Myths of Midwinter by Sarah M. Cradit

Author:Sarah M. Cradit [Cradit, Sarah M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sarah M. Cradit

31

Quillan

Quillan jumped off the streetcar at Canal Street, and made a slow approach toward the offices of Sullivan and Associates. He expected to be fired and so his very next visit would be Bourbon Street, where he’d drink until he passed out in a corner somewhere. Maybe a cab ride home if he was coherent enough to give someone his address.

He’d fucked up. Badly. Nearly the moment Lauren left the Coffer, remorse had taken root. He’d sat in the shop and read the same sentence over and over again for hours, getting nowhere in the letters, the lump in his stomach growing larger every second that passed. Finally, he left without saying goodbye to Estella. He doubted she noticed.

Quillan experienced a rare moment of clarity where he could see his entire life for what it was: a giant ball of failure. From his career, to his relentless pursuit of a girl who had never wanted him and never would, all the way to his treatment of the myriad of people who’d tried to help him. His father, Leander, Lauren, many others. And why? Because they loved him? Why did they, when he’d given them nothing in return, and no reason to care?

Yet this wave of rare self-awareness would accomplish nothing for Quillan. He wouldn’t call Lauren and apologize, and wouldn’t admit to Leander he’d been right, nor would he open up to his father and thank him for all the opportunities given him. He wouldn’t do these things even if they saved his job and friendships. Quillan’s cowardice kept his mouth sealed. And so, head hung in shame, he approached the office doors and prepared for the worst.

The boom of his father’s voice carried all the way into the corridor. Quillan took a deep breath as he swung the door open and walked into the office.

He expected his father to turn his thundering words on him, but it was a group of secretaries he yelled at. “I don’t care how you do it. Be creative. Find it!”

They scattered, frazzled. Patrick’s eyes locked on Quillan’s and the younger man’s stomach turned into knots. “Son!” he said jovially and strode in Quillan’s direction. He’s… smiling.

“Hi,” he said cautiously. “What’s going on?”

Patrick’s thick neck strained with frustration. “One of those nitwits lost a box that came from the Deschanel estate. I swear, I could wring their necks.”

Quillan found yet another reason to feel bad. “I’m sure it will turn up.”

“They better hope so.” Patrick laughed and spittle flew from his lips. “Lauren’s in her office if you want to go celebrate with her,” he added and clapped his son on the back, then walked away, leaving behind a very confused Quillan.

Celebrate? Was this some sort of joke? Were they going to make him the butt of a prank for all he’d done? Quillan glanced in the direction of Lauren’s office. Her door was closed, and blinds drawn.

He swung his gaze around the office, but everyone was wrapped up in their own work.

Might as well get it over with.

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