FLOWERS ON THE WALL (22 page)

"I'm sorry." Pella wiped at her face. When Quinn handed her a tissue, she sent her a watery smile.

"Tell me what happened."

"My best friend's father…" Pella hesitated, blowing her nose. "He…"

"Take a second. Is there something I can do to help?"

Pella sucked in a shaky breath. "No. It's just that her father has been out of work for some time and had health problems. This afternoon he took his own life."

"Oh, Pella. I'm so sorry." Quinn pulled Pella closer, lending her sympathy. But at the same time, Quinn's thoughts went to Ryder. She was grateful he wasn't here to be reminded of
his
father's suicide. "You should be with your friend."

"I'll go to her as soon as I finish my shift." Pella wiped her eyes before standing. "I'm sorry, Ms. Abernathy. I shouldn't have broken down like that. It suddenly hit me again."

"Don't apologize. Go back to the hotel and splash some cold water on your face." Her arm still around Pella's shoulders, Quinn led the young woman to the door.

"I need to get back. Thank you, Ms. Abernathy."

"Pella. If you see Mr. Hart, please don't mention this to him."

"I won't. I promise."

Quinn leaned against the bamboo post, watching Pella's retreating form. The world was a crappy place sometimes. So many bad things happened to good people. Whoever wrote the rules got it wrong way too often.

"Nobody cried when my father died. Not me. Not Zoe. I think there may have been a party, but no one was crass enough to invite us."

"You heard." Quinn turned. At the end of the porch, Ryder stepped out of the shadows. "I'm sorry."

Dressed in nothing but a pair of running shorts, Ryder shrugged. In his hand, he carried his shoes which he carelessly tossed onto the padded swing. Taking Quinn's hand, he walked into the bungalow.

"I'm going to take a quick shower."

"Ryder—"

"If it makes you feel better, I'll leave the bathroom door open, but believe me, Quinn. I'm fine."

"Are you?"

Ryder turned his head, his eyes meeting hers. "How do I look?"

"Calm." Quinn looked harder. Ryder's eyes were clear—no sign of pain or torment. Frowning, she reached out, dropping her hand when Ryder stepped back.

"The only good thing that bastard ever did was stick a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. I came into this world on September fourth. But May twenty-second, the day my father died, was the day I was born."

Ryder must have sensed Quinn's confusion. Leaning over, he cupped her cheek, giving her a light kiss.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"You're here. That's all I need."

To Quinn's relief, when Ryder said his shower would be quick, he meant it. She poured him a glass of water, left it in on the living room table, and had just started to pace when there he was. His dark hair was damp, and his face flushed from his run and the warm shower. Without a word, she walked into his arms.

"Feel bad for Pella and her friend, not for me." But Ryder didn't argue when Quinn tightened her arms around his waist.

"I can do both."

Quinn felt Ryder rub his cheek against her hair, listened as he breathed in her scent. The simple actions soothed her nerves, and she realized that she needed his comfort more than he needed hers.

"It was never my father's suicide that haunted me, Quinn. Or the abuse." Ryder sighed. "Okay, that might be stretching it. I used to wake up in a sweat, thinking I could hear that song—convinced my father was outside my door."

"Come."

Quinn tugged Ryder's hand until he followed her to the bed. She climbed under the covers, patting the mattress, inviting him to join her.

Ryder ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Quinn, I told you, I'm not upset."

"Then humor me. Besides, when have you ever objected to getting in bed with me?"

"I prefer you are naked when I do." But Ryder did as Quinn asked. His lips quirked when she arranged him on his side facing her, but again, he went along.

"Happy?" he asked when she was settled.

"On my way." Quinn laced her fingers with Ryder's. "Do you want to tell me what he did to you?"

"Do you want to hear?"

"No." Quinn knew it would rip her guts out. "But I'll listen if it will help."

"It won't. But thank you for offering." Ryder kissed the back of her hand. Then again, lingering. "I went to a shrink just after we hit it big. I had the money, so I figured, why not? It's what people do, right?"

"Did it help?"

"No," Ryder scoffed. Then after a little thought, he shook his head. "Maybe. Hell, I don't know. The dreams are gone, but they had started to fade on their own. I can't seem to let go of that song."

