Chapter 13

I slip the bankbook into my back pocket and make my way down the hall toward my father’s office.

My mom had just given me a crap load of money, and I shouldn’t take it, but she said it was a gift, and I could do anything with it. Save it, donate it . . . spend it on something.

My heart has started hammering in my chest, and I’m on autopilot, but I just keep going. I’m not sure what’s going to happen or what I’ll say to my dad, but it’s probably going to be something he doesn’t like, since why else would I be so nervous?

The hardest part is jumping. I can’t retreat, and I can’t keep trying to please the world.

I’d hate myself. There’s no choice.

Opening the cracked door wider, I step inside and see him standing at the bar against the wall, pouring himself his favorite GlenDronach to wind down before he heads to bed.

“Hey,” I broach, my voice surprisingly light.

He twists his head and replaces the top on the decanter, smiling at me. “Hey. I missed you tonight. Were you at the track?”

“For a bit.” I nod and walk into the room. “Dylan had her first race, so I rode with her.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and I immediately laugh. He may as well find out now before it shows up in his Facebook feed.

“Madoc all but forced me, okay? I’m still in one piece.”

He twists his lips to the side, scowling. “That kid, I swear . . .”

Yeah, that kid. I almost laugh.

My dad still sees Madoc as a cocky teenager, but I think he understands completely. We’re all helpless when Madoc decides he wants something.

Walking over to the large brown leather chairs by the bookcases, he sits down and takes a sip of whiskey. I follow and sit in the identical chair next to him, a small round table between us.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make your game today,” he says. “I heard you ‘kicked major ass.’”

I snort, knowing those aren’t my father’s words. “Madoc lies.”

Dylan and the rest of the team carry me. I’m simply there to make sure there are eleven players on the field.

But my father corrects me, anyway. “Lawyers don’t lie. We invent truth. It’s an art.”

Yeah, I’m sure. Lucky enough for him, he has clients willing to pay such huge amounts of cash for his “art.”

I lean back in the chair, pushing my hair behind my ear and studying him for a brief moment. His gray hair has a good amount of blond left, but while there are wrinkles around his eyes and the lines on his forehead have grown deeper over time, his blue eyes still pierce like lightning in a storm, and his hands are still so strong. I can remember the feel of my little fingers in his when he’d help me cross streets in the big city as a kid.

After all he and my mother went through and put each other through, I understand how he has so much hope for me. I was a long time in the making.

“You really love Mom, don’t you?” I say, holding his eyes.

“Of course,” he answers and then looks down, looking lost in thought as he takes another sip. “I can’t live without her. I never could.”

“What made you finally realize it?”

“When I realized that she was fine without me,” he admits. “I’d always loved her, but when she got sober, and she was working and paying her bills . . . doing everything just fine on her own, I realized I had lost her, and the finality of it hit home.”

I narrow my eyes on him, still not sure I understand. He wanted her, because he no longer had control of her?

He seems to see my confusion, because he continues explaining.

“I was so arrogant back in those days, honey. I took everything for granted.” He swirls the liquid in his glass, staring at it, probably because it’s easier than looking me in the eye. “But seeing her turning her life around—happy—honestly, it hurt. It hurt my pride. It hurt my confidence. It hurt my equilibrium. It hurt everywhere.”

“Didn’t you want her to be healthy?”

He finally looks up at me, his tone turning soothing. “Of course I did. But I guess I thought, though, that if she didn’t need me, why would she want me? And all over again, I was in knots. Now that she had choices, would she still choose me?”

And all of a sudden I understand.

My dad had had absolutely no idea what he brought to the table outside of his money and power. He spent so much time and energy taking care of things, providing for her, throwing cash at their problems, that the nature of their relationship had been blurred. He thought my mom loved him, because she was young and naïve. Because fear kept her bound to him.

Once she was older, wiser, and stronger, what did he have to offer her except himself? And would she even want that?

“I’d lost her too many times, and now it was going to be for good,” he continues. “I couldn’t let her go. I finally woke up.”

For a long time, my father did what was best for him. Even though he loved her.

But after sixteen years, my mother finally realized that no one was going to save her but her, so she let him go. If he came after her, he came after her. If he didn’t, life would go on.

I’m not sure if my mother’s plan worked by giving me the book, though. I’ll make mistakes, and I’ll want things that are bad for me. That goes without saying. It’s human nature to be imperfect, after all.

But I have learned one thing tonight. Life moves fast, and the next forty years will be here before I know it. I don’t want to wake up at fifty-eight with regret.

I take in a deep breath, exhaling a sigh. “Dad, I suck at soccer,” I say, raising my eyes to look at him. “I hate piano, and I don’t want to be a lawyer or a doctor. I don’t want everything you want for me.”

His eyes narrow on me, and he tenses. “Quinn, if this is about Notre Dame—”

“I want to go to Notre Dame,” I cut him off. “I think it’s exactly where I belong.”

I see him relax a little. “Good.”

“And I agree, taking a couple of courses here in town this summer is a good idea. Maybe I can finish my degree early.”

He nods, still looking nervous like he’s waiting for bad news to drop. “I’m . . . glad you think so. But why do I get the feeling that you’re about to tell me you met a boy and you’re pregnant?”

I chew on the corner of my mouth. Here goes nothing.

“You know the property you own on High Street?” I ask. “The old bakery on the corner of Sutton?”

