Page 99 of The Late Hit
“Having a dead twin brother and dead high school boyfriend definitely counts as experience.”
Gasps elicit from the table. Grams’s head snaps toward Abigail. My eyes never leave hers, and hers never leave mine.
“Oh honey, I’m sorry for your losses,” Mel says with a solemn expression. “How long have they been gone?”
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Quinton whispers in my ear.
Shaking my head, I whisper back. “It’s okay. I’m done running from it, they deserve to be talked about.”
Turning my attention back to Mel, I tell them the story. Every little detail gets shared. How long it’s been, how I’ve harbored guilt for five years for sending Asher in my place, and how my relationship with my family changed drastically. Mel has tears in her eyes. Grams finds my hand on the table, giving it a pat.
“Seems everyone you love dies,” Abigail mutters into the napkin she’s brought up to her face.
Every head whips in her direction.
Damien is the first to speak. “What happened to you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. What happened in the last few years to make you such a bitter bitch?” Damien spits at her.
No one else at the table says anything. It’s tense. It’s awkward as fuck, but I’d like to actually hear this answer.
Her eyes shoot straight to her husband’s. They lock on each other in a stare-down. Both dare the other to either speak first or keep their mouths shut.
Minutes seem to fly by when, in reality, it’s only been a few seconds of awkward silence. Damien is the first to break the silence.
“Whatever, I’m out.” He places his napkin on the table before scooching his chair backward. “It was good seeing everyone. Happy Thanksgiving.”
And with that, Damien heads out of the dining room. The sound of the front door closing snaps everyone back to reality.
Quinton follows his lead, sliding his chair out from the table. Before he gets the chance to stand, his mother’s attention snaps to him.
“Sit your ass down. Lunch isn’t over.”
He continues to rise, placing his hand on the back of my chair. Helping me push my chair back, I begin to rise too.
“Nah, this family lunch is over.”
“Let them go, Abigail,” Howard barks out. “We never should have had this lunch.”
Tension radiates off Abigail. Chest heaving, she flips her hand out, gesturing us to leave. Grams grabs my arm before I can walk past her, causing Quinton to bump into my back.
“I had fun today with you, honey. Don’t be a stranger.” She grins at me before finding Q over my shoulder. “Don’t let this one go,” she says with a wink, and Abigail scoffs.
I force myself to ignore her. I would love to share words with this woman, but I respect Quinton too much to cause any more drama.
With a final goodbye to everyone, we get the hell out of there.
Thanksgiving didn’t go as planned, but I finally got to meet Grams. And for that, I’ll always be thankful for this Thanksgiving dinner.
“God, baby, if I would’ve knownthatwas going to happen, I never would’ve taken you.”
Quinton and I made it back to my town house some time ago. Both of us were stuffed from the incredible meal but mentally exhausted from the tension. We went straight to my bedroom, stripping out of our dress clothes. I slipped on an oversized, Imagine Dragons concert tee, while Q just stripped down to his boxers, both of us climbing into bed for some Thanksgiving Day football.
Rolling into Quinton’s side, I prop my hands under my head, resting them on his chest. I let a finger trail over the feathers of the eagle he has inked across his chest.
“Don’t apologize, seriously. I knew what I was getting myself into.”
