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Chapter Four
Quinn
Quinn narrowedher eyes at her mother and father in disbelief.
“My wrist isn’t even sprained!” she said. With her left hand, she tore the splint from her right, the velcro making a tearing sound in the small motel room.
She flopped her wrist back and forth, her tendons barely even protesting.
“Look,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Her mother grabbed her hand and held her wrist straight.
“Don’t hurt yourself more, dear,” she said as her father retrieved the splint. Together, they put it back on her as Quinn watched.
“Besides, that nauseating display of affection will take you years of therapy to get over,” her father said.
Quinn thought of the display again. The two men, kneeling on the stone steps of the courthouse, utterly oblivious to the world beyond themselves.
Nauseatingwasn’t the word she’d use.
“You don’t think this is a bit frivolous?” she said, doing her best to sound calm. “Didn’t the Nebraska State bar threaten to take away your law license if you keep doing this, dad?”
“Are we in Nebraska?” he asked, his jaw set. He yanked the velcro strap of her splint, pulling it too tight.
“No, father,” she said. Her mother scowled and nodded.
“Go get ready,” her father said. “The judge just called. She wants us in chambers at three on the dot.”
“Three today?” she asked.
“Yes, three today,” her mother said, sounding exasperated. “Who taught you to listen, girl?”
Quinn bit back a reply.
“Hurry up,” her father said. Then he turned toward the dresser in his motel room and began rooting through white button down shirt after white button down shirt.
* * *
Back in herown motel room — that she’d paid for herself — Quinn stared forlornly at the wall.
This can’t be happening, she thought. I thought I was going to show up at some protests and see part of the country I’d never been to before.
True, she didn’t like shifters and didn’t think they should be afforded the same rights as humans — let alone the right to marry two people at once.
Or, at least, she hadn’t liked shifters.
Quinn wasn’t sure what she thought any more. Growing up, her parents had seemed so certain of everything, all the time, and their overwhelming dedication to their values was hard to argue with, particularly as a kid.
She wasn’t a kid anymore, though. Granted, twenty-five was a little old to be finally forming her own ideas about things, but she’d never needed to before. She lived in their house, worked for their website, and subscribed wholeheartedly to their views.
They were wrong, though. Quinn wasn’t quite sure how wrong yet, but she knew that much.
Unbidden, she thought again of her brother George, his number hidden inside a book in her duffel bag.
Then it occurred to her: they had that huge fight after he went to Meriweather with them. Meriweather was another shifter state, north of Nevada.
I wonder if the same thing happened to him, she thought.
