Page 61 of Beneath the Surface

“I’m okay,” the grandmother wheezed. “Just—needed water.”

Quinn held the cup while she drank, her hands gentle and sure. When the coughing subsided, the old woman lay back against the pillows, exhausted from the effort.

“You should rest, Gran.”

“In a minute.” The grandmother’s eyes found Dax in the doorway. Sharp despite her condition. “You two were fighting.”

“We’re fine, Gran.” Quinn’s voice was too bright. “Everything’s fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. I may be dying but I’m not deaf.” She reached for Quinn’s hand. “Life’s too short for pride. Too short for fear. If you care about someone, you tell them. You don’t waste time being scared.”

Quinn’s eyes filled with tears. “I know.”

“Do you? Because from what I just heard, you’re both being idiots.” The grandmother looked at Dax. “You too. Stop pushing her away because you’re afraid. Fear is no way to live.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dax’s throat was tight.

“Good. Now both of you get out. Let an old woman sleep.” But her voice was fond. Tired but fond.

Quinn kissed her grandmother’s forehead. “I love you, Gran.”

“Love you too, baby. Now go. Work it out.”

Back in the hallway, Quinn leaned against the wall, wiping her eyes. “She’s right, you know. We’re both being idiots.”

“Yeah.” Dax stood a careful distance away. Close enough to talk. Far enough to maintain some control. “But I don’t know how not to be.”

“We figure it out. Together.” Quinn looked at him. “If you want to. If you’re willing to try.”

Dax wanted to say yes. Wanted to close the distance and pull her into his arms and promise to try. But fear held him back. Old, familiar fear.

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

Something shuttered in Quinn’s expression. The vulnerability disappearing behind walls. “Okay. That’s...that’s honest, at least.”

She pushed past him, headed back to the dining room. Started packing up the evidence with sharp, precise movements.

“I’m going to bed,” she said without looking at him. “We can finish this in the morning.”

“Quinn—”

“Good night, Detective.” Formal. Distant again.

She walked to her room and closed the door. Not quite slamming it, but close.

Dax stood in the empty hallway, hating himself. How did he keep ending up here? Actually, he knew exactly why.

He’d told her the truth. Had admitted he wanted her. But when it came to actually trying—actually taking the risk—he’d choked.

And now she was hurt again. Because of him.

Dax returned to the living room, grabbed a blanket from the closet. Settled on the couch, his tall frame not quite fitting. It was uncomfortable. But it was what he deserved.

He lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about Quinn’s hand on his chest. The warmth of her touch. The way she’d looked at him and asked him to try.

And he’d said no.

Down the hall, he heard her crying. Soft, muffled sounds she was trying to hide.