Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

DECLAN

"What brought you over here after midnight, anyway?" I inquire, not realizing how abrasive my question sounds until I watch Quinn become visibly more uncomfortable before my eyes. Uncrossing my arms, trying to look less standoffish, I soften. "Is everything okay?"

"No. I mean…not really," she responds softly as she shakes her head. "I can't?—"

" Daidi ?" Fiona's sweet voice cracks through her sleepy grumble as she toddles down the hall and toward me, unintentionally interrupting Quinn. Her hot-pink floral pajamas are wrinkled. Her usually unruly, curly red hair is disheveled, and her eyes are clearly tired.

Bending down, I wrap my arms around her and lift her tiny body from the floor, swallowing her in my embrace. I place a soft kiss against her forehead. "Did we wake you up, a stóirín ?" I gently ask.

"No," she mutters as her arms wrap tightly around my neck and nuzzles into me. I should take her back to bed. Instead, I pull out the barstool and slide into it with Fiona snuggled against me on my lap to give Quinn the opportunity to finish what she wanted to say.

"You can't what?" I prod Quinn to continue while gently petting Fiona's untamed hair, attempting to get her back to sleep.

"I can't keep taking your money," Quinn blurts as Layla stands from the couch.

"Yes, you can," Tristan responds matter-of-factly before I have time to say a word.

Layla walks around the couch and toward me before turning back toward Quinn and teasingly snarking, "I told you so." Quinn rolls her eyes as she lets out a gentle huff of annoyance in response.

"Funny, Layla. But I'm serious," Quinn exhales. "I can't keep just taking your money. I know you all mean well. Truly, I do, and I've appreciated it these past few months more than I could ever express. But I just can't."

"We're not going to let you wind up homeless and destitute," I retort, knowing that it's only going to ignite her stubbornness.

As expected, she digs in her figurative heels and rebuts, "I'm not going to take your money. I will withdraw every dollar and carry it to the club to return it if I have to, but I cannot continue to accept your money."

Layla tenderly pulls Fiona from my lap and into her arms. "Let me put my sleepy little shortcake back to bed while you three fight over this." Fiona's head lolls on Layla's shoulder as she carries her down the hall and back to her bed. Layla is fantastic with Fiona. It's a shame that the best nanny I've ever had is my brother's wife. I can't exactly expect her to move in and be at my beck and call. But she's what Fiona deserves—someone who will love her like their own.

Tristan takes Layla's seat on the couch beside Quinn and lightly grips her hand. "What happened to you is our fault?—"

"No. it's not. You all need to stop blaming yourselves. You didn't?—"

"We may not have hurt you, but you know as much as the rest of us it never would've happened if it weren't for who we are," Tristan refutes her claim.

Quinn might not blame us, but I've— we've all —been riddled with guilt from the first police call on that night at Deartháir . She was safer in Ireland. She should've stayed away—far away from us.

From me.

We aren't good for her. We never have been.

And we never will be.

"I will repeat it to the lot of you until I'm blue in the face." Quinn pauses before vehemently insisting, " You are not responsible for what happened to me. I didn't lock the door . I sent Isaac home early, leaving me there alone. I didn't dial 911 the moment they came inside after being told the bar was closed. I am responsible for what happened to me."

She's always been so fucking strong-willed, and it's fucking infuriating. After sliding from my barstool, I shift my weight as I fight the urge to storm across the room. With my jaw clenched, I loudly assert, "It was our bloody bar! Just take the fucking money!"

"I'm not taking your money, Declan," Quinn barks as her cheeks slowly begin to turn a shade of red, similar to that of her hair. "I'm not a charity. I earn my money."

"Shhhh!" Layla whisper-shouts as she storms toward us from the hallway. "The two of you are going to wake Fiona up again. Both of you are so damn stubborn."

I'm not being stubborn. I'm right. I'm just trying to take care of her, like I promised.

"We don't need to fight about this," I dictate, crossing my arms and glaring at Quinn, "because we are not going to stop taking care of you."

"If I'm not working for it, I don't want it," Quinn mimics my tone and mockingly crosses her arms to mirror my stance while raising a brow.

"You are all impossible!" Layla exclaims, tossing her arms in the air. "The solution is pretty simple. Just hire her."

"To do what ?" Quinn and I reply practically in unison. We all know that she will probably never work in the bar again, and she's been quite clear the club is too much right now, too. Based on how much she jumped when we walked into the apartment, it's not something she will be up to for quite some time.

"She needs a job. You need a nanny. It seems pretty simple to me," Layla states diplomatically, oblivious to what she's actually asking.

"I…I can't," Quinn stammers, her eyes darting between me and Layla. Her lips repeatedly part, and I know she has more to say. Things we don't talk about. But no further words come from her. She merely stares at me as though she's waiting for me to fix the Pandora's box that Layla is slowly prying open.

"Why not?" Layla shrugs.

I don't give Quinn a chance to answer and blurt, "She doesn't even like kids." It's a lie. I know it is. I merely said it, hoping she would go along with it. The way her face scrunches, I quickly realize that's not happening.

"I love kids," she huffs.

"Then it's settled," Layla chirps with a pleased smirk spreading across her face. "I'll finish the week with Fiona to give Quinn a chance to get her things in order. She can move in over the weekend."

What the fuck just happened?