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“He, uh… he turned off my phone.”
I can practically hear the sound of her jaw hitting the floor. “The fuck you mean he turned off your phone?”
“He thought it would be safer that way. So that the weirdos wouldn’t be able to get a hold of me. Like, track me through my phone or whatever.”
“Did you agree to that?” I’m silent. Quinn growls. “Answer me. Did you. Agree. To. That?”
“Well, not explicitly as such, no. I didn’t even know that I would be going to a cabin?—”
“So, he tricked you, turned off your phone, told no one where you were?—”
“Quinn!” I breathe heavily through my nose. “I just wanted to call and talk to my friend, okay? A lot is going on and I miss being fucking normal. So can we… can we just catch up, talk, and not lecture me about things I don’t have any control over right now?”
Quinn is silent for a moment on the other end. I wouldn’t blame her if she hung up on me. Then she lets out the world’s longest, weariest sigh. A legit minute passes while she exhales. I almost have to admire her lung capacity and her commitment to the bit. Then, finally, she’s finished. “Alright. What’s been going on, sugar pop?”
I lay it all out there. Everything that’s happened since the last time we talked to each other. The weird texts, the paranoia, realizing just how much Holly is behind everything. The fights with Reese and us trying to make up. Spending time with Reese’s grandmother. Seeing Violet again.
I spill my guts, like I’m a teen again scribbling my feelings in a diary.
“And are you gonna forgive him?” Quinn tries to cram some chill into her tone, but I can tell that it’s hard for her. I don’t blame her. I’d flip out, too, if the roles were reversed. “I mean, I get shit is going on, but he’s the reason all of this is happening, babes.”
“Honestly… I think I already have.” I bite my lip. “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know that it was wrong of him to do what he did. But it wasn’t wrong of him to be worried about me and our kid. We’re—we’re having a boy, Quinn. He wouldn’t have done any of that if he hadn’t been worried about our child. And he knows that it’s not something I want or need him to do in the future. We’re in this together this time.”
“Does he intend on actually sticking to that?”
“He said he does, so I believe that he does.”
Quinn scoffs. “Olivia, I don’t trust Reese within the radius of a nuclear blast of you right now.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to. Just trust that I’m making the right decision for myself and my baby. Please?”
“Ugh. I hate this.”
“Pleeaassee?”
“You’re the worst.”
“I am not.”
“You so are. Fine. I trust you. I know you wouldn’t do something you thought would cause harm to that kid. Reese has just pissed me off to no end at this point.”
I chuckle. “That’s fair. I won’t try to talk you out of being mad. I know that he is… a lot. But I love him and I know that he’s doing his best. We both are.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know, between you and Marcus, you’re always talking that guy up. I’m not so convinced. You both have rose-colored glasses!”
I laugh. “Maybe. He’s trying, Quinn. I can see that he is. But let’s not skip past the tea there: you’re still talking to Marcus?!”
“Tsk! Don’t change the subject. But, yes, I may or may not be exchanging some scantily-clad Snapchats with a certain member of our fine local hockey team…”
I giggle. “Tell me everything.”
I spend about an hour or so on the phone with Quinn just talking. She gushes about her budding relationship with Marcus. He’s apparently a consummate gentleman—which comes as a shock, seeing as how he’s Reese’s best friend. Of course, being a gentleman in the streets doesn’t stop him from being a freak in the sheets.
I get a nauseatingly detailed recounting of the time he decided to tie her up and tease her with orgasm denial for a full twenty-four hours before I get off the call. I don’t want to admit that it has me a little jealous when I think about mine and Reese’s own sexy time getting interrupted by an unintentional bout of not-so-morning sickness.
Whoever said that shit only relegates itself to the morning is full of nonsense. The lies we’re told as women—they never end.
When I get the low battery warning and we call it quits, I toss my phone off to the side and plop back onto the couch. Now that my thoughts are on Reese, I can’t get them off of him.
