Page 86 of Beneath the Surface

The eyes that had been watching her with such love drifted unfocused, looking at something Quinn couldn’t see.

“No.” Panic hitting her square in the chest. She wasn’t ready! Quinn’s hands tightened on her grandmother’s. “No, no, no. Gran. Gran, please.”

But there was no response. No breath. No movement.

Just silence.

Quinn made a sound—something between a sob and a scream—and buried her face against her grandmother’s shoulder. The body was already cooling, already not-Gran anymore, just flesh and bone without the spirit that had animated it.

Dax’s hand on her shoulder tightened, and then his other arm came around her, pulling her back gently. “Quinn. Sweetheart, she’s gone.”

“I know!” The words came out harsh, angry, even though Quinn wasn’t angry at him. She was angry at everything—at death, at Wheeler, at a world that kept taking people she loved. “I know she’s gone. I know.”

But she couldn’t let go. Couldn’t release those cold hands. If she let go, it meant accepting it. It meant her grandmother was really gone. It meant she was alone.

“Quinn.” Dax’s voice was rough, thick with emotion. He knelt beside her chair, his hands on her arms now. “Let me help you. Please.”

She turned to him blindly, and he caught her as she collapsed forward into his chest. His arms came around her immediately, solid and warm and alive, and Quinn clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

Because right now, he was.

“She’s gone,” Quinn gasped against his shoulder. “She’s gone and I can’t—I can’t—”

“I know. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Dax’s hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. His other arm was a steel band around her waist, holding her together when she felt like she was flying apart.

Nathan appeared in the doorway, took one look at the scene, and crossed himself quietly. His face was wet with tears too.

“I’ll call the funeral home,” he said quietly. “Give you some time.”

Quinn barely heard him leave. She was aware of nothing but Dax’s heartbeat against her cheek, steady and strong. The scent of him—soap and coffee and something uniquely him. The warmth of his body against hers. The way his hand moved in her hair, gentle and soothing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” His voice rumbled in his chest beneath her ear.

“For falling apart. For—”

“Stop.” Dax pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, tilting it up so she had to meet his eyes. His thumbs swept across her cheekbones, wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You just lost your grandmother. You’re allowed to fall apart.”

“But I need to be strong. I need to—”

“You are strong. The strongest person I know.” His dark eyes were intense, burning into hers. “But even strong people break sometimes. And when they do, they need someone to help hold the pieces.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Quinn’s voice was small, broken. “Holding my pieces?”

“For as long as you’ll let me.” He leaned his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them. “I’m not going anywhere, Quinn. I promise you that.”

She believed him. God help her, she believed him.

Quinn closed her eyes and let herself be held, let herself break, let herself grieve.

Behind them, her grandmother lay peaceful and still, finally free of pain and secrets and the weight she’d carried for so long.

Ahead of them, there was still so much to do. A funeral to plan. A case to build. A monster to bring to justice.

But for now—just for now—Quinn let herself have this moment. This grief. This comfort.

This man who held her like she was something precious.