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“What happened?” Justin asks, gesturing with his chin to my bandaged hand.
Quinn tenses near me, but I use Justin’s question as my loophole.
“I cut my palm while trying to protect myself,” I reply coolly, sitting backward, attempting to gauge Justin’s reaction.
He remains calm and collected as he replies around a mouthful of food, “Oh yeah? From whom?”
“From my father,” I state nonchalantly, watching closely for any changes in his expression.
Quinn’s back straightens instantly, and his hand grips my upper thigh under the table, obviously questioning my motives.
“Oh? He still a deadbeat?” Justin calmly asks, staring me straight in the eye.
“Something like that,” I reply just as casually, crossing my arms over my chest.
Quinn remains silent, watching our exchange with interest.
“Well, if he’s anything like I remember, he’s a lowlife scumbag,” Justin plainly states before popping a strawberry into his mouth.
“Your memory serves you well.”
“Why is he after you?” Justin asks after a minute of silence, pushing his barely touched breakfast to the side.
The whole table waits for my answer, and as I take a small, casual sip of my orange juice, I shrug and bluntly reply, “Because I shot him.”
Quinn chokes on his coffee, thumping his chest to clear his throat. But Justin and I never break eye contact, nor does his reaction alter at my earth-shattering news.
So he’s either not affected that he’s sharing his car with a self-confessed criminal.
Or he already knew.
I’m betting on the latter.
Justin is the first to look away, clearing his throat.
“Well, you always were a badass. Looks like some things never change.” He reaches for his coffee.
But my gaze never falters.
When the server slides us our bill, Justin throws some money onto the table, excusing himself when his phone rings.
As he pushes through the glass door, the bell jingling with his exit, Quinn leans into my ear and whispers harshly, “Care to tell me what that was about?”
“You’re right. Something about Justin is off. I was just testing the waters,” I reply, matching his low tone.
Quinn pulls back, eyes wide. “What changed your mind? Why don’t you trust him?”
“I never trusted him, Quinn. The only person I trust is you.”
Quinn’s eyes soften, and I can’t help myself as I reach forward, brushing a fallen wisp of hair off his brow. His hair has grown so long that he can now easily tie it back. But stubborn strands keep slipping free, framing his handsome face.
“So what are you thinking?” he questions, turning his cheek into my palm and sighing when I stroke him softly.
“I’m thinking Justin knew I shot my dad. The suburb I grew up in isn’t huge, and news like that would have spread quickly.”
“So why is he helping you out? What’s his deal?”
I shrug, removing my palm. “That, I’m not sure of.”
