Page 76 of No Turning Back
But no one kisses like that without feelings. Right? He’s probably pissed that I ignored him yesterday.
Past the gate, I pull in next to Sam’s truck and climb out, nerves jittering in my chest. Inside, the house is quiet. I glance out the back door, no skunks this time, so I head for the stairs.
The second my foot hits the first step, I freeze.
Noises drift down from upstairs. Loud. Squeaky. The kind of noises you can’t mistake for anything else.
Sex noises.
My stomach plummets. No. No, he wouldn’t.
I mean, we’re not together. And yeah, I kind of confessed my feelings and then ghosted him. But still… that doesn’t give him the right to bring some stranger into-
I cut myself off. It’s not my house. It’s his. He has every right.
Doesn’t stop it from shredding me alive, though.
Heartbroken and unwilling to stand there listening to her beg him to fuck her harder, I bolt. Out the front door, down the steps, breath catching in my throat.
Where the fuck is my dog?
“Blue!” I shout, desperate. “Blue, come!”
A sharp bark answers from the direction of the bunkhouse. I wipe my face with my sleeve and run toward it, chest tight, breath hitching. Blue comes barrelling through the grass, tail wagging like nothing’s wrong.
I drop to my knees, burying my hands in her fur, letting her warmth steady me. My breath comes out in ragged, broken pieces, and I’m still sniffling when I hear it.
“Quinn?”
My head jerks up. Not from the house, where I was so sure he was… but from the bunkhouse. Sam is standing in the doorway, toolbox dangling from one hand, eyes narrowed against the fading light as he takes me in.
“Quinn?” he says again, softer this time, brow creasing. “What’s wrong?”
I freeze, lungs burning, staring at him like he’s a ghost. “I… I thought-” My voice cracks, the words shattering in my throat.
I glance back toward the house, heart still hammering. The windows are dark, quiet, like they’ve been all along. My mouth goes dry. “Wait… uh- Sam, is there… is there someone up there? Did you invite people over?”
His brows knit tighter, confusion flickering across his face. “No. Just me.”
I swallow hard, shaking my head. “No, I came home and there were people. Upstairs. I heard them. They were…” My voice falters, cheeks heating with the weight of the word. “Having sex. Loud.”
Sam straightens, toolbox forgotten at his feet, his expression shifting from confusion to something sharper, wary. “Quinn,” he says carefully, “there’s nobody here but us.”
My chest tightens. “What, you think I’m lying?”
“No.” He rubs at his beard, eyes flicking toward the house. “I think maybe you misheard.”
I tilt my head, blinking at him. “Misheard? Did you…leave porn on or something?”
His brows shoot up. “What? No. Of course not.”
“Then there aredefinitelypeople up there having sex,” I snap, pointing at the house. My voice cracks on the last word, anger and embarrassment tangling together. “And unless my ears suddenly broke, she wanted him to go harder.”
The words hang between us, ugly and impossible to ignore.
Sam’s jaw works, muscles ticking as he stares past me at the house. Then he exhales, low and sharp. “Alright. Let’s go check.”
“Wait,” I blurt, stepping in front of him before he can move. “Shouldn’t we…grab weapons or something?”