“Yeah,” he replies hesitantly. “I bought it years ago. It was a prime location, so I snatched it up. Why?”

I hold my breath, spitting out the words before I have a chance to second-guess myself. “I want you to sell it to me.”

He rears back, looking at me like I spoke another language.

“Just let me say something,” I blurt out, holding up my hand. “I’ve been busy in one way or another my entire life, and I understand that what you wanted for me you wanted out of love. And because I didn’t know what else I wanted to do, I went along with everything. The tutors, the extra courses, dance classes, gymnastics, swimming, summer volunteer projects in the rainforest . . .” I list each item on my outstretched fingers. “I did it, because it was better than staying still. Or so I thought. But if I had stopped, I would’ve had time to think.” I lower my voice, trying to get my point across. “I never dream, Dad. I never look forward to anything, because none of it’s a passion. Sell me the store. Give me a new summer project and see what I can do.”

“You want to start a business?” he asks. “At seventeen?”

“A summer business,” I clarify. “For now. And I’m almost eighteen. I promise I won’t get distracted. I realize college is important, and I’m going. But I really want this.”

“It’s not a dollhouse, Quinn.” He laughs, sounding flustered. “It’s a building with property taxes and health and safety inspections and plumbing problems—”

“And I can do it. I know how to research, plan, and be a problem solver. I can do this. It won’t be your problem.”

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Quinn . . .”

“Dad, please,” I implore. “I’m excited. I can’t wait to get started.” And then I lean in, joking with him. “I mean there are worse ways I could spend my time, right? If I’m buried under this project all summer, I won’t be dating, will I?”

He rolls his eyes and sets his drink down, next to the crystal bowl of gourmet jelly beans.

“How do plan to pay for this?” he questions. “You’ll need supplies, renovations, inventory, utilities, and even if you did get a loan to buy the property, I’m not comfortable with you having that kind of weight on your shoulders—”

“I don’t need a loan.” I pull out the bankbook and toss it on the table.

He stares at it before picking it up and opening it. Quickly scanning the inside, his eyebrows finally shoot up. Probably when he saw the balance.

His eyes dart over to me, all humor gone. “This isn’t your college account. Where did this money come from?”

I give a half-smile and stand up, grabbing a jelly bean and popping it into my mouth.

“I think you need to go talk to Mom.”

And then I turn and walk out the door.

•   •   •

“That’s not the ten millimeter!” I hear Jared yelling when I walk into his shop.

“You told me to get the eight millimeter!”

“The eight won’t fit.”

“Didn’t I tell you that?” Madoc bellows back, and I hear tools clank as I come through the large room.

Jared, Madoc, and Jax are all crowded around a Chevy SS, the hood popped open, no tires, and a missing windshield. Madoc is still dressed in his suit; however, the jacket and tie are gone and his shirttails are hanging out.

“It’s okay,” Jax tells him, coming up behind him and squeezing his shoulders, trying to calm him down. “Relax.”

Madoc shakes his head, pain written all over his face. “My kid doesn’t want to live in my house anymore.”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” Jared says. “Give him time.”

I guess they all came here to blow off some steam after the scene at the station. Under the hood of a car is the one place they find their center.

“Hey,” I say gently, making myself known. I’d planned on Jared being here, but I was glad I’d found all three of them.

“How did you get here?” Jax asks, knowing I don’t have a car.

I won’t tell him I rode my bike at midnight.

Ignoring him, I reach into my satchel and pull out the Internet printouts I gathered at home and hand them to Jared.

“What’s this?” He takes the papers and starts skimming them.

“It’s a list of event coordinators. Your expo in Chicago is way too much of a time commitment, and one of them will do a much better job than I will.”

He narrows his eyes, finally looking up at me.

“I love you guys,” I tell them, “but I have other plans for the summer. I’ll be around, but I won’t always be available. And honestly, the expo is stressful. I’m sorry.”

Jared gives a half-smile. “Of course it’s stressful. That’s why I push it off on you or Pasha,” he tells me. “But it’s fine. I just like having you around. I’ll make do.”

He leaves a quick peck on my forehead and folds the papers, sticking them in his back pocket.

Thank God. I guess I should’ve known Jared would be understanding. He’s a firm believer in people doing exactly what they want to do.

I turn to Madoc. “And I will volunteer ten hours a week this summer, but I’m not interning, and I’m not on a schedule, okay?”

He shrugs, looking like his mind is on a million other things. “Okay.”

I glance at Jax. “And Hawke can coordinate the fireworks show,” I tell him. “He needs some responsibilities.”

Jax runs his hand through his hair, looking tired but in complete agreement. Hawke is allowed to roam at his own free will. A little routine wouldn’t hurt him, and Jax knows that.

“Are you okay?” Madoc asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “How long are you guys going to be here?”

Madoc sighs, tossing down his wrench. “I’m on my way out. Fallon just texted and Hunter’s not home yet, so . . .”

“I’ll be here until this is done,” Jared answers, gesturing to the car. “Maybe an hour, but now that Madoc is leaving, it should go faster.”

“Blow me,” Madoc mumbles and walks over to the toolbox and grabs his jacket lying on top.

I jerk my thumb behind me, toward the door. “I’m going to head down the street . . . check something out,” I tell Jared. “I’ll be back soon. Can you give me a ride home?”

Yeah,” he says.

I wait until I’m outside to dig out my new keys.