I hate the broken look in her eyes and the way her voice cracks at the end of her sentence. I’m about to tell Brynn to find childcare so we can whisk Vonnie away to some private island with no cell service when Quinton reaches behind me and grabs Vonnie’s shoulder.
“You know if you need anything, I got you, right?”
She looks over, her throat working, but no words come out as her almost unrecognizable eyes—lacking both her long lashes and confident gaze—gloss over.
“Well, I’m glad you guys figured things out,” Brynn cuts in, sounding much less gloaty than she did moments ago. I know I’m not a member of the Lady Mustangs and I’ve only been around them for a short time, but the one thing that has been clear from the beginning is how much they care about one another. When one of them is hurting, they’re all hurting. And right now, the women surrounding Vonnie are breaking for her. And even though I hate being the center of attention, I will gladly take that for her. “I’ve seen a lot of bumpy roads, but you two may have beat everyone else out.”
It’s impossible not to laugh at that. “Bumpy” seems like such an understatement when I think back on just how much the man next to me drove me crazy. “You could say that,” I say through my laughter.
“You don’t even know.” Quinton slips his hand on my thigh beneath the table. “But I think that now we’ve gotten everything out in the open between us, things are going to be good from here on out.”
Well, almost everything.
I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t meet them. Guilt over the secret I know I can’t carry anymore makes it impossible.
“Oh thank god,” Vonnie says and my vision blurs. She’s moved on from her cocktail and is pouring herself a glass of wine from one of the many bottles sitting on the table, so she misses the way my eyes go wide, begging her to look my way. And I know it’s only my fault. “I still can’t believe Mahler had you planning a Glenn Chandler fundraiser.”
Quinton jerks his hand from the top of my legs like the mere touch of me burned him. And maybe it did? The sting of what he must think is betrayal hurts. My stomach falls to my feet, and dread fills me to the point that I think everything I’ve eaten might make its way back up. I try to think of something to say, a way to explain to him what really happened. Anything to make him understand. But when I look at him and see the disgust written all over his face—disgust about me—my mind goes blank.
“How could he think you’d have no problem planning that trash fire? What an asshole.” Vonnie takes a sip of her wine that she very clearly doesn’t need, oblivious to the tension and anger radiating off Quinton.
“Quinton.” My normally strong and assertive voice wavers over every syllable of his name. And even though I’m an expert at fighting back tears, the burning in my eyes is getting worse. “Just let—”
The legs of his chair scrape across the hardwood floors beneath them as Quinton shoots out of his seat, slamming his napkin on the table. “Thank you for inviting me, Brynn.” He looks down the table, finding Brynn’s dad and mother-in-law. “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Lewis, this was wonderful.”
Every line in his body is taut, stretching the soft fabric encasing the arms that I want to touch, the body that I want to hold on to. I reach out to grab him with shaking hands, but he cuts back away from me and steps out of my reach. My hand falls to my side. The weight of his rejection makes my arms feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. But it’s the look in his eyes that hurts the most. Only moments ago, they looked at me with so much trust and affection, but now they’re full of so much hurt and anger that his gaze is like a fucking knife to the heart.
“Fuck,” Vonnie whispers as Quinton strides away from the table like he can’t put distance between us fast enough. “I’m so sorry.”
This isn’t her fault. I knew how much she was going through and I still laid my burdens on her. This is exactly why I’ve learned to keep things to myself, figure my problems out on my own. I want to reassure her that I’m not mad at her, but I can’t. I don’t have time.
Because Quinton is storming out of the door and I have to go after him.
Thirty-five
Unlike Quinton, I don’t excuse myself from the table.
I run through the living room, catching the door just before it slams in my face. “Let me explain!” I yell after his retreating form.
He doesn’t slow his steps; in fact, he might start moving faster.
I run after him, not even caring if the neighborhood is staring out of their windows, trying to catch a glimpse at a holiday disaster playing out somewhere besides their tables for once.
The lights to his car blink and he opens his door without missing a beat, without even looking back at me as I barrel full speed toward him.
“Stop, please! It’s not what you think.” I grab onto his arm, stopping him from getting into his car.
He jerks his arm out of my hand, spinning around and staring down at me. Nothing but disgust is written across his face. And I get that he’s mad. He deserves to be. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“It’s not?” His lip curls as he spits the words in my face. “I introduced you to my fucking dad, Elliot! I told you things I’ve never told anyone and you’ve been hiding this? How is it not what
