Tough Love by Tami Lund

Author:Tami Lund [Crimson Romance]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2014-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

When she walked into the house after her shopping trip, she found Quinn sitting in the oversized chair in the living room, facing the fireplace, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt and holding a beer in his hand. The television was not on. He looked up when Kyra stepped into the room but did not say anything.

“Hey,” she said.

He nodded and lifted the beer to his lips, his gaze locked on her. He had taken a shower and shaved. His face was passive.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, trying to decipher his mood.

He shook his head, then deliberately placed the bottle on the coffee table and stood. “Let’s go. I want to show you something.” He snagged the keys to her Charger out of the dish by the door.

She indicated the shopping bags in her arms. “The fundraiser is tonight. I have to get ready.”

He lifted the long white bag containing her new dress off of her arm and hung it over the coat closet door, pulled the other bags away, and placed them on the floor.

“The fundraiser’s in four hours. You would lose your mind if it actually took you that long to get ready for anything. Now, come on, this won’t take long.”

He wasn’t happy or sad, not angry or depressed. It was almost as if he was—devoid of emotion. Both curious and nervous, she followed him back out the door.

“Where are we going?” she asked once they were buckled into their seats and he shifted the gear into reverse and backed out of the driveway.

“You’ll see.”

For about twenty minutes, they drove in silence. She recognized the general direction, as it was the same way they drove to St. Nicholas’s, but it wasn’t until they literally drove over a set of unmaintained railroad tracks that understanding began to bloom. When the houses started to shrink in size, the lawns became unkempt, the feel of the outside environment desolate, she knew for certain.

“This is where you grew up.” It was a statement, not a question. She didn’t need clarification. Not when he pulled the car up to the curb and shifted the gear into park. Outside her window was a small row house, one of many nearly identical houses lining the block. One window was boarded up and an ancient plaid sofa was parked on the sagging front porch. There was an old sedan on blocks in the driveway, and brightly colored children’s toys were scattered among the weeds in the front yard.

“We moved a lot in my early childhood,” Quinn finally spoke. “But this was the one I lived in the longest. This is where my mother died.”

“Where he killed her.”

“Yes.”

She turned away from the miserable little house. Quinn’s gaze was on her. He’d no doubt been watching her the entire time. He did not need to see this reminder of his childhood. It was burned into his memory forever. He came here today for her.

To give her a choice.

“Did it look like this when you lived here?”

His gaze flicked to the house for a scant moment before shifting back to her face.

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