Just Say Yes (18 page)

Sear

Only one word appropriately described the middle of July: oppressive. Not only did the unbearable humidity cause Quinn's hair to stick to the back of her neck as she made her daily trek from her car to the doors of her office building every morning, but her mind had been experiencing severe discomfort as well.

She hadn't talked to Tim in the eight days since their breakup—if it could have even been called that. The whole thing made her wonder if they'd really been as close as she'd thought they were to begin with. And the more she let their conversation weigh on her mind, the less sense it made. He'd called her selfish, claimed that being with her made him feel “unbalanced.” Something just didn't add up.

But as much as she wanted to ask him about it, to further question his motives, she knew better than to do it. Because as much as Tim
seemed
to be the poster boy for getting your life back on track, clearly he wasn't. That car had left the race long before Quinn even realized it had a flat tire. And now it was so completely broken, no pit crew in the world would be able to fix it.

She had to accept it. Tim was gone. Gone from her life, and for all intents and purposes, gone from his own. The man who had spoken to her in Tim's apartment wasn't him. He'd gotten that much right at least. Quinn had seen the emptiness behind his eyes, heard the coldness in his voice. And nothing she could have said or done would have changed that.

And she didn't want to try. She was scared to flip a switch in him that he wouldn't be able to turn off. And the last thing she wanted to do was be the cause of his relapse.

But she'd never even gotten to tell Tim how she really felt about him. The thought ate at her like a parasite. And now here she was, staring at a blank computer screen, trying to think of how the hell she was supposed to write an article that had just as much to do with him as it had to do with her.

•   •   •

“What's wrong?” The question came from Lauren, who was sitting beside Quinn in the backseat of Cass' car.

“Huh?”

“You've been staring out your window since we picked you up,” Lauren replied.

Quinn turned away from the glass just in time to catch Cass' eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Nothing's
wrong.
Just trying to think of what to write for that article. The deadline's soon and I don't have a clue where to start. I usually don't get writer's block like this.” The fact that all of that was true made Quinn feel slightly better about not mentioning the breakup. She hadn't said anything about it to the girls yet. Partly because she hadn't seen them since it happened and partly because, well, she just didn't feel like talking about it. She'd figured agreeing to see a movie would be a safe night out with her friends—one that would allow her to sit passively and get her mind off of Tim while still enjoying the company of her three closest girlfriends.

“Did Tim give you any suggestions?”

Damn it.
It was an innocent question and one that was probably meant to make Quinn feel at ease. But it triggered the opposite effect. She noticed herself shift toward the window reflexively as if the physical space between her and her best friend would conceal how uncomfortable the mention of Tim's name made her feel. “I haven't talked to him about it.”

Quinn felt Lauren's hand on her forearm before Lauren even spoke. “What is it? Something's definitely wrong. Did you and Tim get into a fight or something?”

“Yeah. Something,” Quinn answered.

“Come on, Quinn. It's just us,” Simone prompted. “If you guys are fighting, we can help. God knows Laur's kicked enough men in the balls to be able—”

“That was
one
time,” Lauren shot back. “And I actually used my knee.”

“Well, I meant it mostly metaphorically,” Simone added with a short laugh. “Sometimes you just need to put a guy in his place.”

Quinn let her skull fall back hard against the headrest, causing her brain to rattle inside it as she let out a long huff. She didn't feel like getting into all the details. At least not right now. But she needed to let them know what happened, if for no other reason than so that they would drop it. “I'm pretty sure he knows his place,” Quinn finally responded. “And it's not with me.”

The girls exchanged brief looks of confusion—the narrowing of eyes, the biting of lips—before the full meaning of Quinn's statement sank in. It didn't come as a surprise that Simone was the first one to speak. She was definitely the most emotionally mature of the three. “I'm sorry, Quinn” was all she said.

Quinn knew her girls well enough to know they wouldn't press her for information. They'd accept whatever little bit she'd tell them without pushing her for more.

