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Terrell said, “Montana is insane. I’m just saying, because that’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Why shouldn’t cowgirls cry? Everybody cries. You laugh when you’re happy, right? Then why shouldn’t you cry? Doesn’t mean you can’t get up again, it just means you have to cry first. If you won’t even let yourself hurt, how the hell are you supposed to heal? And, honey, nothing hurts like goodbye.”
Crying wasn’t up for debate now, because she was doing it. She cried until she was empty. She cried until she had to remind herself to drink two big glasses of water before bed, because she was sure to be dehydrated. But she didn’t get out and get them. That was because she was, somehow, not getting back up on the horse. She was leaning against the wall instead, her head buried in her forearms, thinking,What have I done?
This was why she didn’t let herself fall down this low anymore. This was exactly it. This was …
That was when the curtain rings rattled and Beckett stepped into the clawfoot tub behind her.
44
END OF THE ROAD
She hadn’t thought he’d come. Not tonight. She should tell him to go back upstairs. They needed to set some new rules anyway, and they’d never eventalkedabout it. She’d send him upstairs, and tomorrow, that was what they’d do. She could help him make dinner inhiskitchen—hischoiceof dinner—and figure out what they were doing. Seeing each other on the weekend like normal people, or whatever. Dating.
She opened her mouth to tell him that, and he put his arms around her and kissed her. Gently. And she sobbed into his mouth.
She couldn’t have been more horrified if she’dburpedinto his mouth. She wrenched herself away, saying, “Sorry. Sorry. I—”
“Quinn.” He still had hold of her, was frowning at her. Oh, no. He was feeling sorry for her. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing.” And when he just kept staring at her, she said, “I just—I—” and started crying again.
He moved. She thought he was climbing out. Well, what had she expected? He was edging around her, though, placing her behind him, reaching to turn off the taps. She said, “You need your—shower. All that moving.” On a gulp.
He said, “Bugger my shower,” stepped out, and grabbed a towel from the heated rack.
He put it around her. Oh, man. She was crying again.
“Come on,” he said. “Get out.” And held her hand while she did it. Once they were standing there together, he sank straight down onto her fluffy white bathroom rug and pulled her down with him. Into his lap. Wet and naked.
She said, “You’ll freeze. Get a towel, at least.”
“No worries. You heat this bathroom like it’s Calcutta.”
“I like a cozy … atmosphere.” She wished she had a Kleenex. Oh. She rose onto her knees and grabbed one from the box on the counter, then changed her mind and grabbed the whole box.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.
“It’s so … stupid, though.” She blew her nose. Not like she had any dignity left anyway.
“Tell me even so.” He was frowning, and if she hadn’t known him, she wouldn’t exactly have found that face confession-inducing. Shedidknow him, though, and somehow, it was.
“I’m just … I’m like Troy, I guess,” she said, and tried to laugh. It came out pretty watery. “I wish you guys were staying. I know you need to move,” she hurried to add. “That was our deal. But I can’t—” Some more Kleenex moments. “I can’t seem to …helpit.”
His face had changed. She didn’t want to think what the new face was. “And you never thought to tell me this?”
Nowshewas frowning. “Obviously not. What, I’m going to throw my arms around you and beg you not to leave me? Do you know how often that works in the movies? Zero. Zero times. Scarlett O’Hara. Whoever that character was inDreamgirls.She sang a whole passionate, heartbroken song about it, and the guy left anyway.I’m sure I can come up with many more examples.”
“I don’t care!”
It was loud, and she didn’t flinch. “You asked. So obviously, you care.”
He sighed. Not in resignation. In exasperation. His hair was wet and sticking up, and his body was wet, too. She said, “Here,” and put the towel around his shoulders.
He took it off and put it back around hers. She said, “We could do this all night. Or you could grab a towel from the rack.”
“I don’t care about the towel,” he said, between his teeth. “And I don’t care about some bloody film, either. I care that for some reason, you don’t think you can tell me how you feel, and I’d like to know why. When have I seemed like I didn’t want to have you with me as much as I could get you?”
“Well, yes,” she said. “Sex. But—”
