Chapter 10
Graham
Ididn’t know what to do.
My fingers trembled around the glass as I gulped down water. I wasn’t sure why I was this thirsty. My mouth was so dry.
Finishing the water, I flipped on the faucet and filled it again.
The click of my bedroom door made my muscles tighten. Footsteps softly treaded down the hall, heading toward the kitchen.
Anna’s voice drifted toward me. She set her bag on the counter, pinning me with a sympathetic look.
“She’s going to be sore for a few days, but she should be okay. The bruising along her ribs and neck looks superficial.”
I rolled my jaw, wishing that news brought relief. It was good that she didn’t need a hospital, but there was nothing but coldness in my chest.
“Thank you, Anna,” I said, voice rough. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Anna was a longtime friend of the family.
She and my mother had been friends since they were in grade school.
She had made many house calls to our home when we were kids.
I couldn’t have been more grateful she was willing to help me out when I texted her.
She was the kind of person who would drop everything to help someone.
Anna nodded as she took out a notepad and pen from her bag. She began writing furiously as she spoke. “It’s not a problem. You know I’ll always be there for you.”
I nodded, though my mind was caught somewhere back at that library. It was the look on Quinn’s face in the darkness, the sound of her gasping for air and the blood dripping off her chin.
I couldn’t stop replaying it.
The sharp rip of paper snapped my attention back to Anna.
She held the note out. “Here,” she said, and I took it.
“I wrote down everything that might help. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen for pain. Either will help with inflammation. Diphenhydramine if she can’t sleep.
Ice and then a warm compress should help the bruising. ”
I stared down at the paper as if it were something written in another language.
She wrote down normal, everyday things, but none of this felt normal. My pulse still hammered, rushing in my ears.
Why was this affecting me so much?
“You did good,” Anna cut in gently when I didn’t reply. Her expression softened as she searched my face as if she could see the storm there. “You kept her calm. That’s what mattered.”
I wasn’t sure that was true. Quinn had barely spoken a word the whole drive here. She’d just stared out the window, silent and trembling.
Anna hesitated before speaking. “Do you know what happened?”
I set my glass down a little too hard. The sound cracked through the stillness.
“Someone attacked her outside the library,” I explained. “I didn’t see who. They were gone by the time I got to her.”
My stomach turned. I didn’t believe in coincidence.
Maybe it was because of my past, or maybe it was my experience working with August in the security industry, but this felt planned.
The idea that someone had been following her, tracking her habits, waiting for her to be alone—it made my chest thrum with something dangerously close to rage.
Anna was quiet for a moment. “Do you know what happened to her before that?”
I stilled, squaring Anna with a look. “What do you mean?”
“You and I both know she’s dealing with some PTSD.”
My gut roiled again.
Even in the darkness back at that library, the terror on her face had been stark. It wasn’t just fear. It was trauma. She’d been somewhere else. Somewhere from her past. Probably somewhere terrible.
“No,” I finally said, my voice distant. “She’s not—she doesn’t share a lot about herself. I honestly don’t even know her that well.”
I cleared my throat, the guilt bitter on my tongue. For the last couple of weeks, I’d been trying to figure her out. She was wildly independent, and ridiculously stubborn. She barely tolerated me as it was.
But I’d thought if I spent time with her, I could watch out for her in what little capacity I was able. To make sure she didn’t bring back any trouble to the bed-and-breakfast.
It shouldn’t surprise me that I had failed miserably.
“I should’ve walked her out. At the very least made sure she got to her car safely.” My hands balled into fists, nails biting into my palms.
“Don’t do that,” Anna said gently. “You can’t blame yourself for what someone else did. This is a small town—no one would’ve expected that to happen.”
I resisted the impulse to argue. I knew better than anyone what could happen in this town. The smallness, the tight-knitted nature of Ember Hollow didn’t make it safe. It made it vulnerable, with a false sense of security.
I stared at the paper she’d given me. It was a simple thing—a list of over-the-counter medication and aftercare instructions. But it was tangible. Something I could focus on and control.
Anna picked up her bag and adjusted the strap on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay, Graham.”
I nodded absently, unconvinced. She might make it out virtually unscathed tonight, but what if this happened again?
I didn’t think there was anyone looking out for her. When I’d asked who to contact, I’d expected a parent or a sibling—but she’d given me no name. No one who would come for her.
Anna glanced back down the hallway toward my room as she turned to leave. “You should probably go check on her. Make sure that she’s comfortable and that she rests.”
I let out a harsh sigh, shaking my head. “That’ll be easier said than done. I’m not sure she knows the meaning of the word.”
Anna’s mouth thinned. “You’ll take care of her.” She gave a curt nod. “Just be careful with her. Maybe she’ll learn to trust you. You’re a good one, Graham.”
Shame and uncertainty burned in my core. I wasn’t sure that was true. I was probably the last person she should trust.
“I’ll do my best.”
