Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Q uinley woke slowly, coming to awareness because of the obnoxiously loud cadence of birds singing somewhere outside the window.
She stretched a bit and shifted, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. She frowned when she didn’t recognize it or the room it topped. Reality flooded back in an instant, and she grabbed the lightweight covers and pulled them over her head.
She was never leaving this bed. Ever. This room? This cabin? It was hers. She owned it now. Squatter’s rights if nothing else, she thought with a nearly silent groan. She’d become a recluse living in the mountains. That was a thing, wasn’t it?
After Elias wasn’t able to drop her off at her parents’ mountain home, he’d driven another thirty or forty minutes to the rental he’d secured for his vacation. And after practically force-feeding her small bits of egg and fruit, he’d tilted his head toward one of the bedroom doors and said good night.
He’d dismissed her. Practically ordered her to bed. And then?
Then she’d gone like the good girl she was for him because she didn’t want to piss him off and find herself kicked out in the middle of the night with no money and nowhere to go.
Like he’d have done that.
Fine, he’d proven himself to be a decent sort of guy and probably wouldn’t have done that, but she didn’t want to poke the bear when she needed the bear for, well, pretty much everything at this point. Food, shelter. Sanity.
He doesn’t want you here. You have to make a different plan. Now. Today.
She did. But where else could she go? Using what?
She’d have to either call Ana, having no doubt that her best friend and maid of honor had probably taken care of the items she’d left behind in the penthouse suite and grabbed the purse and bank cards she’d left behind, or ask Elias to cover the expense of renting her own space until she braved the phone call with Ana.
Speaking of calls…
Her gaze locked on the prepaid phone she’d left on the nightstand for safekeeping.
Guilt bombarded her, as did sorrow. She’d made such a mess of things, but deep down she hadn’t wanted to hurt Rhys. She’d just…panicked.
She stretched out a hand and picked up the phone, staring at it for a long moment before entering the first digits of Rhys’s private number.
Funny how she’d always called him by his last name during their relationship and engagement but now…Rhys. She wasn’t sure the reason for the switch, but she wasn’t sure of much these days, was she?
Except for the fact the sooner she got this over with, the better.
She tapped in the number and stared at it, but couldn’t press the button to put the call through.
What could she say? What could she possibly say to make any of this better?
Maybe she was being childish and immature but this? This conversation was hard to explain and when she couldn’t explain it to herself, how could she possibly explain it to him? To the media?
To Ana?
Tears stung her eyes, and she clutched the phone until her fingers and hand hurt. She pressed them against her forehead and blinked hard. Think, Quinnie. What are you going to do?
Her nose twitched as she inhaled, wondering if the smell of bacon was real or imagined or some twisted, tear-related thing. A comfort food thing.
When Quinley was growing up, her mom was never much of a cook because she hadn’t needed to be with a housekeeper on hand six days a week, but those Sunday mornings when her mom attempted to make some semblance of breakfast, bacon was always involved because her father loved it.
Her mom…
Quinley’s heart twisted again and squeezed tight. Her parents were…complicated. She loved them, and they loved her to the best of their ability. She didn’t doubt that. But it wasn’t a perfect relationship like those shown on old TV sitcoms.
While her father had always made it clear he wanted a son, her mother had reveled in having a daughter. But her mother would also always support her father. Whether she agreed with him or not, she’d support him, at least publicly.
Which, in the grand scheme of things, was all that mattered because if she looked for sympathy from her mother, she wasn’t going to find any. That meant calling her mother for help wouldn’t work because even if her mother wanted to help, she’d do whatever her husband ordered.
When it became obvious that she would not be making a call yet, Quinley tossed the covers back and sniffed again, deciding maybe venturing from the bed might be worthwhile with bacon as the reward. Maybe the taste would bring clarity.
She could only hope.
She pulled on the borrowed, too-large sweatpants she’d taken off for sleep and shuffled her way into the attached bath.
