Page 128 of Psychopath

He relaxed back into his sofa with Mars pressed up to his thigh, purring softly.

When he called his mum, she’d cried with relief down the phone that he was finally going to visit her at the villa in the South of France. He hadn’t been back there since his dad had died, but it had become his mum’s permanent place of residence. There were other widowers in the neighbouring villas, and they’d formed somewhat of a support group to one another.

Quinn’s neighbour had agreed to come to the house every day to check on Mars, and although guilt clawed at him for leaving his grumpy companion behind, he knew he had to escape for a little while and put distance both physically and mentally between himself and Zane Black.

Quinn couldn’t breathe. His mum’s arms were tightly around his chest, squeezing him as hard as she could. He dropped the handle of his suitcase just so he could unpeel her. She captured his cheeks in her hands and pulled him down until he’d bowed over just so she could look into his face.

“You’ve lost weight,” she said, “and not in a good way.”

“I’m happy to see you too.”

She squinted, releasing him. Quinn and his mum shared the same shade of blue eyes. Her hair was white but full of volume and bounce. A pearl necklace sparkled around her neck. A lump formed in Quinn’s throat. He knew his dad had given her the necklace on her fiftieth birthday, knew how much she cherished it and cleaned it every night.

“And you look like you haven’t been sleeping,” she said.

“It’s been a rough few months.”

She looked at him intently for a few moments, then took his hand. “Grab your case. Let’s get you inside.”

He did as she said and followed her into the villa. It was small with two bedrooms and a wet room. There was a swimming pool, but Quinn couldn’t recall ever seeing either of his parents use it. Matching white villas surrounded them, and their gardens didn’t have boundaries; they were open, and one of the neighbours strolled past the window, lifting his hand in greeting.

“That’s Derek,” his mum said. “I’ll introduce you later. He can’t wait to meet my doctor son.”

Quinn sighed. “I have a doctorate in psychology. I’m not a medical doctor.”

“Same thing.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Get comfortable,” she said, pointing to the sofa. “I’ll make the tea.”

Quinn slipped off his shoes and stepped into the living room. The sun bled orange into the sky as it set, and the views were spectacular, but Quinn only had eyes for the picture frames on the wall. Each one was of the three of them—Mum, Dad and Quinn. And it hurt, eighteen months later, the absence of his dad still ached in his chest.

Quinn sat down on the sofa, listening as his mum hummed a happy tune. He slumped, sinking into the sofa cushions and allowing himself to zone out and close his eyes.

When he opened them again, the sun had set, the curtains had been drawn and a lamp lit up the room. His mum sat in her favourite armchair, reading a book, and once she realised he was awake, she took off her reading glasses and gave him a smile.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, sitting up straighter. He frowned at the blanket thrown over him. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You needed to, though,” she said.

Quinn reached for the teacup in front of him. It was sat on a saucer, with two bourbon biscuits beside it. The tea had long cooled, but he took a sip anyway even though his mum shuddered.

“You can’t drink it like that.”

“I don’t want to waste it.”

She flapped her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Quinn ate a biscuit instead. His mum watched him for a few moments.

“I’ve been worried about you.”

He swallowed too soon and biscuit scratched his throat. He had to take another sip of cold tea to help it go down. “There was no need. I’m fine.”

“There’s every need. First, I see from social media of all places that you and Damon broke up—”

Quinn winced.

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