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“She always makes the honor roll.” The wiry, blonde cashier punched buttons without ever glancing from her customer to the register. “That’s the one thing wedon’thave to worry about.”

Her customer, same age, also wiry, but brunette, replied, “I keep warning Brooke that she’s got to keep her grades up to get an athletic scholarship. But you know how it is at that age. They think they have all the answers.”

Andy yawned. He hoped Brooke got her grades up and kept her sports scholarship, but he was dead on his feet. Hewanted nothing more than to grab his groceries, go back to Uncle C.’s, and go to bed. For a year.

Despite his effort to squash his yawn, he must have made some sound, because the guy ahead of him turned his head partway, and Andy got a view of his profile.

Aviator shades, high cheekbones, a straight and serviceable nose, a chin that promised trouble in an argument, a mouth that quirked ever so faintly in agreement with Andy’s weariness.

It was that little familiar twist of a smile that did it. The smile that wasn’t quite a smile. The amusement that was always tinged with mockery. Otherwise, the features were those of a stranger: harder, sharper, older.

But that smile, that little sideways smile…

As realization sank in, every muscle in Andy’s body seemed to knot so tightly, so tensely, he was afraid he was going to start shaking in emotional palsy.

Honest to God. What the hell was going on with the universe? Like he hadn’t been through enough? Was he not even going to have a day to process everything that had happened? Was he really, truly standing behind Quinn Rafferty?

His heart pounded so hard, it deafened him. He didn’t hear what the cashier said to her departing customer, or what words accompanied the big grin she gave Quinn as he stepped up to the cash register. He didn’t hear what Quinn said to the cashier either.

With almost physical reluctance, Andy stepped forward. Because the idea of getting out of line—which, admittedly, did occur to him—was ridiculous.

Childish.

Gutless.

He wanted to look anywhere but at Quinn and the cashier, but for some reason his gaze locked on to Quinn like a heat-seeking missile. It was probably not a very pleasant expression because the cashier glanced at him, glanced back at him, and then, sure enough, inevitably, Quinn turned his head to look at Andy.

Chapter Four

Quinn had shoved his sunglasses back when he reached the checker, so Andy met his green gaze directly, and for one unexpected and unexpectedly painful moment, saw no flicker of recognition.

Just aloof appraisal from a stranger.

And Quinn? What Quinn would have seen was a thirty-two-year-old man, same height as himself, and in pretty good shape. Marcus was a fitness fanatic, and partly out of self-preservation, Andy had also made physical fitness a priority. Beyond that? No visible distinguishing marks. Ashy-blond hair—not nearly as light as it had been in Andy’s teens—blue eyes concealed, unlike Quinn’s, by sunglasses. Also, a noticeably bruised face.

So maybe it wasn’t surprising Quinn didn’t recognize him for a second or two.

Nor was it like Andy was throwing him a lot of cues. In fact, he didn’t know what to say.

How’s it going—and how come you’re not dead?

Two, maybe three, of the longest seconds in Andy’s life passed in unblinking silence.

Then Quinn’s eyes widened. He looked… Actually, it was hard to categorize that look. Or rather, that quick succession of looks: surprise, doubt, shock, realization, caution.

“Andy?” Quinn said. “Andy Allison?”

His voice. The voice Andy had thought he would never hear again. Deeper, yes, but that was definitely Quinn’s voice.

“Quinn,” Andy said. “I heard you were back.”

For the life of him, he couldn’t manage to inject any enthusiasm into his tone. He was uncomfortably aware thateveryone from the checker to the little girl behind him, clutching a bag of Twizzlers, were observing their “reunion.”

Quinn was faster on recovery. “How are you? How’ve you been?” He smiled broadly.

It was funny that after all these years, Andy could still recognize the difference between Quinn’s real smile and his for-the-at-home-viewers smile. This smile was definitely for the at-home—or rather the at-Black-and-Swan—audience.

“Great,” Andy replied with all the warmth of Siri delivering a weather update. “How are you?”