“Well, he shouldn’t assume everyone will just wait for him.”

But Fallon frowns, studying me. “Who’s waiting?”

I slow my hands, seeing the wheels in her head turning as she probably wonders what the hell I’m talking about. Yeah. Who’s waiting, Quinn? No one else is putting their lives on hold for Lucas Morrow.

I finish pushing the seat cushions into place in the trunk and quickly grab the picnic blanket off the ground. “I’ll take this to Tate.”

And I walk away, as fast as I can from her stare.

Tate is standing near her car, having just finished placing her sleeping son into his seat. I hand her the blanket that I recognized was hers.

“Thanks.” She tosses it in the backseat.

“You all going to Madoc and Fallon’s or going home?”

“Home,” she replies. “James has a doubleheader tomorrow, and I promised your brother ‘cuddle time’ tonight if he’s going to be forced to sit through two baseball games tomorrow.”

She did the air quotes around “cuddle time,” and I laughed to myself, knowing what that meant.

“Tell Jared, racing is a sport, too,” I correct. He found sports like baseball, basketball, and football boring, and while he wouldn’t really be considered an athlete, there’s skill and sweat in racing. He was into sports, just not ones that required running. Or standing.

Or fighting with other guys over a ball.

But he made every effort to show up for his kids. I think I respected him more for that. He put in the time, watching events that were tedious to him, because he really loved his children and wanted to do everything to support them.

“It’s not hard for him to do things he doesn’t like for his kids’ happiness, is it?” I ask. “Probably because he had such a rough time with our mom. He knew what kind of parent he wanted to be. And what kind he didn’t want to be.”

She stops and thinks about it for a moment. “I’m sure that had something to do with it.”

It’s strange to me that he doesn’t see our mom like I do. I understand it a little better now, but I always knew there was a divide between them. He’s good to her, and they talk, but he’s still the first one to pull away when she hugs him.

“Does he love her?”

He would lie to me and say yes. Tate would know the truth.

“I honestly can’t answer that,” she tells me. “There’s a lot Jared doesn’t talk about. He and Katherine kind of grew up together, and he definitely could’ve had it better as a kid. A lot better. But . . .” She pauses, finding her words. “I think he also realizes that everyone does things they regret, and while she’ll never be able to erase the mistakes she made with him, she’s not making the same ones anymore. She’s been a great mom to you, she’s a wonderful grandmother, and she’s there for Jared when he decides he needs her.”

Yeah. I guess that’s all true. She’s nothing with me like she is with him in the book.

“Why are you asking about this?” Tate brushes my hair behind my ear.

I shake my head, reaching into my bag and taking out Next to Never.

“This book is messing with my head.” I hand it over to her, letting her see it.

She studies the front and back cover and opens it up, scanning a random page. “So strange.”

“Yeah, I can’t figure out who wrote it. I asked Juliet, since she’s the only writer I know and she wouldn’t lie to me, so . . .”

Tate continues reading a part, her expression turning thoughtful. “Hmmm . . .”

“What?”

She inhales a deep breath and closes the book, handing it back to me. “It’s very personal, isn’t it? Like whoever wrote it actually lived it.”

What?

“What do you mean?”

She pushes off the car and stands up, looking at me. “Occam’s razor,” she says, referring to the scientific theory. “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

The simplest explanation. I let my eyes fall closed as realization hits.

Of course.

***

Kat . . .

“Jared!” I shouted up the stairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

I rounded the bannister, bumping into the accent table along the wall. “Ow!” I whisper-yelled.

I dashed back into the kitchen and took the milk out of the refrigerator, pausing. Does he drink milk? Probably not.

Well, he should drink it, anyway. I plopped it down on the table, blinking away the blur in my eyes.

The timer on the stove finally beeped, and I grabbed a pot holder and opened the oven, taking out the frozen lasagna. I set it on top of the stove, knocking down a pan on top. I jumped right as it hit the floor at my feet.

“Hey.”

I spun around, seeing Madoc Caruthers standing in the entrance to the kitchen. It still unnerved me, seeing him around my house. Not because I knew his father a lot more than he knew I did, but because he’d hate me for his mother’s sake if he ever found out about my past.

Jared would hate me, too.

“Hi,” I finally forced out, turning back around. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Jared’s changing,” he explained. “He said I had to leave the room.”

Ooookay.

I threw the dishcloth over my shoulder and took a sip of my wine. I was still in my work clothes—a burgundy dress—and walking around barefoot as I rushed to get dinner done. I’d gone out with a few friends after work—a few drinks—but I’d cut my plans short, trying to make an effort and be home.