Yours at Midnight by Robin Bielman Page B

Everyone is going to hate me , she thought. They’d be disappointed. Shocked. Appalled. Her family—and Quinn’s—would never understand this injustice.
    “Please forgive me,” she said, when she couldn’t take the silence any longer. She’d rather he yell or scream than keep everything bundled up inside where she couldn’t reach.
    He straddled the chair farthest from her at the dining room table. “Max is my son,” he whispered to the floor.
    “Yes.” She dared to move closer, taking the chair next to him.
    His chest rose and fell like a turbulent sea, up, down, up, down. She wished she knew the right words to say to calm the storm she’d thrown at him.
    With trepidation, she touched his arm.
    He flinched. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me.” He jerked to his feet. “Don’t follow me.”
    Glacial air filled the room when he swung the front door wide to leave.
    “Quinn! Don’t go. I don’t want you to be alone.” She stood. The distance between them stretched farther than it ever had before.
    All she could think about was if he walked out the door, he’d never come back. He’d leave like he did four years ago. Forget about her. Forget about Max. Forget the painful past she kept dredging up.
    He spun around. “You made me alone,” he ground out.
    The door slammed behind him a second later. She crumpled to the floor. He was right.
    She’d always made him alone.

 
    Chapter Nine
    Quinn pushed aside another box in the attic. He had no fucking idea what had led him there or what he was looking for, except that his entire past surrounded him and he needed some answers. He needed to know what had happened between him and Lyric, to make her keep a secret this big from him.
    His heart hadn’t stopped racing since he’d left her last night. Sleep had eluded him. Three shots of whisky, and he’d finally dozed for an hour or two.
    He trudged around the dust-filled room. There had to be a clue in all this crap.
    There were two more boxes labeled Quinn , but before he got to them, he slid out the one labeled Oliver – 11 th /12 th grade . At least his mom had organized the crap.
    The morning sunlight slanted in through the window just below the roofline and cut a nasty glare, so he dragged the box over to the corner. The first thing he pulled out was his brother’s diploma and tassel.
    Memories slammed into him. His brother’s valedictorian speech, grad night, breakfast at Denny’s, Lyric in a pale green dress. She’d looked amazing.
    He sat against the wall, extended his legs, and shut his eyes.
    Max is my son .
    That tugged his heart in ways he couldn’t comprehend yet.
    “Here you are!”
    Quinn bit down on his tongue, then cursed under his breath at the sudden pain.
    “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Caroline said. She inhaled, coughed, waved away a cobweb, and took the spot next to him on the wood planked floor.
    She sat close enough to put the usual hand on his arm. When she clasped her hands in her lap, he gave silent thanks. Every nerve in his body vibrated with tension. Her intrusion didn’t help.
    “What are you doing here?” At least he managed to keep his voice civil.
    “We always talk on this day. This time you get me in person instead of over the phone.”
    New Year’s fucking Eve.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn watched her canvas the room. Her motherly sixth sense must be in tune with his leave-me-alone disposition, or she’d have looked right at him like she always did. Caroline gave her attention, and expected it in return.
    “I’m not really up for conversation today.”
    “No problem. I’ll just sit with you for a while, then.” She stretched her legs out, crossed them at the ankles, and wiggled her back against the wall to settle in.
    He let out a deep breath. They sat in silence long enough for the sun to cast its rays from one end of a small painted wood bench to the other.
    “Your uncle passed away this morning.”
    “I know. I got my mom’s