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They know about her friend from Mexico. The one who’s like family. Or maybe evenisfamily.
Why wouldn’t she tell me that?
I’m about to launch into some serious groveling when a younger guy on a trick bike bounces in through the back and I lose my train of thought.
This guy—Christ, he looks so much like George it’s uncanny, but that’s not what’s got my jaw dropping and my heart grinding to a halt. Iknowthis guy… even seven years later, I recognize that lanky frame and missing tooth.
All grins, he glances over and—”Fuck me!”—falls off the back of the bike, scrambles to the work bench and comes up clutching a wrench like his woobie.
George’s brother—I snap back to the guy I’ve been talking to, the one who, even at half my size, looks like he’s about to take me apart, and now I see it—her brothers are the little punks who jumped me in Mexico.
The next breath feels like glass moving through my lungs.
Because if George’s brothers were the guys in Mexico, then that means, George…my George… was the girl.
There was no friend.
There was only the girl I’m in love with, who hated me on sight because I hurt her so badly that after seven years her heart still hadn’t healed. And after all these months… she still wouldn’t tell me.
“What the shit are you doing here?” the younger guy croaks—Gary, I think—coming up beside his brother who’s now pinching the bridge of his nose.
“He’s looking for George,” Ross, maybe, says. But maybe Eli? Not Pete, he doesn’t work at the shop. The guy meets me with a level stare. “Or maybe you’re looking for something else now?”
Slowly shaking my head, I shove the flowers and plate into the guy’s hands. He says something else, but I’m already walking out the door.
Why wouldn’t she tell me?
Chapter 25
George
In a million years, I wouldn’t have expected my dad to be the one I turned to for romantic advice. Especially not as it related to Quinn O’Brian. But I was at my breaking point last night and when he pulled me in for the hug I needed more than anything… the damn burst and everything came spilling out.
I’d expected him to fly off the handle.
Start talking about knowing somebody who knew somebody.
Calling up a couple of my uncles to handle things themselves.
But the reaction I saw seven years ago didn’t come.
Instead, he asked me if Quinn was the kind of man who deserved my trust. Why I was afraid to talk to him. What my heart was telling me.
We talked about trust and love, and the differences between being smart and being scared. We talked about my mom. What it was like when he first met her, and what it was like after she was gone. We talked about Quinn, and what it was that kept me from playing it safe with him the way I have with every other man I’ve met. He asked me if I was in love and he hugged me again when I told him my answer.
And when he left, he told me it was time to be brave and trust my heart.
There weren’t any new messages from Quinn this morning, but it didn’t matter because I’d already decided to go over to his place and wait for him to get home. I should have called, but I didn’t want to talk to him on the phone. I wanted to be able to see his face. Touch him.
Only Bobby stopped me the minute I stepped into the lobby. Quinn had already left.
What if Patrick talked to him?
What if he tried the same thing with Quinn he’d tried with me?
My stomach lurches thinking about how much worse it would be for Quinn to hear that I was the girl in Mexico from someone else.
Now I’m staring at my phone like I have for half the ride back to the shop. My thumb poised over Quinn’s name, but my mind too much of a jumbled mess to know what to say when he answers.
