by Cindi Madsen
“So you think I’m a caveman who can’t control my impulses? Explains why you didn’t bother defending me to your dad.”
Her face dropped. “I told you that my relationship with my family is complicated. Respect your elders—it’s the number-one rule I’ve been taught my entire life. My father’s now ashamed of me, and if he knew you’d stayed at my house all night, he’d probably disown me outright.”
“Bet it’d be less shameful if I was rich with good connections and a fancy college degree. Then I’d get accepted into the family the way your sister’s husband was, right?”
Her silence confirmed what he’d suspected.
“I’ve tried to understand your culture, and I understand why you want the B and B and how much it means to you—hell, I even respect what you want to do with it. But you still look at me as a hick who wants to ruin your property, admit it.” Irritation dug under his skin, pulling it too tight. “You’ve been spoiled too long, used to jobs and fancy cars handed over to you. I hope you never have to learn what it’s like to fight just to have the bare minimum, but damned if it wouldn’t give you an ounce of understanding what most people—me included—have had to deal with their whole lives.”
Fury sparked and ignited, her eyes glowing with it. “Here we are. Back to you telling me I’m a pretty snob. Real understanding, Heath. Why don’t you just get to the real point? You’re not a commitment type guy, you told me that from the beginning, and without sex on the table, you’re not getting anything out of this relationship anymore, so you might as well end it before you have to feel too bad about it.”
“If that’s what you think of me, there’s nothing more for me to say.”
He narrowed his gaze on the flickering Coors sign in the window of the bar, waiting for her to tell him she didn’t think that. But then a cool gust of air wafted inside the cab, followed closely by the slam of the door, so loud it made his ears pop. She flagged down a truck, and Heath was about to jump out and stop her—angry or not, he wasn’t going to let her hitchhike with some stranger who might hurt her.
But then he saw it was Cory, and he decided that letting her go was for the best. This way they could both walk away before saying more awful things that’d destroy every good memory they’d ever had together.
Besides, when it came down to it, they just had too much stacked against them. This kind of ending was the one they’d been headed toward anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Heath finished up the last vehicle of the day and scrubbed a hand over his face. The restlessness he’d experienced last week had not only returned but increased, until getting through each torturously slow hour made him want to throw tools and destroy instead of fix.
The past several days he’d been so miserable he could hardly think straight. He wasn’t sleeping, either, but instead of using the extra hours to get ahead on all the work that was piling up, he could hardly summon enough motivation to fake his way through each menial task.
Like Quinn has to do every day, he thought and then curled his hand into a fist. He’d tried to avoid thinking about her, but it was proving impossible, and now that thoughts of her seeped in, he couldn’t get them to shut off. He didn’t know how she kept it up. Faking being okay was exhausting, and it only added to the empty, hollow sensation that’d taken up residence in his chest.
Busy. I just need to keep moving. No more thinking. He closed up the auto shop and headed to the float garage, even though he knew it’d be impossible to not think about Quinn as he stared at their butterfly concoction.
The float looked the same as the day they’d finished it, and while he’d already been pulling away and dealing with the dull ache the thought of breaking up brought, that was nothing compared to the real thing.
He wanted to believe the horrible ending wasn’t all his fault—Quinn was the one not willing to ever see his side of things. Not willing to have the tiniest bit of faith in him or take a risk.
But what did blame matter when it didn’t change the devastating result?
She’d been right that he wasn’t usually a commitment type guy. Wrong that he wasn’t willing to wait, though—hadn’t he told her that enough? After every guy who’d hurt her in the past, maybe not.
He’d seen how much she cared about her family, too—how much it hurt that she’d disappointed them by simply being herself—and he supposed he could’ve been more understanding about that. Could’ve done so many things differently and probably should’ve. Including attempting to prove to her family that he could make her happy, regardless of not having a degree or a lot of money. At least he could’ve tried.
I lost her. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and he stared at those damn butterflies and the perfectly spaced lettering and thought about ripping up a section so he could have an excuse to call her and force her to be around him for a little while longer.
And then what? Have another fight so we can finish destroying each other?
How were they supposed to work things out when one of them was about to lose their dream because of the other person?
Misery wrapped its arms around him, dragging him toward the darkness that’d wanted to claim him ever since Quinn had walked away.
“Heath. Just the person I wanted to talk to.” Patsy stepped in front of him, cutting off his view of the float he’d been looking more through than at. “I can’t seem to get ahold of Quinn. When’s the last time you talked to her?”
That awful fight in the truck hit him all over again—like lemon juice on a cut that somehow got deeper by the day instead of gradually healing—and he wanted to go back to that night and fix it. Undo calling her spoiled. He’d seen how everything she had came at a cost, and how hard she was working to pull away and stand on her own two feet, and he’d still thrown it in her face. And instead of getting angry over the implication he couldn’t control whom he had sex with, he could’ve assured her again that for her, he could wait. That he’d do just about anything for her.
