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But the past didn’t care about exhaustion.
It slammed into him with full force.
"What are you doing here? Don’t you understand I don’t want to see you?"
His head snapped up, his throat closing. The words were so angry, so visceral, that his heart stalled. He saw her there, sleeping, peaceful, untouched by the moment gripping him, but in his mind, she was right in front of him.
Her furious, ravaged face filled his mind, her voice shaking with rage and grief. Then his own voice, final and wrenching.
"It doesn’t matter what you want now. I’m taking the boys with me. You’re obviously not in any condition to care for them. If things don’t change, Quinn, I’m filing for custody.”
She flew at him, fists clenched, her anger a physical thing. The first blow hit his chest, but the second caught his jaw. He barely staggered, catching her wrists in his grip, holding her firm but carefully, so damn carefully, because he was so much stronger than her.
You’re not taking them away from me, too,she screamed, struggling. She twisted free, and before he could stop her, herpalm cracked across his face. The sting of it barely registered, but the pain in her voice did.
He exhaled, tipping his head back for patience he didn’t have. He wanted to rage. He wanted to yell at her for making him do this, for putting him in a position where he had no choice.
"They’re only five years old, and they’ve lost their dad, and their mom is wallowing in her own pain. When was the last time they bathed? Ate?"
She blinked. Turned away. The fight in her collapsed. A shudder ran through her, a sob catching in her throat before she crushed her lips together.
He let go of her wrists, and she didn’t even move.
He sighed heavily, shoving a hand through his hair. His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with her fists. He turned, grabbed Ezra and Elijah’s small backpacks, their shoes, their favorite stuffed animals, the tiny pieces of their childhood he was stealing from her, even if it was for their own good.
Behind him, Quinn slid down the wall, covering her face with her hands as a terrible, wrenching sob tore from her.
God, he wanted to console her, to fix this, to fix her, but she didn’t want him near her.
It was useless to stay. Useless and painful.
The sound of her excruciating cries followed him out the door.
Dagger’s breath was unsteady as the memory faded.
That moment had scored him.
Now, standing here, looking at Quinn sleeping peacefully for the first time in years, it was too easy to believe they were okay. That they could have something real.
But they weren’t finished with the ghost that was the key to everything.
Brian was still here. Between them, inside Quinn’s heart, lingering in the spaces Dagger would never touch.
He was so terrified that Brian would always be between them. That he would never truly have her heart and soul the way he wanted her.
That no matter how much he loved her, a part of her still belonged to his brother.
His own shit paled in comparison to that destructive, unbearable thought.
11
Quinn woketo the utilitarian room she’d been assigned back at the hotel compound. Her arm barely hurt, a dull reminder that she was still here, still breathing, still alive. The numbness of the pain meds was doing its job. The world felt muted, as though someone had turned the volume down on reality, leaving her with only the echo of her pulse and the persistent ache threading through her body. Suddenly she sat upright. Dagger’s presence lingered in the air like a fierce, protective shadow.
She turned her head to find him sitting against the wall, his knees drawn up and his head bowed into his hands, not even aware she was awake. Minute cracks split her heart, the memory flooding her:
The nurse had just finished bandaging her arm, and she heard the commotion. Alarm surging through her, she’d jumped off the gurney and barely remembered leaving the room. She’d caught sight of him, his face contorted with a raw, unhinged desperation, green eyes blazing as he tore around the corner. Two men she recognized as Bondo and Easy chased him, determination in every line of their big bodies as they caught up to him.
He’d almost thrown away his career, his reputation, everything, just to protect her. Her heart thudded at the realization, a pang equal parts warmth and dread. If the team hadn’t intervened, if Dagger’s fists had connected with Langford’s face, the consequences would’ve been impossible to undo. Yet, in that moment, he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was that she had been hurt, and Langford was the designated punching bag who had let her down.