The cabin Elias had rented was thankfully a two and two, complete with a basket of owner-welcoming items like packaged toothbrushes, travel toothpaste, and a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes she’d torn through last night just to get the top layer off.
She remembered the sight of the simple gift had left her teary-eyed because she hated going to bed without brushing her teeth, and the kindness on top of Elias hauling her six hours across the state had reenforced her belief that there were good people left in the world.
She couldn’t say she was one of them right now, and Rhys—there it was again—would undoubtedly agree, but she was humble enough to appreciate the kindness of others.
A kindness she wasn’t apparently capable of herself. Not yesterday.
Once she’d brushed her morning breath away and finger combed her hair as best she could, Quinley opened the bedroom door and glanced out to find Elias once again in the kitchen at the stove.
That was definitely bacon. “Good morning,” she said softly, fighting tears yet again. She hadn’t shed any yet because she knew once she started crying, she wasn’t going to be able to stop anytime soon. So she cleared her throat and pushed them down deep, deeper than ever. “Need some help?”
Elias had his back toward her, and she’d apparently surprised him because he stiffened before turning to shoot her a glance over his shoulder as he removed the ear buds he wore.
“I’m good. You get any sleep?”
She knew she looked pretty rough. Now that she’d scrubbed the pound of “natural” looking makeup off her face, her sleepless nights of the last week—oh, who was she kidding, months —were clearly visible in the dark shadows under her eyes.
The signs had been there. The red flags. All of which she’d ignored and passed off with one excuse after another until it was too late to end things gracefully. “Some.”
His gaze narrowed on her, his silent judgment that she looked awful clear on his face but in a worrisome, concerned expression and not a typical male-ick one.
“I made gluten-free waffles and bacon.”
Gluten free? Wasn’t that just for millennials and food influencers looking for views? “I’m not hungry.”
She didn’t miss the way his gaze narrowed even more. But it was true. While the bacon smelled delicious, now that she was out of bed, her stomach squeezed with warning.
“Sit down and eat, Quinley. You’re running on fumes, and I don’t need you passing out again or injuring yourself.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“Quinley.”
The weight in his tone as he said her name left her feeling like a petulant child. She’d admit to acting like one, but after her sleepless night and all the stress, she wasn’t behaving like her usual self. But who would at this point?
Maybe that was a sign she was human after all? Not the cold-hearted witch she imagined Rhys and his family—her father—thought her to be? “I’m sorry. I’m not…”
Her words trailed off, and she didn’t finish her sentence because she couldn’t. The wave of exhaustion that rolled over her left her shaking and freaking teary yet again , and feeling more than a bit frantic with unease because she knew today was decision day, and—she hadn’t made one.
She still didn’t know what to do. Where to go or how to handle the mess she’d created. And the calls? She had to make them, but walking herself to the front of a firing squad would be way easier.
“I know,” he said.
Elias set a plate on the island in front of her, and she reluctantly moved toward it. Two strips of bacon and two perfectly browned waffles stared back at her. Maple syrup and silverware appeared next.
To appease him, she picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled, managing to choke it down despite her queasiness at what the day was going to bring about. She didn’t sit, though. She paced.
“I talked to Cole this morning. Ana is very worried about you. He said if nothing else, I was to call him and put Ana on speaker so she could speak to you.”
Quinley’s knees nearly gave out at the statement and Ana’s sweetness. Her best friend was a mama bear through and through. Ana protected and watched out for those she loved, even if it meant she felt all the pain in the end.
Ana had gone through a rough patch with her teenage son, Ben, but thankfully with Cole’s help, Ben had opened up and revealed the reason behind his nasty behavior change. The kid had been through a lot, but Ana had stood by him through his awful behavior and surliness, the best mama a kid could have.
Quinley had struggled to keep her mouth shut whenever Ben acted out, and she knew there were times when she’d probably hurt Ana’s feelings with her comments.
And if yesterday proved anything, it was that she’d treated her best friend as bad if not worse than Ben had treated his mother. Maybe she hadn’t insulted Ana to her face or said the ugly things Ben had, but she’d hurt Ana. How was she ever going to make it up to her?
