She came to me.
I drop the duffel and cross the apartment in three long strides, taking the stairs down to the shop level so fast I nearly lose my footing. My damaged hand throbs in protest, but it doesn’t matter. Who cares about anything except getting to that door.
I reach the front entrance and stop, forcing myself to take one steadying breath before I unlock the deadbolt.
She could be here to yell at me again. To tell me the footage wasn't enough. To inform me that she's filing a restraining order.
She could be here for a thousand reasons that have nothing to do with forgiveness.
But she's here.
And that's enough.
I turn the lock and pull the door open.
Quinn stands on the sidewalk in the dim glow of the streetlights, looking impossibly small and fragile. She's still wearing the flour-dusted clothes from earlier, her hair escaping its messy bun in soft curls around her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy.
She's been crying.
Because of me.
"I..." She stops, swallows hard, and tries again. "I got your email. With the footage."
"Good." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "The police have a copy as well. And my lawyer. The developer will face consequences."
"I know. I mean, I figured. Because that's what you said you'd do." She wraps her arms around herself, and I have to physically restrain myself from reaching for her. "You kept your word. You handled it exactly the way I asked."
"Yes."
"And then you just... walked away. You didn't demand credit. You didn't wait around for thanks. You didn't try to insert yourself into the solution. You just gave me the tools I needed and stepped back."
"That is what you wanted."
"It is." She nods, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "It's what I wanted. What I needed. Proof that you could respect my agency. That you could be a partner instead of a... a warlord."
I say nothing, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the but that inevitably follows.
"And I was standing in my kitchen," she continues, her voice trembling, "staring at that stupid rolling pin, realizing that you gave me what I asked for. You changed. You actually changed. And I didn't even have the guts to say thank you to your face."
"You sent an email. That was sufficient."
"No, it wasn't." She takes a shaky step forward. "It wasn't sufficient. It wasn't fair. You spent three days learning an entirely foreign legal system because I told you I needed you to. You suppressed every instinct you have because I asked you to. You proved that you could put my needs above your traditions. And I couldn't even walk twenty feet to tell you that I see it. That I appreciate it. That I?—"
Her voice breaks completely.
I can't stand it anymore.
I close the distance between us in one long stride, reaching for her, but I stop myself at the last second. My hands hover uselessly in the air between us, desperate to touch her but terrified of overstepping again.
"Tell me what you need, Quinn." The words come out raw and broken. "Tell me what you need, and I will do it. Anything. Everything. Just tell me."
She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face, and whispers four words that bring me to my knees.
"I need you, Lanek."
CHAPTER 17
QUINN
