After the End (3 page)

Guilt followed that thought promptly, an overwhelming wave of it. Why shouldn’t I feel this? He was gone. If I let go of that grief, if I had a moment of not missing him, how could I ever say I’d loved him?

“How did it happen?” Brady was asking, distantly, and it took me a while to struggle through the answer.

“Cancer.” Such a stupid little word. It was far too little, too simple, to explain what had happened. To fully encapsulate the horror of watching that big, booming man with wild red hair and a grin that lit up the sky turn into a skeleton. That the person who’d once taken up a broadsword in class, swinging it around with a manic grin while he told his students of the War of the Roses, who’d tramped across hiking trails like there was no time at all between himself and his Viking ancestors, or who’d held this tiny, mewling, starving kitten in his hands so gently, that
that
person had been slowly killed off, piece by piece. That he’d died in stages, in starvation and sores and sickness. That the man who’d kissed me so passionately, who’d touched me and made me come alive, who could turn me on with a look, the man who I was supposed to grow old with, had been stolen.

Cancer was an ugly word. But one word could never fully encompass the soul-sucking terror of living through it. And I’d do it all again, every heartbreaking moment, because it would mean that for a little while, I’d have Aaron back again. I’d have my soul in one piece.

“I’m so sorry.” The most useless phrase in the world. Brady was patting my back, was trying to say something that would mean anything. There wasn’t, though. I knew that. He was trying, and that was the point. “When did you lose him?”

“Almost two years ago,” I said lowly, fighting off the urge to cry. I certainly didn’t know this man well enough to start bawling in his arms over my dead partner.

Brady drew back, studying my face. “I really am so sorry,” he whispered. I’d heard those words over and over, so much they all blurred together. But I could tell he meant them, so I gave him a sickly smile and shrugged, eyes dropping away from his.

“It’s okay,” I told him, voice nearly steady again. Then, taking a slow breath, I tried for some levity. “Man, this has got to be the worst first date in history.”

Brady snorted inelegantly, glancing at me before he let himself smile. “Oh, honey, you clearly haven’t had many bad dates. Trust me, this is nowhere near the worst. In fact—” He reached out, lightly laying his fingertips on the back of my hand. “—I kind of think it was pretty great.”

He stood, carefully folded my towel, dislodged a grumbling cat with one last pat goodbye, and gathered his shoes and his sweater. I walked with him to the door, feeling wrung out and unsure. Brady smiled at me, leaning in to brush a kiss across my cheek. “I really do think you’re smitten,” he told me, and I found myself smiling, just barely, back at him.

Then he was gone and my apartment was empty again. Just me and a fat, now snoring cat, and the ghosts of what once was.

“
C
OME
on, admit it. You loved him.” Tracy’s words were practically tumbling over themselves, my enthusiastic friend foregoing any normal greeting in favor of pressing for information about my date. She hugged me, grinning impishly, wild red hair a haze of curls around her head. “Spill it, Quinn. Tell me how good I am.”

“You’re a terrible person,” I replied dryly, hugging Tracy’s wife, Annabeth, as we both rolled our eyes indulgently at Tracy’s exuberance. Annabeth was nearly as tall as me, slim and graceful with dark hair and blue eyes, the polar opposite of the firecracker who was my best friend. And yet they fit so wonderfully. I’d bawled like a little girl at their wedding, standing up front in my tux, clutching Tracy’s bouquet and watching them exchange vows in dresses that made the whole thing look like a fairy tale. “I’m going to go order our coffee. Still take it black, Anna?”

“Quinn!” Tracy’s voice rose in that impatient plea I remembered so well from childhood. It was why she always won at Monopoly, even when I had both Park Place
and
Boardwalk. “Do not walk away from me. I want to hear details.”