“Yeah, I feel awful,” Lauren added. “I would've been there for you. Scott didn't tell me.” Then she paused for a moment as if she'd just realized something. “I don't even think Tim told him. I'm sure if he did, Scott would try to talk some sense into him, ya know? It took Scott a while to come to his senses and realize that I'm the best thing for him,” she said with a small smile. It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood. “I'm sure Tim will do the same. Maybe he just needs time.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he'll come around. I agree with Laur. Give him some time,” Cass said, more sweetly than Quinn was used to. “And if that doesn't work, give him a good knee to the balls.”

Quinn could see the crinkle of Cass' eyes in the mirror. And for what felt like the first time since her breakup with Tim, Quinn couldn't help but smile.

•   •   •

The dark living room offered Tim comfort he knew he had no right to. With the curtains drawn and only the faint light from an illuminated lamp across the room, he had sheathed himself in near blackness.

He sat forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his head angled toward the floor. Tim felt like he'd spent the past two weeks in this position, though of course he hadn't. He'd forced himself upright long enough to go to work, where he'd been a surly prick. Or at least that's what he'd overheard someone on the waitstaff call him.

His cell phone rang beside him, and he was instantly annoyed at it for casting any more light into his vicinity. But when he glanced down at it, the fact that it was Roger's daughter's name on the display caught his attention, so he decided to do something he'd done only seldomly over the past week: answer it. “Hello?”

“Tim?” a familiar, yet throatier than normal, voice said.

“Bridget? What's wrong?”

“It's Dad. He's gone.”

And that's when the earth fell away completely. Tim hadn't heard back from Roger since his desperate call to him after his breakup with Quinn. He'd tried calling again, but the phone hadn't even rung that time, going straight to voice mail instead. It was so unlike Roger not to call him right back, but Tim had lapsed so deep into his own depression he'd chalked it up to just one more person who was sick of his shit. Even though logically he knew that would
never
be the case with Roger, Tim just hadn't had it in him to search for a better reason. It was something he knew he'd never forgive himself for. “What—” Tim took a deep, steadying breath. “What do you mean he's gone?” His voice cracked on the last word no matter how much he'd tried to steel himself against it.

“The cancer. God, Tim. Even though I knew it was coming, I'm still in shock. We lost him Sunday.” Bridget was crying quietly even though her sniffles told Tim that she was trying to hold it back. “What am I going to do without my dad?” she whispered.

Tim didn't know what the hell to say. When he'd lost his dad, at least he'd been an adult. As well as high as the fucking stars. But Bridget was only nineteen, still in college, still so much life ahead of her. Now here she was tasked with calling people and telling them her father had died. Though Tim's mind wouldn't let him dwell on any of that long. “Cancer?”

Bridget was quiet for a second. “You mean . . . Shit, Tim, did he not tell you?”

Tim was reeling.
Roger was dead? Of cancer? Cancer the bastard had known about?
He tried to keep his voice even, not wanting Bridget to have to deal with his breakdown too. He knew, despite all she was dealing with, that she'd worry about him if he sounded as distraught as he felt. Tim had met her about six years ago, when his relationship with Roger moved beyond addict-sponsor and more toward father-son territory. Since then, Tim had been present for birthdays, graduations, some holidays, and random special occasions. Bridget knew Tim's story, and could understand it in ways most others couldn't since she'd lived with a recovering addict her entire life. He cleared his throat and replied. “No, he never said anything about it.”

“That asshole,” Bridget said with a small laugh. She used it as a term of endearment, the fondness for her father evident in her voice.

Tim almost laughed too. It was the same candor she'd always had with Roger. She never let him get away with anything, which Tim suspected was a huge contributor to his lasting sobriety. That and the fact that Roger loved his daughter with every fiber of his being, and when she'd gotten old enough to start noticing that something was wrong with him, Roger had quit drugs cold turkey and he'd never looked back.

