Page 60 of Beneath the Surface

“No, it’s not.” Quinn’s hands curled into fists on the table. “I get that you’re damaged. That you’ve lost people. But so have I, Dax. My mother abandoned me. My father was murdered. My grandmother is dying. I understand loss. I understand fear.”

“I know you do.”

“Then stop treating me like I’m fragile. Stop deciding what’s best for me without asking what I want.” Her voice rose slightly before she caught herself, glanced toward the hallway where her grandmother slept. Lowered her tone. “I’m not asking for promises. I’m not asking for forever. I’m just asking you to be honest about what this is. Whatever this thing is between us.”

Dax’s throat was tight. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Bullshit.” Quinn stood abruptly, her chair scraping. Paced to the window, her arms wrapping around herself. “You know exactly what it is. You’re just too scared to admit it.”

She was right. Of course she was right.

Dax stood too, moved toward her. Stopped himself halfway. Maintaining that careful distance even now. “You deserve better than me.”

“That’s for me to decide.” Quinn turned to face him, and there were tears in her eyes. Angry tears. Frustrated tears. “But I can’t decide anything when you won’t even be honest with me. When you push me away every time we get close.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what? Wheeler? You’re already doing that. Or are you trying to protect me from you?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Because newsflash, Dax, pushing me away hurts just as much as whatever you’re afraid of.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. Because she was right. He was hurting her. Had been hurting her all day with his hot-and-cold behavior.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly.

“Then stop.” Quinn wiped her eyes roughly. “Stop pulling away. Stop deciding what I can handle. Just...stop.”

Dax took a step toward her. Then another. Close enough now that he could see the gold flecks in her amber eyes. Close enough to smell that floral shampoo that had been torturing him all day.

Quinn didn’t back away. Just looked up at him, vulnerable and fierce all at once.

“What do you want from me?” His voice was rough.

“The truth. That’s all. Just the truth.” Her hands were shaking slightly. “Do you want this? Whatever this is between us?”

Every instinct screamed at him to lie. To protect them both by maintaining distance. To say no and walk away before he could hurt her worse.

But Quinn deserved the truth.

“Yes.” The word came out barely above a whisper. “Yes, I want this. Want you. Have since you walked into the station with your theory about Wheeler.”

Quinn’s breath caught. “Then why—”

“Because everyone I care about gets hurt. My brother. My parents. My team in Afghanistan. They all—” His voice cracked. “I can’t lose someone else. Can’t watch someone else die because of me.”

“You won’t lose me.” Quinn’s hand came up, hesitated, then touched his chest. Right over his heart. He could feel the warmth of her palm through his shirt. “I’m right here.”

“For now. But Wheeler—”

“Wheeler’s going down,” she said fiercely. “We have the evidence now. Once we get it to the DA, once we build the case…it’s almost over.” Her hand pressed more firmly against his chest. “And even if it wasn’t, even if it was dangerous, I’d still be here. Because I care about you, Dax Mercer. Even when you’re being impossible.”

Dax covered her hand with his. Felt the electricity of the touch, the connection he’d been fighting all day. “I care about you too. That’s the problem.”

“That’s not a problem. That’s—”

The sound of her grandmother coughing interrupted them. Wet, labored coughing that went on too long.

Quinn pulled away immediately, hurrying down the hall. Dax followed, giving her space but needing to know the grandmother was okay.

In the bedroom, Quinn’s grandmother was struggling to breathe, her face pale and drawn. Quinn grabbed tissues, helped her sit up slightly, murmured soothing words.