I ignored her. Not for long, I knew. No one got away from Tracy’s inquisitions for long. That was why she made an excellent attorney. But for the moment, I escaped into the line for the barista, ordering three coffees—one black, two with extra sugar and cream—when my turn came. Standing there, blankly staring straight ahead, gave me time to get my head on straight. Last night had been…. Well, I still wasn’t sure what last night was. How I felt about everything. Brady had been wonderful, sweet and perfect and gorgeous. And those kisses had definitely resurrected certain areas I thought had been packed up in mothballs and forgotten.

But last night, I’d dreamed about Aaron. I’d woken up with a smile hovering on my lips, reaching out to a side of the bed that was cold and empty. How was I supposed to kiss someone else, to even
think
about someone else, when Aaron’s pillow was still there? When his clothes hung in my closet? When I slept sometimes wrapped in one of his old cardigans, desperate for even the smallest scent of his cologne? There was no point in talking about last night, because the man I loved, the only man I
should
be thinking about, wasn’t ever coming back. What on earth was I supposed to say?

“Quinn?” That low voice, a soft drawl, caught my attention as I was nodding thanks to the café worker handing me the drink tray with three steaming mugs. Startled, I jumped, sloshing coffee everywhere. I definitely would have gotten burned in a fantastic display of my own carelessness if someone hadn’t reached out to steady the tray, to gently take it from me when I couldn’t stop staring.

Brady. Here. In my little sanctuary of a café with its nearly too pretentious local art on the wall, the piped-in sounds of some wailing folk singer, and the cheerfully mismatched ceramic cups.

“Hey,” I finally managed, blinking, absently drawing my scarf tighter around my neck. My voice sounded all weird and strangled, and I cleared my throat, staring at him. The corners of his eyes were crinkled in an amused smile as he watched me, all poise and grace and skinny jeans.

“Hey.” His reply came with a gentle squeeze of my arm, with a quick scent of oranges and spice that seemed to follow him. So different from Aaron’s cologne of choice—he’d favored something with sandalwood. In that moment, I couldn’t have said which I preferred, although Brady’s was heady: completely masculine, sweet, and totally him.

I was the worst person in existence. I was comparing my blind date’s choice of scents with my dead partner. Not enough therapy in the world.

“So….” Brady’s voice trailed off into a smile. Drinks still in hand, he looked at me expectantly. While I’d been having my little moment, apparently the world hadn’t stopped to wait for me. The world at large was unbearably rude sometimes.

“So,” I breathed out with a little laugh, embarrassed and quick, and rubbed a hand through the short spikes of my hair. “Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you.”

“I’d ask if it was a good surprise, but I promised myself I wouldn’t use cheesy lines on you,” Brady teased, taking my elbow easily and leading me away from the counter. “So I’ll just assume it is.” His grip was strong, confident, not assuming anything but just reassuringly
there
. His deep brown eyes went to the tray and the three cups. “I take it you’re busy, though.”

“Just Tracy and Anna,” I said, renewing my claim on the tray. “We had a brunch date.” There was an awkward pause as he looked at me and I realized I should invite him. God, I didn’t know if I could. If my scrambled brain could handle all of Brady Banner this early in the morning.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he finally said, all smiles, not a trace of censure for my stunning lack of manners.

“It’s not….” Christ, I was fumbling over my words like a goddamn teenager, tongue too thick in my mouth to let me speak properly. “I just was….” Waving my hand helplessly back at the table, I let out a long sigh. “We’re going to talk about you.”

After a beat, Brady’s polite smile slipped into a grin and he started to laugh, teeth flashing as he reached out to grip my hand. “Well, now I
insist
on staying, sweetheart.” He gave me a wink and bundled us over to the table, ignoring my blush to rest a hand on the small of my back. Greeting Tracy and Annabeth with kisses brushed against cheeks, he pulled out my chair and fussed over the coffee before slinging himself back, legs folded, hands clasped properly in his lap.

“I hear we’re gossiping,” he said with relish, eyes sparkling. “And Quinn looks
so
disturbed about my presence I just couldn’t resist.”

“We have to have the post-date debriefing,” Tracy smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. I was too busy gaping at everyone, which was probably why Brady stole mine and took a sip, our shoulders resting comfortably together. I wasn’t going to think about how achingly domestic this all was. “I was going to call you later.”

