Love in Slow Motion

16. Quinn

16 QUINN

Sabrina sighs. “I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

And just like that, I’m alone with Chase. Without a word, he takes the seat that Reed vacated, picking up the last piece of toast Reed left behind and buttering it.

I watch him, unable to look away. It’s amazing how you can be so into someone and think they’re the most attractive person you’ve ever known, and then it’s like you see inside them and you wonder how you overlooked how ugly they were the whole time. I’m disgusted by Chase’s sharp cheekbones, the jut of his chin, and the way his hair is messy when it’s normally perfectly styled for his executive job. He looks like a child to me, some sixteen-year-old kid who can’t control his sexual urges.

I hate him.

And as if he knows that, as if he can feel the waves of hate coming off me, he leans back in his chair and says, “We need to talk.”

I burst out of my seat. “I’m going to go help Reed with his oil leak.”

Chase throws up his hands. “I sincerely doubt he needs your help with that hunk of junk,” he says. “You can’t just run away forever.”

“I can do whatever I want,” I throw over my shoulder, and when I spin back around, it’s to find Lydia in my path. I almost don’t stop in time, nearly slamming right into her. She smiles up at me, that soft, sweet smile of hers, and my stomach churns. Did she hear what Chase said? Is it obvious that we’re not together anymore? Or do normal married couples fight the way we are? Why can’t I remember? Why didn’t it matter enough to me? Did Chase and I ever fight? Or did I just let Chase call all the shots without ever arguing?

Lydia’s eyes lock onto mine, and I get the distinct feeling that she’s…trying to save me from Chase. Or at least, from the argument we’re having. “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Lynch?” she asks, her voice small and quiet. “Some iced tea or some fruit?”

“No, thank you, Lydia. I appreciate it. But maybe you could prepare a little treat for Sabrina for when she gets back? A hot bath or something?”

Lydia ducks her head. Is she…blushing? What is that all about? “Absolutely,” she whispers before stepping out of my way.

I throw open the front door and close it behind me, leaning against it for a second to take in a long, deep breath of fresh air. It has that twinge to it, the smell of lake water, and I find it comforting.

“Doing okay?”

I open my eyes to find Reed at the bottom of the stairs, a wrench in his hand and a concerned tilt to his features. He has the sleeves of his Henley rolled up so that I can see the tattoos covering both of his forearms.

“I’m fine,” I say to him, making my way down the stairs, suddenly feeling unsure if this is any better than hanging out with Chase. I still can’t believe I cuddled up to Reed in my sleep. I know he said it didn’t bother him, but I mean…I had my leg thrown over him like I was getting ready to dry-hump him. And he smelled so good that when I woke up, I was so disoriented because…well…he didn’t smell like Chase. And for a second there, that was so comforting. I knew it wasn’t Chase, but my subconscious knew it was some big, strong man, ready to watch over me while I slept.

My cheeks flush. I was humiliated. I don’t need Reed getting the impression that I’m so hard up for companionship or I miss Chase so much that I would crawl into bed with any guy, especially my soon-to-be ex-husband’s brother, for God’s sake. How embarrassing.

“Just didn’t want to stay in there with him,” I say. I get to the bottom of the stairs and follow Reed over to where his bike is propped up on its kickstand on the decomposed granite road leading from the house down to the lake. He crouches down by the bike, and I hop up onto one of the flat-topped wood plank posts that surrounds the house.

“You know,” he says with a grunt as he loosens something with his wrench, “you’re going to have to spend time with him eventually, or the whole family is going to know that something’s up.”

I shrug, even though I don’t feel very casual about the whole thing. I’m actually feeling a little panicked about what Lydia heard. “Couples fight. I’m pretty sure Lydia got wind of something, but she probably thinks we’re in an argument. Easy to believe when someone is married to such a bull-headed jerk.”

One side of Reed’s mouth curls up in a smile. “I’m sure she thought nothing of it.” He nods in the direction of his bike. “Want to help me with this crush gasket?”

“Sure, if you tell me what a crush gasket is.”

He chuckles. “I don’t actually need your help with it. It’s a pretty easy fix. But there’s something up with my exhaust that’s making me go through these gaskets faster than I should. So, I keep a few spares.” He steps over to me, his shoes crunching on the ground, and holds out his fist to me, palm down. When I just stare at him, he nods at my hand.

I reach out to take whatever he has, but before he lets me have it, his eyes meet mine. “It’s kinda greasy. My hands are…” He lifts his other hand so that I can see the grease coating the ends of his fingers.

“I don’t mind,” I find myself saying, my eyes on his hands, on the little storm cloud he has in the fleshy part between his thumb and index finger. He opens his hand and the silver gasket falls into my palm. It’s light and round, sized perfectly to circle the lines on the center of my palm. I’m still looking at it when Reed turns back to his bike.

He crouches again, and I watch as he settles another silver gasket into a hole that’s perfectly shaped for it toward the front of his bike. His long, lithe fingers press into the curve of the metal piece, gently fitting it into place. And then he swirls his thumb along the circumference of the gasket, and I watch, transfixed at the shape of his hands, the way the tendons flex and stretch as he settles them over the hole.

“Hand me that screwdriver?”

I look away, clearing my throat. I hop off the post and pick up the screwdriver he left on the ground by the grass. There are a few other tools there, ones that are small enough to fit in the storage compartment on the side of his bike.

“Ever been on a bike?” Reed asks when I hand him the screwdriver. He wraps his hand around the hot metal, his fingers engulfing it, and I let go quickly, taking a step back.

“No. Chase always says motorcycles are for adrenaline junkies.” I sort of regret it as soon as it comes out of my mouth. I’m not trying to be the thing that comes between these brothers, but all I’ve done on this entire trip is shit talk Chase.

But Reed smiles, like I paid him a compliment. “Maybe he’s right. But is that so bad?”

My stomach feels like I’m in a free fall, like being dropped out of an airplane. I squeeze the gasket in my hand so hard that it bites into my skin. “You know what?” I say, dropping the extra gasket on the ground at Reed’s feet. “I actually need to go.”

“Go?” His smile falls.

“Yeah, I, uh…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Sabrina. She’s doing something on her phone, coming off the hiking trail that leads from the lake house up into the woods on the hill. She still looks sad, her mouth turned down at the corners.

“I need to talk to Sabrina,” I say, moving in her direction. I give a nervous laugh.

Before I say anything I’ll regret, I make a run for it.