Quinley paced back to the bar and seated herself to keep her knees from buckling beneath her.
She didn’t deserve Ana’s worry and concern and friendship. Not after what she’d done. “I’ll…call after breakfast.”
She didn’t know how or what she’d say, but she’d do it. At least give Ana a chance to vent and rail and berate her. She deserved whatever Ana said to her. Rhys, too.
Elias seemed to relax a bit at her words and returned to the waffle maker.
Like everything else she’d noticed about him since her impromptu dive into the limo, Elias cooked with controlled efficiency. His movements were precise, his attention solid, as he poured more of the batter he’d apparently made from scratch, given ingredients she saw sitting nearby.
Was that fresh lemonade? Like from real lemons? “You must really like to cook. You look like a pro.”
He didn’t comment, not that she’d really expected him to.
“I learned at an early age.”
Since this conversation was way better than the ongoing one in her head, she chose to focus on it. “From your mother? Or your aunt?”
The questions emerged before she could stop them, but she’d have to be blind not to notice the way he’d stiffened after hearing them.
Was his mother a sore subject? His parents? She knew all about how they’d died in a car accident, leaving the nine Blackwell siblings orphaned. And last night Elias himself had told her how the eldest of them took over to raise them along with an aunt who’d come to live with them.
But his parents had died years ago. Surely he’d processed the worst of that loss by now?
“I taught myself.”
“Picky eater, huh?” She supposed in a houseful of kids where they probably got what they got in the name of getting everyone fed, being picky wasn’t an option.
“Something like that.”
She took another bite of the bacon and then set it aside. Now that she’d taken a few bites, her stomach had unknotted and felt like it wanted more.
She’d try this gluten-free waffle of his. She just hoped it was good and didn’t taste like sawdust.
She remembered her manners and snagged the knife to slice off a chunk after adding a bit of organic butter and syrup. Bite taken, she chewed, stilling when the wonderful taste hit her and her stomach sent up the green flag to take another.
She looked up, only then realizing Elias watched her, unblinking. Had he always been so serious? “It’s good.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he said wryly.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Rhys couldn’t boil water.” The moment the words emerged, she tensed, and her stomach rolled and threatened an uprising. “Why do I keep doing that? It’s weird.”
“What is?”
“Calling him Rhys . I only ever called him Lachlan before. Ana teased me about it and gave me a hard time. ‘Rhys’ didn’t seem to fit then, but now…he’s Rhys . And I’m not sure why.”
Obviously she saw her ex differently now than she had before. But first names are more intimate and meant for loved ones and friends. Did that mean she hadn’t felt that way before? By only ever using his last name, had she subconsciously kept a wall up between them?
“Eat, Quinley. You’ll feel better with some food in your stomach, and you can process the name thing while you chew.”
Having finished making his own waffles, Elias grabbed the plate he’d piled high and added an equally large stack of bacon before carrying it to sit beside her at the island.
They ate in silence, and she begrudgingly admitted he was right in that once she’d taken a few more bites, the food became easier to get down, and she did feel better. She left one waffle behind but finished the other and the bacon, eyeing his rapidly emptying plate. “Want this one? It’ll go to waste otherwise.”
He frowned at her, and she knew he wanted to order her to eat it, but after seeing she’d eaten some of the food he’d prepped, he stabbed the waffle with a fork and carried it to his plate.
And…then it was the moment of truth. She was only postponing the inevitable. The sooner she made the call to Ana, the better. And then maybe she’d have a plan on what to do next.
“Rip the Band-Aid off,” Elias murmured. “Fast and quick.”
Her gaze shot to his, and she wondered if he could read her mind, given the expression he wore.
“Delaying only makes it worse.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then just listen.”
She could do that. She would do that. God knew she owed Ana that.
Without further comment, she got up and carried her plate to the sink and the soapy water inside. She washed her plate and utensils and set them to dry before avoiding Elias’s gaze as she made her way to the bedroom she’d taken for herself.
