“You’re lucky—none of my grandparents live nearby. Mom’s are in Cincinnati, and Dad’s moved to Oklahoma. My grandma’s company relocated her. An HR job.” Finishing her coffee, Ava pitched the cup into the trash can. She looked at him expectantly.
“Want something else?”
Her friends were giggling as he held open the door and Ava strolled inside. She wanted a lemon bar. He ordered two.
They were licking the sticky icing from their fingers when she asked, “Which one’s your favorite? Of your grandparents?”
Quinn’s phone vibrated, and he nearly fell out of his role. He didn’t know much about his real grandparents. Both of his mom’s parents had done time in prison; he assumed they were dead. He hoped his paternal grandfather was dead. Mik’s stories of how he’d been treated as a kid seemed worse than the beatings he’d given Quinn over the years.
Ava nudged him from his thoughts. “You don’t have a favorite grandparent? That’s okay.”
“There’s just the one. He’s great, though. Gives me advice but never pushes. Helps me learn new stuff. If I had ten grandparents, he’d still rate as the best.”
They talked outside the coffee shop until the sun dipped below the courthouse. Ava’s girlfriends began checking their phones.
When he couldn’t draw up the nerve to ask for her number, she gave him an out. “See you at school.” She rejoined her friends. “Be good.”
He grinned. “You too.”
Climbing into his truck, Quinn savored the high emotion. The trig homework would take all night, but tomorrow he’d practice what to say when he ran into Ava on Monday. How to ask for her number. See if she wanted to meet next week.
His phone vibrated. It was his mom bugging him—again.
Pulling the phone from his pocket, he resolved to delete the texts. What would it cost to get a new phone? With all the extra work for Connor, the expense was doable. Then Penny couldn’t reach him.
He was about to swipe “Delete.” A twinge in his stomach persuaded him to open the text.
Don’t answer. See if I care. I talked to Rae. Get home, asshole.
Quinn reread the text as the bottom fell out of his world.
Chapter 19
Rattled by the confrontation with Penny, Rae skipped the grocery store. She drove straight home.
She blew into the house like a woman on fire. The door banged against the wall. With a gargled shout, her sleeping father rolled off the couch.
“Dad!”
Grunting, Rae hauled the coffee table back. Freed of the constraint, Connor rolled fully onto his back. His bleary gaze pinioned hers.
“What’s wrong with you?” He swatted her away. Wincing, he rubbed his elbow, which had taken the brunt of the fall. “You scared the daylights out of me.”
In breathless spurts—and after repeated apologies—she explained about the run-in on Chardon Square. By the time they reached the kitchen, where her father promptly steered her into a chair, concern had replaced his irritation.
Tufts of coarse hair stuck up from her father’s skull. He looked like the victim of an electrocution as he limped to the stove.
“What’s your poison?” He held up a box of chamomile tea and the Scotch.
“Tea, definitely.”
“You’re sure you don’t need something stronger?”
“The tea will soothe my nerves.” She anxiously watched him fill the teapot. “I’m sorry I woke you, Dad.”
“Stop apologizing. You gave me a start, that’s all.”
“How’s the elbow?”
He examined the tender flesh. “Not bad.”
Shelby padded into the room. The wily mutt was like a heat-seeking missile, homing in on the kitchen whenever humans clattered about. The dog nosed the back of Connor’s legs, a none-too-subtle hint, before planting herself obediently in the center of the floor.
“Good thing Quinn’s dog was asleep on his bed.” Connor tossed a biscuit that Shelby neatly caught. “Sometimes she sleeps right beneath me when I nap on the couch.”
“That would’ve been a disaster.”
“You’re telling me.” Her father was about to add something else when his phone chirped. After withdrawing it from his pocket, he read quickly. “Here we go,” he announced.
“A text from Quinn?”
“He’s on his way back—says he’ll be here soon. I have a feeling he knows his mother confronted you on the square.”
Her father made the tea, then poured a small glass of Scotch for himself. The clock ticked an impatient rhythm as they nursed their drinks.