Page 25 of No Turning Back
In all of this, the only ray of sunshine in that shitshow was Markus’s dad. He never seemed to care about the whole Gabi drama. From day one, he embraced me. Whenever we met, he’d make a big deal about how I’d gotten more beautiful, and it just… warmed my heart. It wasn’t weird or gross, just sweet. Like a dad.
The weekend comes quicker than I thought. I’m still at Kate and Aiden’s place. I told them I’d find somewhere soon, but they told me to cool it. They like having an on-hand babysitter for date nights, and honestly, I don’t mind.
The boys don’t really need me to cut their food anymore; it’s more about making sure they don’t throw ragers when their parents are gone.
Still, it’s been nice, being around that energy again. Markus knocks at exactly twelve, holding a bouquet of wildflowers, my favourite.
I take them, feeling the urge to remind him this isn’t a date, but the twinkle in his eyes keeps the words stuck in my throat.
I pass the flowers to Kate, who’s pretending to dust the shoe rack but is obviously eavesdropping. “Will you put these in water for me?”
She lifts her brows like she wasn’t just staring at us. “Oh, yeah. Of course. So pretty.”
God, she and Aiden are disgustingly perfect for each other.
I step past the arm Markus offers, heading for the driveway. He jogs ahead to open my door.
“Thanks,” I say, sliding in and buckling my seatbelt before he can do it for me.
Smiling, he rounds the hood and climbs in.
On the drive, he mentions he got his parents a gift, from both of us.
I don’t comment, just hum and nod in the right places.
The silence stretches until he says, almost cautiously, “So, uh… I went to see a shrink.”
I turn my head, but he’s watching the road.
“Oh,” I mutter.
“Yeah. It was weird, you know… but good.”
Something in his tone makes my hackles rise.
“Who’d you see?”
“Uh… Dr. Grey.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of a Dr. Grey in Texas,” I drawl.
“Yeah, she’s new,” he says quickly.
“Hmmm.”
We pull up to his parents’ house before I can ask if Dr. Grey happens to be a perky blonde.
The front door swings open before we can knock. His mom beams at us, all smiles. “Markus! Quinn!” Her arms are already out.
I brace for the hug. Odd, she never hugs me. Markus squeezes her back, laughing in that warm, easy way he only uses with family.
I manage a polite smile, my eyes catching on the framed wedding photo in the hall. His parents in their twenties, looking like they had no idea what life would throw at them.
“Come in, come in,” she says, ushering us towards the living room where the low hum of voices spills from the couch. The air is thick with roast beef and something sweet, a cobbler, maybe.
Markus’s hand brushes my back as we walk in, but I move toward the coffee table instead, setting the gift down.
He notices, of course. He always notices.
