Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

‘You can't take the keys.'

‘Yes, I can.'

‘Really, Harold, after all of this?'

‘Definitely.'

Harold may as well have taken a book and ripped it to pieces. The crowd fell silent, their eyes on him.

‘Shame on you.'

‘Boo!'

The people heckled, and Quinn could have let it happen, could have watched Harold suffer.

Instead, he raised his hands, silencing the crowd. ‘You're not letting me keep it?'

‘No, absolutely not,' Harold said. ‘I think the eviction notices should have made that very clear, Quinn. It's just…'

He couldn't hear it. Not again.

‘Just business, yeah.' Quinn took the keys out of his pocket. Worn with chipped black paint and well used. It was a heavy key, one that took a bit of a push to lock into place and twist. It had a green bow attached to it, to help him differentiate it from the others, not that it needed help to stand out.

He didn't realise how sentimental he got over something so small. The first time holding the key had been a life-changing moment for him. His own shop. His future. His happy place.

Now, with one motion, it was in the hand of another, and it would never be his again.

‘You won, Harold.'

Harold put the key into his pocket, clearing his throat. ‘Yes, well. I hope this doesn't have to come between us.'

He held out a hand, and Quinn, dumbfounded, shook it. He didn't know why. In moments like that, he couldn't think straight. It was a cold, tense shake, and then Harold left to boos from those behind Quinn.

Quinn didn't move, but he heard the hush fall over the crowd.

‘Are you okay, Quinn?'

‘Not really.'

All he could be was honest. He couldn't stand here and put a smile on his face and say that everything would be okay, because it wouldn't. His shoulders slumped; his head dropped. He ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes as the warm tears fell down his cheeks.

He looked at Noah, the tears making him appear as a blur. Just a few moments ago, he had felt so carefree. Now the world had crushed him, so coldly and effortlessly.

With a sinking feeling of despair, Quinn knew they had never stood a chance.

He walked to the bar and didn't have to say anything. A shot of whisky waited for him.

‘I'm sorry, Quinn,' Daniel said, leaning against the bar.

Quinn looked at the liquid like it was foreign to him.

He raised it, feeling numb. ‘To Kings the colour gone. With horror, he noticed that the pride flag outside his shop had been torn away.

‘I can't believe this is happening. What am I going to do, Noah?'

He was crying again, thankful that it was dark so that the shadows hid his ugly crying face. Noah didn't seem to find it ugly, though. He looked at him, wiping the tears away, and in that moment, everything felt like it might be okay.

Or not completely shit.

‘You're going to be alright,' Noah said. ‘What do you want to do?'

‘I want my shop back.'

‘And if that doesn't happen?'

‘I don't want to go to that job in London. I don't want to go into some corporate role. I want to help people.'

‘Then we'll find you somewhere else.'

‘Have you seen the rent around here?' Quinn asked. ‘Impossible.'

‘You know I'm in London, don't you? We could have a life there. Together.'

London. The scary city. A life so different from the one he currently lived. Could he leave this behind? Except … what would he be leaving behind? An apartment? His mother. Hay, of course, but Hay would always be here. Without his shop, there was no solid anchor or purpose.

And Noah. Sweet Noah. He'd come back, but for how long? Quinn didn't think he could face losing him again.

‘But the job…' Quinn said.

‘Mum's book,' Noah said. ‘I've already spoken to my publisher. They want to publish it.'

Quinn's eyes widened. A publisher? Already? ‘Are you joking?'

How could this be possible? He had spoken to Hermione earlier. She hadn't mentioned a thing about a publisher, only that they should meet.

‘No,' Noah said. ‘Turns out they think her subject is very topical at the moment, and they want to help give her a platform to return to the spotlight, should she choose to. Helps that I make them lots of money, too.'

He made the last words a joke, but they both knew it to be true.

‘London's expensive, Noah,' Quinn said. ‘I've had some money donated to me, but other than that…'

‘They'll give you an advance.'

‘An advance? Why don't I know anything about this?'

‘They're kind of doing me a favour,' Noah admitted. ‘And it's Christmas. They won't be sending contracts until after Christmas. But my point is, it's happening. Security. Safety.'

‘Oh, gosh.'

‘And a job that doesn't require you to go into an office and pretend to be everyone's friend. I own my little flat. We'll be okay.'

Quinn held Noah's hand, reading his handsome expression, trying to see if he was lying. ‘You're asking me to move in with you already?'

Noah laughed. ‘I suppose it is quite soon.'

Very soon. Quinn didn't just move in with someone straight away, no matter how attractive and talented they were.

‘What if we did long distance for a little while?' Quinn asked. ‘You know, in case you turn out to be a serial killer.'

‘Fair,' Noah said. ‘That would work. Gives me time to prep my dungeon.'

Quinn smirked. Maybe things would be okay. The universe had ways of putting you on a new track. This was his.

‘You know, it's weird, but it feels like someone died.'

‘I understand that.' Noah wrapped an arm around Quinn's shoulder, kissing his forehead. ‘A part of you died. You mourn how you see fit.'

‘Where have you been since, like, forever?'

‘In London.'