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“Okay, that makes no sense. How are you going to sleep betterandkeep an eye on things?”

Quinn’s mouth quirked. “I’m a light sleeper.”

“So am I. And it’s your house, so you should take your own bed.”

“It’s my house, so I get to decide who sleeps where.” Quinn was smiling, though. “Seriously, Andy.”

“Seriously, Quinn.”

Quinn did seem serious when he said, “We don’t know what we’ll be dealing with tomorrow. You want to be as rested and ready as you can. You’ll be a lot more comfortable upstairs. There’s an electric blanket on the bed, and you can lock the door.”

Did Quinn know how much Andy dreaded the thought of tomorrow? Dreaded the possibility of bad news regarding Uncle C., of Marcus escalating his threatening behavior, of another destructive break-in at Time in a Bottle, of weirdos in green fedoras popping out of the woodwork. Probably. Quinn had always been exceptionally good at reading people and situations.

Not only did Andy feel like his life was perilously close to spiraling out of control, he was uncomfortably aware that Quinn was a good part of why everythinghadn’tyet spun out of control. Which simply underlined why he should not be taking advantage of Quinn’s generosity.

“You’ve done enough, Quinn. I don’t feel right—”

In the firelight, Quinn’s smile was very white, his eyes very green. “Come on, you have to take the bed, or you’re going to ruin my reputation as a badass.”

Andy laughed. Not because Quinn wasn’t a badass. He clearly was. Assuming badasses could be kind and funny when they needed to be. Or were those sociopaths? Frankly, Andy was too tired to care. He was grateful for the help and the offer of a bed—with or without clean sheets.

“Well, if you insist.”

“I would definitely prefer that,” Quinn said, and Andy couldn’t help noticing the deliberate distinction.

“Okay. Well…thanks.” He set his mug on the floor beside the sofa leg, rose, and picked up his leather bag.

Quinn said, “Top of the stairs, end of the hall on the right. I left the light on.”

Andy nodded, turned, and walked down the long room, into the hall, and started up the staircase.

One step after another.

He felt like he was moving through a dreamscape. Once upon a time, framed paintings and photographs of the Rafferty family—including the original Captain Rafferty—had lined the wall of the staircase. But now the wall was as smooth and blank as a fresh canvas.

You can’t know this, but you saved my life that year.

Halfway up, Andy stopped walking. He stood for a moment, gripping the stair rail, remembering.

I sure haven’t forgotten.

“Let it go,” he whispered.

He had enough to deal with. He didnotwant to open this can of worms.

But was it a can of worms? Or was it just…What?

That was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t know.

He had never known. Never understood what the hell happened.

And heneededto understand in order to let it go, to move on.

To forgive.

To forget.

Andy set his bag on the next step, turned, and went back down the staircase.