“He told me that he was going to talk to you. Tell you about his cancer. It started in his liver. It came on fast. By the time he went to the doctor, he was already in stage three. Within a month, it had spread to his lymph nodes, moved into stage four, and the doctors gave him six months. He only lasted three.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I'm so sorry, Tim. He should have told you. You know he never wanted to look weak in front of anybody, the stubborn ass.”

Tim wasn't sure what to say. He'd lost Quinn for a greater good, but there was nothing good in this. Losing Roger was a blow he just wasn't sure how to handle. He sank his head into his hand, wondering what the hell he'd ever done to deserve any of this. Tim was a champ when it came to taking responsibility for his actions, but this was bordering on cruel. He hadn't done anything to warrant losing Roger. Tim fucking
needed
him. “I just . . . Fuck, Bridge, I got nothing.” Tim ran his hand over his face. “Is there going to be a service? Do you need anything?”

“Mom and I are organizing everything.” Bridget's mom had divorced Roger right after Bridget was born, but they'd become friends after he'd gotten clean. “We're just having a memorial service at Gracci Funeral Home. Dad didn't want anything big. It's Thursday at ten.”

“I'll be there.”

“I know.” Bridget's voice was warm, and Tim let himself bask in it. “Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“He loved you. We owe it to him to keep it together. Both of us.”

Her words both fractured him and made him feel whole. Hearing her say that Roger loved him was something he'd needed. Because if ever Tim needed to know he was loved, it was then. But the fact that the source of that love was gone, that he'd lost someone else who gave a shit about him, broke him. Hearing the concern in Bridget's voice didn't help. She was afraid he was going to relapse. This nineteen-year-old kid had just lost her father, and as she grieved her loss, she had to check in on her dad's junkie friend to make sure he didn't raid the nearest pharmacy. “I'm good, Bridge. Promise. I'll see you Thursday. Sooner if you need me.”

“Thanks, Tim.”

Tim wanted to scoff at her words. There was nothing to be thankful for. Especially not to him.

•   •   •

Quinn wasn't sure that she was doing the right thing. In fact, she was pretty sure she wasn't. When Lauren had called her yesterday to tell her about Roger, Quinn had gone completely numb. She had met him only the one time, but it was clear what he had meant to Tim. Despite how they'd ended things, Quinn had no desire for Tim to be hurting. She loved him too much.

That had actually been one of the hardest parts of the previous weeks. Sure, Quinn knew she was falling for Tim, but having nothing but time to process just how far she'd actually fallen had not been a fun experience. Coming to the realization that she was in love with someone who wanted nothing to do with her was the most painful thing Quinn had ever endured. And it was still nothing compared to what Tim was probably feeling in the wake of losing Roger.

So that's why she was standing outside Tim's apartment forty-five minutes before Roger's service was due to start. She didn't want to show up at the memorial for fear that she'd make things more difficult for Tim. But she also wanted him know that she was there if he needed her. But as she stared at his door, she began to wonder if that was selfish of her. If he wanted her around, he'd let her know.
Right?
Was her desire to be there for him more about her needs than his? Quinn was growing tired of the near-constant internal struggles she waged against herself. She wanted to be the person she'd set out to find two months ago when she'd pitched her article. The article she now clutched in her hand. Writing it had been a purge. She'd gotten out of it what she'd needed to, but she had also lost more than she'd probably ever fully recover from. Vowing that the strength she'd found would be enough for her to see this through, she raised her hand and knocked on Tim's door. It was pulled open quickly, and a harried, profoundly sad man stood before her.

“Tim,” she gasped as she took him in.

Emotions rolled over his face, but they shifted too quickly for her to identify any of them. Except the last one: annoyance. “Now's not a good time, Quinn.”

Quinn straightened her spine. “I know. I heard about Roger. I just wanted to stop by and check on you.” She thought she saw his eyes glisten before he cleared his throat and diverted his gaze.