She shut the door and leaned against it for a long moment, gathering her emotions and her courage before moving to get the phone.
Ana answered on the first ring.
“Hello?” Her tone was cautious, and she hesitated, undoubtedly waiting for the person—a reporter—to identify themselves.
“It’s me.”
A sob sounded in Quinley’s ear, and Quinley raised a hand to her mouth to forcibly hold in her own. Please don’t cry, please don’t. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick.
“Quinnie.”
Quinley squeezed her eyes shut to combat the stinging and moved her hand from her mouth to her full stomach when it threatened to revolt with a sharp clench. “I’m sorry ,” she said again because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Are you okay? Of course you’re not. That’s a stupid question. Are you safe? Have they found you?”
“No, no, I’m safe. I’m still with Elias. Ana, I can’t talk about yesterday. Not yet. I just… Please know how sorry I am that I left you to deal with Rhys.”
Silence followed her words, and Quinley’s heart broke even more at the sound of Ana’s tears and upset.
“You jumped over a balcony? Quinnie, what were you thinking? Every single time they play that footage, I think of what could’ve happened to you. That I could’ve lost you…”
“I know. I’m sorry . I just— I couldn’t do it.”
“Obviously, but did you have to almost kill yourself? I would’ve helped you. You could’ve waited for me to get back. Told me how you felt. I would’ve driven the getaway car myself.”
Her best friend said the words while still sobbing. They’d spent so many years together, crying over one thing or another at different times of their friendship, that Quinley actually understood Ana’s words despite them being garbled by tears. “I love you, too.”
“Quinnie, you need to call Rhys. It’s important.”
Quinley’s already tight and tense body turned to stone. “I can’t. Not yet.”
“You have to. This— You have to, Quinnie. This is serious.”
Quinley frowned at Ana’s tone. “Why? What’s happening? What aren’t you saying?”
Ana sniffled and obviously attempted to get control of her emotions. “People are being ugly. Crazy ,” she added.
“Ana, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? Is this about the reporters?”
Ana sniffled, her breaths stuttering in and out of her chest, the sound echoing on the phone.
“No, it’s worse than that. Rhys called Cole a few minutes ago. They’re still on the phone. There have been death threats against you. You should call him, Quinnie. Let Rhys come get you and help you. He promised me that despite everything, he would keep you safe, but he has to know where you are to do that.”
People were making death threats against her because she didn’t go through with the wedding?
Because she hadn’t gotten married to a man she loved but didn’t love enough? Because of how she’d handled things so badly. So publicly.
And because the world was crazy and people did awful things, those threats were very real and—couldn’t be ignored. But to want her dead. Dead .
“Quinnie? Are you still there?”
“They want me to die ?” The words were barely a whisper, barely a sound, thanks to the sheer horror of Ana’s words, that there were people who thought her unworthy to live because she’d left Rhys?
“We’ll keep you safe. We won’t let anything happen,” Ana said in her mama-bear tone, though she still sounded like she cried. “Call him, Quinnie. Okay? Promise me you’ll be reasonable. Let him put guards on you until this dies down. Please . Let him do this for you, for me if nothing else.”
Her hand, her body, shook so badly the entire bed shook beneath her. She sank to the floor, the pain of the bed rail painfully scraping each and every vertebra as she slid down, doing nothing to calm the storm inside her.
She curled in on herself, dropping the phone to the floor and wrapping her arms over her knees, hugging them tight to her chest as the tears she’d buried so deep erupted in a surge, freed by the pain and the grief and the knowledge that strangers wanted her dead because she’d done something for herself.
A sob left her and then another, and she turned her face into the rug, choking on her tears. People wanted her dead . Because she chose to do what was right.
But all of the pain, the fright, the guilt , the stress, and the magnitude and weight of her actions bore down on her until she couldn’t draw breath. Raw sobs tore out of her lungs when she did, each more powerful than the last as she lost herself to the pain, drowned in it, and simply…broke.