She gave me a knowing look. “Don’t hesitate to call or text. Keep an eye on her breathing. If she develops shortness of breath, dizziness, or the bruising darkens too fast, bring her in immediately.”
My face paled, but I nodded. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“It shouldn’t, but you can contact me for anything. Let me know how she’s doing in the morning.”
With that, she headed to the door, giving a final wave before she left.
The house went still again in her absence.
I leaned against the counter, staring at Anna’s instructions until the words blurred.
I wasn’t sure what worried me more—the fact that Quinn had been attacked…or the realization that I care too much.
Iknocked once on my bedroom door and was greeted by silence.
I waited, drumming my knuckles over the door, louder, a second time.
“Quinn?”
Still no answer.
A fresh wave of panic twisted my gut. I didn’t want to wake her if she’d fallen asleep—but something in the silence felt wrong.
I turned the knob and cracked the door open an inch at a time. “Quinn?”
The room was dim, the bedside lamp still on, throwing a warm pool of light across the unrumpled bed. My heart clenched. It was empty.
I shoved inside the room, my pulse leaping as I scanned the space.
I froze when I saw her.
She stood at the dresser, her work bag open on top of it; papers and folders were spread haphazardly over the top. Her hands shook as she sifted through them, eyes darting between the pages and the mirror hanging on the wall in front of her.
A deep ache unfurled within me. It wasn’t pity, but something heavier. Something like grief.
“Quinn.” I murmured her name, on the verge of desperation.
She didn’t react.
She stared at her own reflection. Her quaking hands crumpled the sheet of paper in her grip. Most of the blood had been cleaned from her lip and chin, but a stain of scarlet had seeped onto the front of her shirt.
I moved closer, measured and deliberate. “Quinn,” I tried again when I was only a step behind her.
Still nothing.
I hesitated, not wanting to touch her without asking, but…she wasn’t hearing me. Slowly, I reached out, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder.
She flinched, eyes snapping to mine in the mirror. They were wide and wild for a second before shame flashed through them.
I pulled my hand back. “Hey,” I said, keeping my tone calm. “What are you doing?”
Her gaze dropped to the papers again. The mess made no sense—files, handwritten notes, books…everything was jumbled.
“You should lay down,” I suggested gently. “Rest.”
At the last word, she spun around, her stare suddenly sharp. “I’m fine,” she snapped.
Her voice cut through the air, brittle and defensive. She glanced around the room, like it was the first time she’d really looked at it. Then she paused on me. Color bloomed in her cheeks.
“I—I should probably go.”
She turned back to the dresser and started frantically shoving everything back into her bag.
I stayed still, trying to think. She was unraveling.
When she turned back toward me, bag dangling over her shoulder, I gave her a look of what I hoped was reassurance.
“You’re welcome to stay here,” I offered.
The red in her cheeks deepened to the color of the bloodstain on her shirt.
She shook her head fiercely, and her eyes went unfocused. She swayed.
I caught her before she could fall, my hand closing around her elbow. She blinked rapidly, struggling to refocus on me.
“You shouldn’t leave,” I warned, my voice dipping low, but firm. “Not right now.”
I didn’t know how to make her listen. She looked at me like a trapped animal, ready to bolt at the slightest wrong move.
She reminded me of some kind of wounded wild cat. A lynx, maybe—small and fierce, all bristling edges, every soft part hidden behind sharp, bared teeth.
If I wasn’t careful, I’d be the next thing she’d maul for getting too close.
Quinn looked toward the bed behind me. Her face reddened again.
“I can’t stay here,” she said in barely more than a whisper.
I stayed very still, my mind whirring. There had to be a solution that wouldn’t make her feel cornered.
I glanced at my watch. “Well, you have some options,” I began carefully.
“If I bring you back to the bed-and-breakfast right now, Mom’s still going to be awake.
She’ll be up for at least a couple more hours.
Which means”—I looked her over, the bruise blooming around her lip standing out against her skin—“she’s going to see you when you come inside. ”
All the color drained from her face. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, then she winced as the movement tugged at the cut beneath the bandage. She reached up to touch it, fingers trembling.
Silence hovered between us while she considered everything.
“Or,” I continued, even more gently, “you can stay and rest here. Just for a few hours. You can stay the whole night if you need that, too.”
Her gaze was cautious as she stared at me.
I lifted a hand, palm out. “You can have my room. I’ll take the guest room.”
She shifted where she stood, her body taut with discomfort.
“If you stay here,” I added, “I’ll call my mom and take care of everything. She won’t worry.”
Her eyes narrowed. I could tell she didn’t like either option, but she was running out of fight. She’d have to choose between upsetting my mother or staying with me—and for some reason, I had a feeling she cared more about my mother.
Finally, after a long, tense minute, she let out a sigh laced with defeat.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll stay. But only for a couple of hours. I’ll set an alarm.”
Relief eased some of the stress in my shoulders. Hopefully she would be too tired to leave when that alarm went off, but that would be a problem for later.
Now, all that mattered was that she was safe and taken care of.
I nodded once. “Deal.”