“He’s smitten with me.” Brady nodded seriously at both women, dimples showing as he grinned at Annabeth’s snort.

I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl under the table and die. My friends seemed to be having far too much fun teasing me, though. I was aware this was one of the first times I’d been out in public doing anything but grieving. I was…. Well, I
laughed
at Brady’s exaggerated smirk, at Annabeth’s teasing glance, at the way Tracy was crowing about how she should be a professional matchmaker.

“I think that’s called a pimp, dear,” Annabeth told her dryly, a smile hidden in her eyes as Tracy stuck out her tongue. They kissed lightly, their hands laced together on the table, and I let the chatter wash over me as I watched that simple sight. Just the gentle, chaste touch of two people together, two people in love. Something I’d taken for granted so many times. I’d give up the world, I’d let it all burn down around me, for one more chance at something that wonderful. That simple.

“Hey.” Blinking, drawn from my thoughts, I turned my head to find Brady right there, smiling at me softly. There was a hint of concern in his eyes as he studied mine. “Want to get out of here?”

Warmth flushed my cheeks, and I immediately started to stammer out an excuse, only to have his quick, breathless laugh stop me.

“Not like that, horndog,” he murmured, teasing. “I meant a walk. You look like you could use some air.”

Oh. Right. Not a lewd invitation to further what we’d done last night. Not lips meeting in a clash and a soundless whimper, or hands sliding along aching, warmed skin. Just a walk. Which was totally all I wanted to do anyway.

God, I was so messed up.

“Get out of here, you two,” Tracy said, grinning at us, leaning her shoulder against Annabeth’s.

Her wife smiled as well, long fingers cradling her coffee mug. “We’re going to hit the market anyway. Brady, are you still coming for dinner tomorrow? I’m making squash ravioli.”

“Like I can resist your cooking,” Brady said, standing and leaning across the table to bus a kiss across both women’s cheeks. “Besides, I’m in charge of dessert.” With a glance at Tracy, he turned to me, smile turning slightly more hopeful. “I make a mean flan, Quinn. You could join us? Make it a foursome? You know how these two can gang up on you.” Clasping my hand to his chest, he fluttered his eyelashes, overly dramatic. “Help me, darling. You’re my only hope.”

I couldn’t help it. He was just so ridiculous with the messy blond waves and the brown eyes and how he’d swooned just to make me smile. I laughed, loudly, the sound startling me a bit. Twice in a short period of time, when it felt it’d been… God,
forever
since I’d just
laughed
.

“Oh, fine,” I grumped, but I was grinning as Brady tucked my hand in his elbow, and Tracy gave us a look like she’d single-handedly invented human emotions and tight pants and sweaters that set off deep, chocolate brown eyes.

I
T
WAS
chilly by the river this time of year, but I just wrapped myself further in my corduroy jacket and long scarf, tugged on knitted gloves as my fingers got too cold. Brady walked next to me, silent most of the time, our breaths twin ghosts against the still air.

“I love autumn,” he said, grinning as he reached up to pluck a just-turning leaf from a maple tree. He twirled the scarlet-trimmed green in his fingers before tucking it into the buttonhole of my jacket pocket. “Just the way the air smells and everything crackles. Also, I look damn good in boots.”

Barking out a quick laugh, I cut a sideways glance at him. “You’re….”

As I trailed off, he filled in for me with a mischievous grin. “Charming? Irresistible? Cute as a button?”

“Surprising.”

Completely the opposite of Aaron. Of the tall, booming man who’d moved through life like it was a river to ford, like it was a battle he’d already won. He laughed and the whole world lit up; he smiled and it’d been like the sun rose just to see it. I’d lived in his arms, in his eyes, in the breadth and span of his passion, of his wit and gentleness, for so long that when it’d been taken from me, I’d felt like I was only part of a person. All the goodness in me, all the possibilities, they’d been put in the casket with Aaron, buried in dark earth and hidden under a stone marker.