Love in Slow Motion

7. Reed

7 REED

There have been times in my life where I really felt like I got the shit end of the deal. I’m the oldest, so I was always expected to mature quicker than Chase or Sabrina; I’m not very good at following rules, so I’ve always been the one who was in trouble for something; and I have a bad habit of disappearing where my family is concerned, so I’m pretty sure no one cares if I ever come around.

But today, I’m certain I’m God’s favorite, because after an excruciatingly long day of meetings, followed by a miserably long drive out to the lake house, I’ve tiptoed down to my room in the basement to find Quinn in my bed. And God, she looks incredible, with her blonde hair wild around her face and her cheeks flushed in the moonlight. I want to crawl into that bed, cover her with my body, and make her forget she was ever married to my brother.

But as soon as I let that thought cross my mind, I realize how awful it sounds. If I want this thing with Quinn to work, I’ve got to go slow, move at her pace. And I only have a week to make this work.

“Hey, Quinn.”

Her tense shoulders seem to relax, which makes my stomach go warm. “Reed. God, you scared the shit out of me.”

I set my bag down by the door and step all the way into the room. “Sorry. I figured nobody would be in the basement. Everybody hates the basement.”

“Right. Well…” She looks nervous, like she doesn’t want to say something, but then she sighs, her hands going up into her hair. “I couldn’t be upstairs with Chase. I couldn’t share a bed with him after…” She shakes her head, throwing the blanket off herself and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She’s in sweatpants and a shirt so big it swallows her. “I can take the couch out in the living room.”

I look over my shoulder, where I have a clear view of the couch in the downstairs living room. It’s barely even a loveseat. It’s a tiny little thing, really more for show than anything else. I can’t let her sleep there.

“No way,” I say, turning back to her. She’s already halfway to me, and when she stops, it’s close enough for me to touch. “I’ll take the couch.”

She scoffs. “Reed, you’re massive. There’s no way I’m going to make you curl up on that tiny couch. You’d probably slip a disc or something.” She starts to move past me, but I wrap a hand around her upper arm to stop her. I can feel the faint pulse of her in the bend of her elbow.

She looks at me and then her eyes sweep down my arm, where my tattoos are visible past the sleeve of my shirt, all the way to my hand wrapped around her. When she looks up again, it feels like she’s looking for the first time. Like before this moment, she was too distracted and now she can really see me. “You look different,” she says.

I know what she means. The last time we saw each other, my hair was the longest it’s ever been, always brushing the collars of my work shirts. But now it’s the shortest it’s ever been, buzzed close to my scalp, and I have dark scruff on my jaw, which I’ve never really had before.

She doesn’t look different. She looks the same. The same beautiful woman she’s always been. The same long hair, the same bright green eyes, the same sad tilt to her mouth. There’s some comfort in the fact that she hasn’t changed, but I can’t help but wonder if it bothers her.

“I’m sorry.” It comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about it.

Her brow furrows. “Why are you sorry?”

I take a deep breath. This guilt has been eating at me for a while, and I can’t even explain to her why without scaring her off. “I should have called. I should have reached out after Chase did what he did.”

Her face shifts, and I recognize the expression well. It’s the face of a person who’s been getting are you okay? comments because her ex-husband is an asshole and now everyone knows it. “You don’t have to apologize for what he did. You don’t owe me anything.”

At that, I finally let my hand drop away from her. I don’t want to hold her in place. I want her to stay because she wants to. “We’re friends. I should have made sure you were okay.” But I didn’t let myself. I knew what would happen if I did. I want her too much. I would have made a move, and it would have been the wrong time, and she never would have forgiven me.

Her eyes fall away. “He told you everything?”

She already knew I knew about the divorce, or she would have been more embarrassed to be caught outside of Chase’s bed. But I guess she doesn’t know the full extent of it.

“Yeah. When you kicked him out, he came to my place, asked to sleep on my couch. But once I found out the whole story, I told him to go to hell.”

She smiles, and I almost crumble. How can she not see what she does to me? How can she not see how I feel about her? “He’s your brother.”

“Doesn’t matter. He hurt you, and he shouldn’t be rewarded for that.”

Her smile fades, her eyes going soft in the moonlight. “It went on for so long.” Her voice breaks on the words, and before I can stop myself, I’ve stepped forward and pulled her into my arms. I know I shouldn’t. I need to keep my distance if I’m going to keep her from running away, but when she buries her face in my chest and sighs, nothing has ever felt so right.

After a minute, she takes a step back, letting out this odd little watery laugh. “Jesus, I’m sorry.” She wipes at the wet spot on my shirt, and I try to slow the racing of my heart. Can she feel it?

“Don’t worry about it,” I say as her hands drop down to her side.

She twists, her eyes going back to the bed over her shoulder. “Maybe you could stay in here with me?” she asks, and even though there’s nothing even remotely suggestive in her voice, my mind immediately begins to race, imagining her spread out on the bed, my lips finding every inch of her.

I smile and walk over to the bed, swiping one of the pillows and dropping it onto the floor at my feet.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to?—”

I put up a hand to stop her. “Trust me, this is going to be more comfortable than the couch out there.” I kick off my shoes and watch her take in everything before shutting the door.

My heart starts to pound in my head again. How many times have I imagined this? The two of us alone together behind a closed door?

She climbs into the bed, and I have to look away from the shape she makes as she crawls up toward the pillows. She throws the blanket over herself as I settle onto the rug. Luckily, my mother insists on those insanely thick rugs that always have you levitating half a foot off the ground.

Quinn shifts on the bed, and her face appears over the edge, her long hair curtaining around her head. “Goodnight, Reed,” she whispers, and then she disappears again, and I’m left to lie awake for a long time.