Page 81 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

Epilogue

Grant

One Year Later

My life would be shit without her. If someone had told me a year ago I would meet the love of my life after detaining her for breaking into my friend’s sister’s apartment, I would have laughed.

Quinn brought joy back into my life. She saved me.

I watch her toss breadcrumbs to the pigeons and smile. This is one of the routines I’ve come to love. On Saturday afternoons, we walk through Central Park. Rob recommended it as a good way to rebuild my lung strength after I took that hit last year. Frequent walks in a green space—those are hard to come by in a city of seven million people.

“Want to feed them?” She offers me a small paper bag full of crumbs.

“No. I’m not encouraging the flying rats.” I nudge her with my elbow. “Let’s walk.”

She tosses the rest of the crumbs to the ground, and the birds descend like a flock of vultures circling a fresh kill. Her laughter echoes through the trees.

I’m still smitten with her. Her smile, the way she moves, her sass, her passion. She’s everything I didn’t realize I wanted and everything I need. I’m lucky to have her by my side, especially after everything went to hell last August.

This week marks a year since the Hitman Killer shot me. Fucking newspapers and their marketing ploys. No one called him that until they caught wind of the story and ran with it. Hopefully, this trend of giving sick, twisted psychos any attention dies out quickly. The victims and their families deserve peace. At least I was able to solve this one, but I still struggle to sleep at night.

“Let’s get some ice cream.” Her gaze lingers on the bright colors of a Mister Softee truck parked in the distance.

I scoff. “You really are a kid.”

“You like ice cream just as much as I do, old man.” She winks, and I feel lighter than I have in years.

“You’re goddamn right I do.” I steer her down a different path, away from the ice cream vendor.

“Then why...” She trails off and pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m all kinds of fun.”

“Sitting around watching daytime TV is not fun, Grant.”

“It is when you struggle to breathe.”

Her green eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m fine, Quinn. It’s been a rough year, but the docs say I’m through the worst of it.”

“So glad that’s over.” She leans against me as we move toward the exit on 67th. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I ask myself the same question every day.” I press a kiss to her head. “How the fuck did I get so damn lucky?”

“One of life’s many mysteries.”

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