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“What do you want me to say? Huh? That you’re forgiven and everything is fine?” I study his face. “You. Left. Me.”
Just like my dads.
And damn those tears for coming back.
His face crumples, and his eyes bounce between mine, taking in the pain I can’t hide. “I know. I messed up. Horribly. I don’t deserve anything from you.”
“You’re right. Let me go.” I tug again, but he doesn’t release me. “If you were hoping for forgiveness?—”
“Goddammit, Quinn.”
“Don’t you fucking dare get mad at me!” I’m screaming in his face, but I’m beyond caring. “I didn’t do this! I spent years—years, Brady—trying everything within my power to hide my scent. I’m not the one who lost control!” I try to pull away again, but he refuses to let me go.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck your apologies.”
“Quinn.”
I glare at him, and there’s something I haven’t seen in his eyes before when he looks at me. Fear. It’s the only reason I take a breath and try to be reasonable. “You’re sorry?”
“That’s what I said,” he says, trying and failing to hide the growl in his words.
“Then prove it. One chance. That’s all you’ll get. You fuck up, I’m done, scent matches be damned.”
His features darken. He doesn’t like that at all. But I don’t care. I’m stupid to open up my heart to him, but he’s here apologizing. Even if he is doing a shit job at it, that has to mean something, right?
“One chance,” he agrees and releases me.
I step back and study his face, wondering what’s suddenly changed his mind. Wondering if he’ll slip back into old patternsand use his words to cut me open. My hands tremble and Ihateit. “I won’t make it easy.”
He shrugs. “I’m not scared.”
“I am,” I confess.
And he reels back like he’s been slapped. Good. Let him feel my pain.
Thirty-Six
QUINN
I take no great satisfaction in watching Brady step with care as he prepares his coffee. Last night, after that mess on the beach, I hadn’t felt like indulging in the promises of pleasure Austin and Dylan had made before I went to work. Neither of them brought it up, either. They simply saw the look on my face and settled down beside me to watch a movie I’ve seen a hundred times.
Today, Brady tiptoes around me as Austin coaches me through making a frittata. I try to ignore him, but my eyes occasionally stray in his direction, expecting to find that venomous look he usually sends my way.
His eyes are on me as he takes his seat at the counter, but instead of snarling or sneering, he simply nods and tries a smile.
“I think we can add the eggs now, pretty girl,” Austin says.
Focusing on the task, I grab the bowl full of eggs and pour them into the cast-iron skillet. Austin grabs the bowl and sets it in the sink.
“Once the edges get a little lighter, we’ll put it in the oven. You could let the veggies cool off before combining it all and baking it, but I like doing it this way.”
“And the cheese and tomato slices now, right?”
“Yeah.” He rests his hands on my hips and drops his chin on my shoulder, pressing against me while I sprinkle cheese and clumsily try to place the thin slices of tomato on the frittata as quickly as I can.
“You’re distracting me,” I grumble.
