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“You still want to finish?”
He side-eyes me. “I’m not a quitter.”
“I hope you’re finishing for you and not for, you know, me.”
“Fighting will only last for so long. I don’t want to be one of those washed-up has-beens who ends up being a bouncer at a club.”
I nod. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Damn, dude. Your therapist must be magic or something.” He chuckles, then grows serious. “For real, though, that means a lot coming from you. I can tell you’re still struggling, but it’ll be okay. Just don’t go back to being awful to her. She deserves better, and I really don’t want to kick your ass again.”
Forty-Three
QUINN
I’m in the kitchen, working on a new batch of perfume for a special order, when Brady and Dylan get home. Dylan stops by and gives me a quick peck on the cheek but leaves just as quickly as he came. I frown after him.
“Come to the cemetery with me?” Brady asks.
I heave in a breath. “What?” Setting my eyedropper down, I spin and search his face. His eyes are bright red and puffy. His lips are pressed together so tightly, I can’t help but wonder if I imagined him asking me that. Why would he want me to come with him to see his mom?
“Will you come?” There’s an urgent sort of desperation in the question. Like the fate of the world hinges on my response.
“Um. If you want me to?”
“Yeah,” he says, glancing at my stuff. “Can we go now?”
Is he shaking? Why did Dylan leave, if he knew Brady was like this? He needs something. Someone.
His eyes hold mine. Does he need me?
“Sure, I can finish when we get back.”
We make our way outside, and he pauses, fiddling with Dylan’s keychain. Where’s his car?
“Can you drive?”
I try to hide my surprise. Brady doesn’t let other people drive, but he looks ready to collapse. “Of course.” I grab the key from his hand, and when his fingers linger on my skin for a beat too long, I suck in a breath, lifting my gaze to meet his.
“Thank you.”
My chest tightens. Something is wrong. I don’t know what, but this isn’t the Brady I know. This Brady is...fragile. It’s a little terrifying, but I shake off my concern and get in the car. Clearly, he has a purpose, and I want to know what it is.
We get into the car. It smells like Dylan’s rich amber scent, but Brady’s scent is noticeably absent. He’s still wearing the descenting lotion. Right now, I kind of hate that. I start driving, trying not to read into the silence settling between us. Brady stares silently out the window, almost like he’s not even here.
Swallowing a dozen questions, I turn on some music and let that eat up the space between us. Three songs pass before we pull into the cemetery. He directs me to the row and casts a nervous glance in my direction. With a heavy exhale, he nods and climbs out of the car.
I silently follow him, carefully stepping around graves. Daphne Weingard’s headstone is one of the biggest in the lot. White marble, with a portrait of her and my stepbrothers. The script on the gravestone is elegant.
Beloved mate, cherished mother, forever in our hearts.
Even though I didn’t know her, my chest tightens as I stare at the woman who used to mean so much to the alphas in my life. They lost her. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d feel if I lost my mom. With my dads, it’s different. They left us by choice. Daphne didn’t have one, and I know in my heart, if she had a choice, sheneverwould have left.
“Do you know what happened?” Brady’s voice is hoarse, like he’s already cried for hours. A slight wind plays through the strands of his dark hair.
“A car crash.”
“You know we were there?” His eyes find mine, red and brimming with unshed tears.