“Heath?” Patsy pushed up her glasses and stared at him, obviously waiting for an answer, although it took him a moment to remember the question.
“Last Saturday.” The words scraped his throat. “That’s the last time I talked to her.”
Patsy looked supremely confused, like he’d spoken a different language. “Well, I need to know for sure that she’ll be at the parade. She will be, right?”
“I…think so?”
“You think so? I thought you two were tog—”
“We’re not.”
Patsy pressed her lips together and gave a tiny, knowing nod, the look on her face saying she could tell he’d screwed it up.
Yeah. I’m still the town bad boy, and I suck at life. Thanks for rubbing it in. Since he didn’t think snapping at the woman who ran the town committee would do him any favors, he strode out of the garage, got onto his bike, and buzzed home.
Usually working on his custom motorcycle jobs improved his mood, so he attempted to put the finishing touches on his current project. But then he started thinking of his and Quinn’s first kiss, only a few feet from where he was working, and another wave of misery slammed into him.
He tossed his tools aside, the clang of the metal echoing off the walls and vibrating in his ears. He brushed the dirt off the seat of his pants and stormed into the house, wanting this week to just be over already. If he could get through the festival and start dealing with whatever came after, maybe he’d have a chance at moving on. At finding joy in something. Anything.
“Why don’t you bring your girlfriend around anymore?” Dad asked as Heath flopped down on the couch. “Afraid I’ll embarrass you?”
So much for getting away from his thoughts of Quinn and how empty everything in his life now felt. Explaining they were no longer on speaking terms meant dealing—yet again—with how true it was, so he simply shook his head.
Of course Dad wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “Tell me you didn’t let her go—you won’t ever find anyone t
hat good again. Take it from someone who’s an expert at letting good ones get away.”
Heath tugged the brim of his hat lower and reached for one of the two remaining beers in the six-pack Dad had already made most of the way through. The glass was slick with condensation, so at least the beer should still be cold. “It’s complicated. Just leave it alone.”
“Here I thought you didn’t want to end up like me.”
Heath started to stand, and Dad put his hand on his shoulder, pushing him back onto the couch. “Look, I know I screw up a lot, and when it comes to you and Cam, I should’ve done things different, but I’m proud of you both. You turned out real good, despite everything. I only push you so you have a better life than me.”
“You should think about all the things you should’ve done differently and try them out on Ollie. He needs a dad more than I do right now.”
Dad’s features hardened, and Heath thought he was about to yell or start with the insults, but then his shoulders deflated. “You’re right, and I’m going to try, I am. It’d be easier if I knew that I’d at least given you an ounce of good advice at some point, so here it is. You’ll regret letting that girl go for years. Holding on to anger or the idea that you’re right and that’s all that matters, it makes you bitter, and it’s hard as hell to get over once it’s got a grip on you. You make it right before it’s too late.” Dad got up and headed back to his room, leaving Heath staring at the TV.
Did I just imagine that? Dad admitting he messed up? Trying to give me good advice without a follow-up insult? He looked at the spot Dad had vacated—the spot where he spent the majority of his time.
Heath didn’t want to be sitting on a faded old couch years from now, a beer in his hand, thinking about how he should’ve fought harder to hold on to the best thing that ever happened to him. Even if the best thing that happened to him was an infuriatingly stubborn, beautiful woman who knew how to push every one of his buttons.
He closed his eyes, picturing her when she gave him the real smile and replaying her loud no-holding-back-in-an-attempt-to-be-proper laugh. He thought about that look she’d given him at the party, the one that made him feel like he was the only person in the room.
The only time he didn’t feel antsy or the urge to move on to the next thing was when he was with Quinn. She brought a sense of steadiness to his life. His lack of experience with love must’ve made him blind, because as he ran through their memories together, there was no doubt he loved her.
The kind of love that there was no coming back from.
He didn’t just love her, either. He needed her, like he’d never needed anyone before.
He had to get her back. Had to prove he could commit and give her what she needed in return, and that he didn’t care how long he had to wait if he got her in the end.
He was far past an apology-filled phone call, he knew that much. Which meant he had to pull out the big guns, and there’d be an even bigger chance of falling on his face.
But even if he crashed and burned, he had to try.
…
All week Quinn had struggled at work. She struggled at home, too, for that matter. The hours trickled by, and she’d done so much faking she was okay that she worried her face would freeze like that and she wouldn’t be able to smile for real if she ever had occasion to again.
She’d tried to throw herself into her job, and Chichi had rewarded the deal she’d closed with a satisfied nod. Things were still tense, but apparently Maya had told their parents that she and Heath had ended their relationship—her sister had asked if he was worth it during her hundredth “Please make peace” phone call, and Quinn had confessed that it was over, so it didn’t matter anymore.
So now her family was practically celebrating the very thing tearing her up inside. As she headed to Chichi’s office for the impromptu meeting he’d called, a knot the size of Texas formed in her gut.
