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Yeah. I’m not leaving until I figure out what Mr. Wallace is planning and how I can help. I turn and find him watching me.
“What’s the plan?”
“Probably something you shouldn’t be involved with, Quinn. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
And that, right there, is exactly why I want to help. Mr. Wallace isn’t trying to use me, and he actually feels bad for telling me as much as he did. He’s a good guy, and if Mr. Mosley destroyed his father’s life, there’s no telling what else he’s done.
“Spare your worry for someone who cares,” I say with a smile. “Let’s take the bastard down.”
Forty-Two
BRADY
“So, how have things been going?”
I check that the door to my office is still closed and that the direct line from my secretary is blocked for the moment before answering Dr. Rumi’s question. “Okay.”
The computer screen is big enough that I can see his eyes squint. “Brady, if we’re going to do this, you’ll have to give me more than that.” Despite his focus being children, Dr. Rumi agreed to work with me, and I’m glad he did. It’s easy to talk to him, since he knows everything.
Sighing, I nod and drum my fingers on the desk. “I apologized, but I even managed to mess that up.”
“Oh?”
Great. Story time. But I know I have to do this. I can’t keep living my life the same way. Taking a deep breath, I admit how I tried to force Quinn into accepting my apology and got mad when she didn’t immediately forgive and forget. I understand why she didn’t, but I’m so used to everyone doing as I ask. In a way, she did, but not without conditions.
“And what do you think she means when she says she won’t make it easy?”
I scrub my hand over my face. She’s torturing me. Denying me what I want, just like I denied her. She’s making me live the life she did, and it’s miserable. And it’s only been a little over a week for me. “She’s making me earn her forgiveness in certain ways.”
He hums and tips his head. “Have you told her about what happened with your mom?”
“No,” I snap. “That’s off-limits.”
“Brady, she’s your mate. Nothing is off-limits, and that night is a huge part of why you do the things you do. I’m not justifying your actions, but perhaps if she understood your motivation, she’d be a little more keen to forgive you?”
Pressing my lips together, I stare at Dr. Rumi on the screen. He’s right. I know that. I hate it. There’s so much I’d rather not remember. There’s so much I wish I could change. My chest tightens as the faint scent of smoke fills the air. I glance around with a scowl, but I know there’s no active fire; the smoke is from a memory I’ve tried to keep locked away.
“All right, Brady. In your own time, but she’s your mate, and you’re both hurting. Maybe she’s waiting for you to open up to her.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath and rub the back of my neck. “You’re probably right.”
I end the call early and cancel the rest of my meetings, hurrying to the parking garage and racing for my car, trying to outrun the past. But there is no outrunning my memories. They hit me as soon as I reach for the door. My hand trembles near the handle, suspended as an influx of sulfur and smoke wash over me.
Not now. Please, not now.
Brady, you have to get them out, okay, my brave boy? You have to protect them.
My mom’s voice, shaky and terrified, fills my head, chased by more putrid smoke. I pinch my eyes closed, begging the memories to fade. The crackling of the fire intensifies, and even though it’s inside my head, my skin heats, just like it did that night. I brace my hands on the roof of the car, trying to block it all out, but it’s too late. The memory takes over as my chest heaves.
One second, we were driving along the coast, and the next, the tires were squealing across the pavement, and my mom was screaming. The impact hit me so hard, it knocked the air from my lungs and the seat belt dug into my skin.
I glanced around the car. Both of my brothers were still asleep. How did they sleep through that? Maybe they hit their heads? My body began to shake, and I glanced at my mom. She was moaning, blood trickling down the side of her head from where she’d hit the steering wheel. A steering wheel that was still intact.
Why didn’t the airbag go off? Shouldn’t there be an airbag?
Dark smoke billowed up from the hood, which was smashed into a tree. Seconds later, a whoosh of fire roared to life. The car. The car was on fire.
“Oh, god,” Mom whimpered, a pained sound I’d never heard from her before.