Quinn gently pushed a lock of Ryder's hair back from his face. It was getting so long, almost brushing his shoulders. It gave him an air of the vulnerable little boy. She wanted to hold him tight and protect him from the world even though she knew he neither wanted nor needed her to do so.

"What did the doctor say about that?"

"She said when I was ready, I would know." Ryder's laughed, the tone self-deprecating. "As you witnessed in Chicago, I'm not ready."

"You will be."

"How do you know?"

Quinn searched for something profound and wise. But she only had one answer.

"Because I believe in you."

Ryder's eyes widened with surprise, the spark of pleasure touched Quinn deep inside. Ryder's opinion meant a lot to her. If felt good to know he felt the same.

"You shouldn't. I'm not as solid a character as you think."

Quinn tapped Ryder's chest—just above his heart. "Feels pretty solid to me."

Ryder simply shook his head. "I didn't know I had a Pollyanna on my hands."

"I don't believe the world is perfect. I
know
you aren't." Ryder grinned, making Quinn's heart beat just a little faster. "However, there is nothing wrong with hoping for the best."

Ryder didn't answer. Instead, he turned onto his back, his eyes staring at nothing. Quinn could hear his steady breathing and the hum of the turning ceiling fan. She could tell there was more—something he wanted to tell her. She waited patiently, letting him say it in his own time.

"There is something about the day my father died." Ryder's voice was low, but steady. "I lied. To Zoe. To the police. To my shrink."

"Lied?"

"I told everyone that I found my father's body. That isn't the truth."

There weren't a lot of possibilities. If Ryder hadn't found his father, did that mean he…?

"I can practically hear your mind working." Ryder rubbed a hand over his face. "No, I didn't kill him."

"I wouldn't have blamed you."

Quinn's response was met with a bark of laughter. Ryder didn't turn his head, but she could see the trace of a smile on his lips.

"I thought about it a few times. Hell, sometimes it was
all
I could think about. I didn't know what would happen to me—I didn't care. But I couldn't risk leaving Zoe alone."

Always the protector. Quinn wondered if Ryder saw himself that way. She didn't think so. His love for his sister—his absolute commitment to keeping her safe—was absolute. Ryder wouldn't consider it anything out of the ordinary. But she was certain Zoe knew better. And so did Quinn.

"
Did
your father kill himself?"

"Yes. But he waited until I was there to do it."

Quinn gasped. Of all the things Ryder could have said, that was a complete shock.

"Ryder. That's…"

"Fucked up?" Ryder blew out a long breath before taking in another. "That pretty much sums up Bennett Hart's entire existence."

It was so unbelievably cruel, Quinn had trouble taking it in. Then she remembered what that man had done to his son. Why should she be surprised that a monster would be capable of one last monstrous act?

Ryder closed his eyes. When he spoke, his tone was matter-of-fact. "He left me something,"

Quinn felt a tingle up her spine. How much worse could it get?

"It couldn't have been good."

"Depends on your perspective. I walked into that trailer not knowing it would be the last time. My father sat in his chair, the gun in his lap. I thought it was for me."

As though she were watching it unfold, Quinn felt frozen in place, unable to move. She doubted she could if she tried.

"Bennett Hart was a man of few words. He told me the world was a horrible place and one day soon, I would figure out that it never got better. So his parting gift to me was a do-it-yourself guide to ending it all. Then he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Goodbye, Bennett. Goodbye, nightmare."

And hello new one
. Quinn didn't know what to do. Ryder was so calm he didn't need her anger. How could she rage against a dead man? She could hate Bennett Hart, but again, what good would it do? Ryder had moved on as best he could—once again protecting Zoe. He didn't want her to know. If it were up to Quinn, she never would.

"You can't un-see something like that."

"Let me hold you." When Ryder didn't move, Quinn forced the issue. She scooted close, wrapping herself around him like a human cocoon. "I know you're fine. I'm not. Hug me back, damn it."

"Bossy."

"You bet your fine ass."

Resigned, Ryder allowed Quinn to take charge. Though he didn't know it, it was exactly what he needed. The tone of Ryder's voice had belied the tension in his body. He felt like a shaft of metal—unforgiving and alarmingly cold. Reaching for the blanket, Quinn pulled it over them. Then she rubbed his arms and willed the heat of her body to transfer to his.