Bracing herself for the worst, she knocked on the open door. He gestured her inside and she sat in the chair across from him.
“I know I was harsh on you, Quinn-chan, but it’s only because I care. I’m giving you back your car, and as long as you continue to earn it, it’s yours.”
So he could just rip it out of her hands whenever he liked and use it to control her every decision? Did he really think she’d be swayed by material possessions so easily? Apparently Heath had. Not that she’d done a good job of showing him otherwise.
A stab of despair shot through her chest—she missed his voice. Missed being able to call or text when she needed someone to talk to. She’d cried over the phone to Sadie a couple of times, and she was grateful for their talks, but a large Heath-shaped hole remained. The pain from her shattered heart routinely stole her breath and made her think she’d never fully recover, no matter how much time passed.
The keys jingled in Chichi’s hand. “Aren’t you going to take them?”
“I didn’t bring Heath with me to the party to dishonor you, and I wasn’t dating him because I’m impulsive. I care about him. He was so good to me—he even looked up information on our culture and asked me questions and respected my values more than any other guy’s ever done. And he was right. He was understanding and I didn’t give him the same in return. I’m the one who screwed it up.”
All week, as she’d been crying, she’d told herself he’d been wrong—that he’d harshly judged her—but now… Well, those jingling keys seemed to be telling a different story, because while she didn’t want the strings, the urge to accept the car and go on like nothing had happened nearly overwhelmed her.
Yes, she’d worked hard to get to where she was, but she’d had a lot of support, both emotional and financial. She didn’t know what it was like to struggle for every material possession. While he’d asked questions about how she’d run her B and B, she’d never asked him the same about the lodge. Never tried to see his side or find out his vision for the place.
The one thing she did know was what it was like to constantly fight with a guy because of her stance on sex, and while she and Heath had argued plenty about nearly everything else under the sun, he’d never treated her decision like it was a silly idea he could eventually change her mind about with words or pressure.
She’d accused him of awful things—implied he could never be faithful and turned the kind offer to use his truck into bad intentions—even after he’d proven he was different. How could she have been so blind?
Chichi’s eyebrows drew together, the confusion clear. So she decided to give it to him straight, regardless of it being uncharted waters for them.
“Do you know how many of my other boyfriends have actually respected my values? How many haven’t pushed for more or tried to buy me off, like I’m for sale?” As difficult and awkward as it was, she met Chichi’s gaze. “Not a single one. Heath’s been the only one who followed through when he said he wouldn’t push for more than I was willing to give. The only one to attempt to understand our culture and help me with how conflicted I feel about what you want versus what I want.
“I’ve tried to do my best to honor you, but I never feel good enough. I’m too old to be chided for laughing at a party, and my clients like me. I close deals. I keep longer hours than most of the other employees. I do that all for you, and it’s still not enough. I’m not happy here, Chichi. I haven’t been for a long time.”
She lowered her voice, trying to take away some of the sting but keeping the conviction behind her words. “I’m trying to respect you, but that doesn’t mean blindly following whatever you say, or only dating who you want me to. You’ve taught me to think—taught me the skills I need to take care of myself. I’ll forever appreciate that, and I’ll always love you, but now it’s time for me to use those skills and take care of myself.”
Quitting hadn’t been her intention, not without securing the B and B first, but she’d crossed a line she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—come back from. “Consider this my two weeks’ notice.”
“Quinn. If
you quit, I can’t simply give you back your position when you change your mind in a few months. No more special treatment.”
“Hire someone who’ll appreciate the job more than I do—that shouldn’t be very difficult. I wish you nothing but the best, and I hope that in time, you’ll try to understand that I can’t live under your thumb anymore.” She leaned over the desk, kissed his cheek, and then walked out of the office.
It’d feel a lot more victorious if she hadn’t ruined everything with Heath before standing up for him, but at least it was a step in the right direction.
About a hundred more of those, and maybe she could gather enough courage to face him and say everything she’d held back the first time around.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Buying a used car the day after quitting her job had been a tad impulsive, but with everything on the line, Quinn figured it was a necessary evil. It was old and made a growling noise when she accelerated that didn’t sound right, but she knew she’d need to keep most of her savings while she figured out what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
As soon as the car was hers, she’d driven to her place, packed a suitcase, and hit the road. On the way to Hope Springs she’d called Patsy Higgins and asked to meet her at town hall.
Just before stepping inside the brick building that’d started the chain of events that’d occurred over the past month, she took a moment to center herself, hardly able to believe what she was about to do. Especially with no backup plan. Hopefully the gesture would convince Heath to give her another chance, because the only thing she knew about her future right now was that she wanted it to include him.
Patsy Higgins met her in the lobby, led her to a small room, and motioned for her to take a seat. “I’m happy to see you. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it to tomorrow’s festivities.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Quinn said. “As for the Mountain Ridge property, though, I’m withdrawing my bid.”
