Page 26 of No Turning Back
From the kitchen, his dad calls out, “Markus! Quinn! Grab a drink, kids!”
His mom turns to me, eyes soft but sharp underneath. “Markus why don’t you go see your dad, I want Quinn right here next to me.
I smile tightly, the way you do when you’re already counting the minutes until you can leave.
She smooths her skirt and tilts her head. “So, how is work?”
True to his word, Markus hovers close, one hand resting casually on the back of my chair like a silent warning.
“Nice,” I say. “I’ve had a few new clients lately.”
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I wonder if she already knows about us, if Markus told her. She’s never asked about my work before.
The day only gets weirder from there. She introduces me to everyone asDr. Ortega, like we’re playing house and I forgot mylines. My skin feels clammy, pulse picking up, the kind of dread where you know something bad is about to happen but you’re stuck in the middle of it.
There’s nowhere to slip away out here, the backyard is crowded, laughter bouncing off the fence, and I feel like I’m standing in the centre of a trap.
My fears are right.
The glass door slides open behind me, letting in a burst of cooler air from the house. And there she is, Gabi. I’m not surprised she’s here; honestly, I was more surprised she wasn’t already out here, working the crowd.
What does surprise me is the way her hand cradles her stomach. Herobviouslypregnant stomach.
Chapter Eight
Quinn
It’s like the ground drops out from under me. The voices, the clinking glasses, the warm hum of the backyard, all of it fades into a sharp, ringing silence.
I feel Cheryl practically vibrating beside me, her excitement like static against my arm. Markus is on my other side, unmoving, his jaw tight, eyes locked ahead. Across the crowd, Marco, his father stands frozen mid-sip, while the rest of the guests exchange quick, darting glances. No one seems to know what to do with the sight in front of them.
I’m guessing this little revelation wasn’t exactly public knowledge.
It’s Cheryl who finally breaks the silence, whisperingmy babyunder her breath before rushing over, her heels clicking against the patio as she practically skips toward Gabi. There’s purpose in her stride, like she’s stepping into a moment she’s been waiting years to claim.
“Oh honey, you’re positively glowing,” Cheryl gushes, her hands cradling the bump like she has every right.
The spell over the crowd shatters. Murmurs rise, then swell into a tangle of voices offering congratulations. Laughter ripples through the air, chairs scrape against the stone, and somewhere behind me, a cork pops.
Markus and I remain rooted to one side, apart from it all. I turn, slowly, until my eyes are on him.
He can’t meet my gaze. A fine sheen of sweat glistens along his upper lip, his focus locked on Gabi like the rest of the world has blurred away.
“Her baby?” My voice is low, deliberate.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even flinch, just keeps staring into the crowd.
“Who’s the fucking father?” This time it’s louder, sharper, slicing through the noise.
The backyard falls into a thick, uneasy silence. The laughter, the chatter, gone. Every head turns toward us, the air heavy with that electric stillness when people are putting two and two together.
Cheryl rushes over, Gabrielle trailing a few steps behind. Her hand clamps around my forearm, nails biting in as she leans close. “Do not make a scene,” she hisses, her sour breath hot in my ear.
The smell alone is enough to snap me out of it. I wrench my arm free, resisting the very real urge to drive my fist into her smug face.
Instead, I turn and walk, fast, pushing through the house and out the front door. My pulse hammers in my ears. I’m halfway down the steps before it hits me: Markus drove.
“Fuck.”
