Page 77 of Quinn, By Design

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Colour stained his cheeks.Was he embarrassed? “Why did you? Pounce on me like that, I mean?”

“I could tell you were unhappy, but I couldn’t work out why.” Although being called a fuck buddy would go a hell of a long way toward explaining his disgust at being treated like a one-night stand. “Instead of asking you, I channelled Mum. Sex papers over any cracks in a relationship.”

“You know that’s not true.” He stretched his hand across the table to cover her free one. “Do you want to know why I was unhappy?”

“Yes, but I need to tell you a story first.”And see if you’re still in the room at the end of it.

“Do you want me to come around to your side of the table?” He took her consent seriously.

Lucy turned her hand over and linked fingers with him. “I want to look at you while I tell you.”To see if you’re repulsed or pitying. She released his hand and sat back. “I had to look after myself and Mum when I was a kid. Every night I told her I’d wake her in time to walk me to school. She’d laugh and say‘she’d get up when she was ready.’”

“You were always late. You told me that.” He, in turn, leaned back, giving her the space she asked for.

“And I always ignored her. I took her a coffee. She loved coffee—hot, strong, and black.” Lucy pictured her mum’s sleepy grin. “She’d wrap her hands around the hot cup, inhale deeply as if it was some magic potion and say,‘Perfect, baby.’”

“I’ve never seen you drink coffee,” he broke the silence.

Lucy focused on Niall again. “It reminds me of the day she died.” She sipped the sparkling wine, needing to ease her dry throat. “During the week, I’d dress for school, wake her, and leave. She rarely walked me to school, but she’d always call out ‘Love you,’ before I reached the front door.” Lucy smiled at the memory. “I looked forward to weekends. Mum liked to window shop, to scout out the neighbourhood, maybe line up a date. She’d be up by ten, so I’d wait to make the coffee. The day she died ...” She huffed out air trapped by the tight bands encircling her chest.

“Tell me, Liùsaidh.” He was listening with his whole body, and compassion shaded his gaze, not pity or disgust. But she hadn’t told him the worst.

“I let my mum die.” Her chin wobbled.

“You didn’t.” He gripped her hand so tightly she winced. “Sorry.”

“No. I didn’t,” she whispered, his absolute conviction the missing piece of the puzzle. “But for a long time, I believed I did.”

“You’ve carried this weight since you were a kid?” He eased his hold, shaking his head in disbelief. “You were barely ten years old.”

“Yes, and it’s taken me a lifetime to work out I’m not responsible.” She inhaled his scent, his flavour of patience and goodness, and continued. “She was careless in the company she kept. The night before, a dealer came to visit. I’d seen him once or twice. They disappeared into the bedroom. I saw him the next morning. Leaving. He said she wanted to sleep,to tell meto leave her to sleep. I waited and waited. At midday I opened the door. She wouldn’t wake up.

“I should have checked sooner.” Lucy released his hand and locked her fingers together, her knuckles the bone white of her dead mother’s face. “I couldn’t wake her up. I called the ambulance. The police came, then social security.” Sirens, the sirens had competed with each other to drown out her screams.

“What about feckin’ family or friends?” He pushed to his feet.

“No family. You know it took weeks to track down Grandpa and Gran,” she said, his anger easing a wound so deep in her heart, the scar tissue had scar tissue. No one had been angry at her mum’s death, angry at Lucy’s loss. The emotions swirling in her mother’s bedroom had been all wrong. “There was a police-appointed counsellor because I was a child. A woman, but I can’t remember her at all.”

“Some half-trained eejit feeding the doubt in your mind,” he muttered.

“I don’t think it was her.”And it no longer matters.

“You’d lost your mum. You were in shock. And she let you leave without proving your fears were baseless.” Protecting the weak was second nature to him. “Someone said something. What did they say?”

“I don’t remember who asked what. It all became one joined-up blob.” Lucy shook her head, their faces had faded to a blur over the years, until only the questions appeared in block capitals in her dreams. Hounding her.

“Shock untethers you.” He’d looked grief in the eye and hadn’t forgotten a second of the maelstrom.

“Mum’s rule was no later than ten. ‘Why didn’t I check sooner?’ Someone asked me that.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “The claws from that one question got sharper with the passing of time.”

“Keep talking.”

“Because talking can defang monsters?” She gave a half laugh, because she’d already used a lifetime of tears on what-ifs. “‘Why did I believe a strange man? Why didn’t I check straight away? Wasn’t I curious?’”

“You didn’t check sooner, because he”—he held up a finger—“he’s the person Tomas reminds you of?”

She nodded.

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