Page 89 of Forbidden Eyes

Finished.

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It’s taken me two hours to get my stuff together. Most of that time has been spent pacing back and forth, disarray making me more confused than I already was. This has been my home for so long I don’t know what to do with myself in it now, let alone how to deal with the thought of leaving it. I stare around the space, looking at the small boxes accounting for my things. There isn’t much. Three suitcases. Four boxes. That’s my life; nothing but business suits and a few photos. One of the boxes is from when Quinn found me as a kid, the few things I brought from the old place I lived in. I haven’t looked in it for years.

I walk over to it at the side of the couch, a coffee in my grip, and turn back the corners to peer inside. The dirty old photo frame lies in there, a picture of my brother and me when I was about three, I guess. He’s not smiling like me. He’s got a look that I know well now I’ve seen it on others through the years: desperation. He’s gaunt, pale, blond hair a mess and filth on his face. No mom or dad in the shot. I snort; they wouldn’t be. They were never there, neither of them. Well, one was dead from what I can remember. The other? Fuck knows.

I move the frame and smile at the rag underneath, a small chuckle coming as I pick it out and unravel it. Two toys fall from it into my hand. Two tiny soldiers, one with its arm broken off. I don’t know where my brother found them from, but I remember him giving them to me that night when he got back late from somewhere. I finger them and hold them up to the light, thinking about all the things Quinn gave me after that time. Christmases. Birthdays. I smile, thinking of Emily every year. Pancakes for breakfast, maple syrup and bacon. She always loved birthdays, made a fuss of me.

Still does.

Shame.

I dump the toys and close the box, kicking it towards the others. I’ll get wherever I’m going and then have the car sent back when I get another one. Guess they won’t mind that. Fuck knows. It’s the only plan I have at the moment, though, and that thought alone makes me head over to the door, wheeling cases behind me.

It doesn't take long for me to load my life into the car. That's sad in itself. As is the walk I make over to the main house. My hands lodge in my pockets, eyes gazing around at the place I've called home for all these years. The lawn I helped Logan learn to walk on. The tree he fell out of when he was small. I shake my head, unused to the feelings I'm suddenly associating with him, and crunch the gravel to get to Quinn’s office. Doesn't matter how I feel, or what is going on inside me; this has to end so they're safe.

"Quinn," I call, pushing on the door.

He doesn't answer me, but he's there, his back towards me and dice rolling in his palm. "I need to talk to you."

"You need to go unpack your fucking car, Carter. That's what you need to do."

I sigh, a smile coming as soon as he turns around to look at me. Whatever I'm feeling, I know there's no way in hell he'll want this. I knew it as soon as he sat beside me in that hospital and didn't kick off, choosing to talk instead.

"You know this needs to happen. It's the safest thing to do now. For you, for her. For everyone."

"You're running. That’s not what Canes do."

My smile broadens.

"I'm not running, Quinn. I'm doing what you taught me. What you both taught me. I'm thinking logically. Calmly. Selflessly. You'll make it right when I'm gone. Smooth it over. Besides, I'm not a Cane, am I."

He grumbles and dumps his dice on the table, ass sitting in his chair to gaze at me. There's nothing to say other than goodbye. I know it. He does too, even if he doesn't want to hear it. It makes me move to the drinks trolley, pouring a couple of shots for Dutch courage to get this thing done. Don't know why, but I never thought it would be this hard. He's not my father, never professed to be until he said those words in the hospital, but these minutes prove he has been.

"You love her?" he asks, as I pass him a drink.

"Doesn't matter if I do or don't. I'm still going."

He nods and leans back, the longest sigh I've ever heard coming from his mouth. "Pick them up, Carter."

"What?"

"Dice. Drink your drink then pick them up and throw. Odds you leave. Evens you stay."

"I'm not doing that, Quinn. You can't risk your family on the roll of your dice."

"You're not leaving unless those dice say you are. I won't let you. Pick. Them. Up."

I chuckle. Alright. He can have his hope. Mine's long gone.

It left the second I kissed her spine for the last time and set her free. Set them all free.

I pick them up, drink my drink, and throw them across the hardwood floor towards him, my eyes turning to the door. Evens or not, I'm going, and the sound of my strides leaving before I hear them come to a stop proves it. Vico can blame me if he wants to, come after me. Maybe I'll go to him first. Hand myself over. I don't know yet. But he's not blaming them. Me leaving is the right thing to do, the only thing to do.

"See you around, Quinn," I call back, leaving the room and closing the door.

Maybe.