” he replied, his voice muffled through the door. A soft clink of metal against wood told her he’d done as she asked, and his footsteps retreated down the hall.
Quinn exhaled, guiding Tatiana under the warm stream. The little girl shivered at first, then sagged against her, exhausted.
“I don’t feel good,” Tatty whispered, her voice small.
“I know, baby.” Quinn ran the washcloth over her daughter’s back, soothing strokes meant to comfort as much as clean. “We’ll get you all washed up, and then you can rest, okay?”
Tatiana gave a sleepy nod, her curls plastering to her forehead.
Quinn worked efficiently, rinsing them both as quickly as she could while still keeping her daughter calm. She would have loved to stand under the water longer, to let it wash away the exhaustion clinging to her bones, but she didn’t have the luxury of time.
She turned off the shower and wrapped Tatiana in a soft towel before grabbing another for herself. Holding her daughter close, she pressed a kiss to her damp forehead.
“Let’s get you back to bed,” she murmured.
Tatiana only hummed in response, already halfway asleep against her shoulder.
Quinn sighed and reached for the clean bathrobe Angel had left. It should have been Gypsy who brought it. It should have been Gypsy checking in. But like everything else lately, he wasn’t there. And she was getting really tired of being the only one who was.
Quinn stood under the spray of the shower, tears running hot down her face, indistinguishable from the water. She hated that she was crying over this—over him. It shouldn’t upset her that Gypsy had been unavailable earlier.
She had convinced herself for months that it was just business, that the long hours and closed doors were necessary. But what was upsetting—what gutted her—was seeing him outside the Firehouse earlier, laughing with the brothers, looking as carefree as ever.
She had run into town to grab Tatiana’s prescription, the one Bishop had called in for her, and there he was—standing around, joking with his brothers like he had no weight on his shoulders at all.
No family waiting for him at home. No wife drowning under the pressure of being everything for their children while he was too busy being everything for everyone else.
And when he finally came home? Barely a glance, barely a word before he shut himself in his office. Again.
Things needed to change. And they needed to change soon.
Quinn shut off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel—only to stop short.
Gypsy stood there, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. She didn’t startle. Didn’t rush to cover herself. No, she just looked at him, taking in his presence and the tension in his stance.
Usually, he would have joined her in the shower. Another sign of how off things were between them.
“I didn’t use all the hot water,” she said coolly, wrapping herself in a towel as she turned away.
“Quinn, I need you to talk to me.”
She met his gaze in the mirror. His dark eyes searched hers, full of something—regret, frustration, maybe even guilt. It wasn’t enough.
“You aren’t available to us anymore,” she said simply. “You’re either in meetings for your company or in meetings with the club.”
“I’m trying to keep things on track.” His voice was steady, but she could hear the defensiveness laced beneath it.
“You have plenty of time for the club. Plenty of time for work. Just not for us.”
Gypsy flinched, like the truth had landed heavier than he expected.
Quinn moved past him, tying her robe around her waist. She felt his hand wrap around her arm, a reflex—an attempt to stop her from walking away.
She snatched it back.
He didn’t get to do that. Not after shutting her out, not after making her feel like an afterthought.
“I’m going away for the weekend,” she said, voice quiet but firm.
God, she needed a break, a fresh perspective. And Gypsy needed to remember what it was like to be a father first.
Gypsy frowned, searching her face. “Quinn—”
“When I get back, you need to have things figured out, Nicolea.”
His real name hung between them, heavy with warning, with finality.
She watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard, but she didn’t give him the chance to respond. She turned, stepping into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.
Just as he had closed his office door earlier, shutting her out without a second thought. Let him sleep in the spare room. Or better yet, with Tatty—she could use her dad.
Tomorrow was a new day.
Hopefully, a better one.