Quinn couldn't have said how much time passed. She didn't care, she wasn't going anywhere. If it took a day or a month of Sundays, she would stay. She wasn't moving. At some point, she became aware of the things around them. The room was bathed in moonlight. The smell of wildflowers perfumed the air. And Ryder's breathing had changed to a steady, shallow rhythm. Glancing at his face, Quinn let out a sigh of relief. He was asleep—just what he needed. Brushing her lips against his forehead, she said a silent thank you when she found the skin to be warm instead of icy.

Holding the secret of his father's death inside for so long had been hard enough. Letting it out had taken a toll neither of them expected. Quinn hoped Ryder was through the worst.

A sudden need came over Quinn—one she didn't want to control. Carefully, she eased away from Ryder until she could reach her phone. Checking him again, she kept a hand on his arm while she dialed with the other.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad," Quinn whispered.
She didn't know what time it was in Aruba or Indiana. And she didn't care.

"Quinn?" There was a gruff edge to her father's voice—an air of impatience. Another time his,
why are you bothering me
tone would have bothered her. Tonight, Quinn's thoughts were elsewhere, and she barely noticed. Or rather, it didn't matter.

"Dad, I—" Quinn swallowed, trying to clear the lump that had popped up in her throat.

"Is everything okay?"

The concern in her father's voice was almost her undoing. Quinn swallowed again, looking at Ryder's sleeping figure. No matter what, even though he drove her crazy, her father was a good man. She lightly rubbed Ryder's arm. Quinn knew more than ever how lucky she had been. How lucky she
was
. She would never take it for granted

"Everything is fine. Great. Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE NEXT MORNING, Quinn rolled to her side, reaching for Ryder. As her hand encountered nothing but a cold, empty space, her eyes flew open. Instantly awake—and panicked—she sat up. Had Ryder left? Had last night been too much? Did he regret opening up to her? Had he left for good? Those questions, and a dozen more, swirled around Quinn's head. Before she could check the closet or form a plan, Ryder strolled into the bedroom, carrying a large tray.

"Fresh-squeezed orange juice. Hot coffee. And croissants that would rival anything you'll find in Paris."

Ryder set the tray on the nearby table, sat on the edge of the bed, then pulled her close for a long, good morning kiss.

"You're in a good mood." Quinn didn't tell Ryder what road her thoughts had traveled before he returned. He was smiling. His eyes were bright and clear. That was all that mattered.

"I woke up full of energy and hungry as a bear." Ryder fed Quinn a bite of pastry before taking one of his own. "I took an early run. I had just gotten out of the shower when the waiter arrived."

"How late is it?" Quinn couldn't believe she had slept through all of that. Normally, it didn't take very much to wake her.

"A little after eight." Ryder smoothed back the hair from her face. "It's a beautiful morning, Quinn. Thanks to you."

"Me?" Quinn took a sip of juice. Mmm. Her favorite. "Thank Mother Nature."

"You know what I mean."

Quinn had wondered if Ryder planned to bring the subject up. Now that he had, she wasn't certain what to say.

"I listened."

Ryder shook his head, apparently not satisfied with the way she shrugged it off. "If it were as simple as that, I would have told someone years ago."

"Friends?" Quinn hoped that was true. When Ryder nodded, she could have sworn her heart sighed. "And lovers."

"Friends
and
lovers." Ryder digested the thought. "That's a new one for me."

"Me too."

"I like it."

Ryder sounded so pleased—like a little boy with a shiny new toy—Quinn couldn't help but laugh.

"Me, too."

The rest of the week flew by. Quinn was happy to let the sun-kissed days tick by at their own pace. However, she hated to see the nights sail by in the blink of an eye. It wasn't the sex—though that took her breath away and made her body sing—it was the long talks. For the first time, Quinn felt free to ask Ryder anything without fear of breaking the rules. His friends and Zoe were still off limits, but Ryder was an open book. Fascinating and never dull.

There was one subject that Quinn hesitated to broach. It was the night before they were to leave. Ryder sipped a glass of wine, Quinn had opted for iced tea, as they sat on the porch swing, his arm comfortably resting on her shoulders. The silence was peaceful, broken only by the creatures of the night and Ryder humming. They were so relaxed, so at ease. Quinn didn't want to spoil the moment by dragging up one more taboo subject. But she had to know.