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Except Andy didn’t feel relief. He felt confused—was Quinnretreating?—and maybe even disappointed.

But if Quinn had changed his mind and was opting for the sofa downstairs, that was probably a good decision.

Andy unzipped his bag, hauled out a pair of black sweats and his leather toiletry bag, and headed into the bathroom. This too had undergone a complete remodel. That amount of glass and stone and custom fixtures had to have cost a small fortune, which meant two things: Quinn must have one hell of a retirement package,andhe did not plan on moving anywhere new anytime soon. Nobody put that kind of money into a bathroom remodel unless they planned on personally enjoying the six-foot-long tub.

But soaking baths aside, wouldn’t someone who’d spent the last decade and a half as an action hero find small-town life boring?

Andy splashed water on his face—his bruises seemed to be changing color with the decor—brushed his teeth, donned his sweat clothes, and returned to the bedroom, which felt like a refrigerator. Maybe heshouldhave gone for the sofa next to the fireplace—maybe that was what had happened to Quinn. In which case, Andy couldn’t blame him.

He smiled grimly, climbed into the bed, and was pleasantly surprised to find a very comfortable mattress. The sheets were flannel, which was nice, and smelled like they’ddried in the sunshine. He remembered there was supposed to be an electric blanket, and searched until he found the control.

As the bed warmed, Andy began to relax. He was worn out and wanted more than anything to drift into oblivion, but once his guard lowered, unwanted memories began to sneak back.

He thought of Uncle C. lying so shrunken and still in that hospital bed.

Why the hell had it taken him four years to come back? Why had he not made Uncle C. a priority?

He thought of Clark and Fleur, the hostility and suspicion in their eyes. Why? What had he ever done to either of them to make them see him as an enemy?

He thought of the little green man in the fedora. Marvin the Martian… No, wait. He was falling asleep. The little man in the green fedora. Cyril Sirius. That was it. An alias if there ever was one. Dismissing Uncle C.’s snow globe collection as junk. Dismissing Uncle C. as junk too, no doubt.

It wasn’talljunk.

Uncle C. was not…disposable, easily—or ever—replaced.

Then, inevitably, Andy began to think about Marcus. What was he doing? Where was he? What was he planning? Why couldn’t he just accept that it was over? Why wouldn’t he just go away? Marcus had much bigger problems to contend with, so why was he obsessed with Andy?

How could I get it so wrong?

All of it. Everything from moving in with Marcus to accusing Quinn’s grandfather of murder. He was starting to doubt every decision he’d ever made. Reality itself was starting to seem like one of those moving-sand pictures. Normally, he was an optimistic, even resilient guy, but the last few days had delivered some hard knocks to his self-confidence.

Where the hell was all this going to end?

He was drifting into a troubled doze when a floorboard squeaked near the doorway. He was instantly wide awake, every muscle in his body jerking tight.

“Just me,” Quinn said, and it was a relief that he spoke in normal tones. Andy couldn’t have taken a creepy whisper just then.

“Okay.”

He watched Quinn’s silhouette strip down with efficient speed, stayed quiet and still as Quinn climbed into bed beside him.

“Warm enough?” Quinn asked politely after he’d finished getting comfortable.

“Yes. You can turn the blanket off if you want.”

Quinn groped around, found the control, and then stretched out again with a sigh that sounded a little like a moan.

Andy smiled faintly. Even Superman had long-ass days sometimes.

Quinn’s ice-cold foot casually brushed Andy’s, and Andy jumped—that was partly surprise and partly excitement.

“Sorry,” Andy and Quinn said in unison—and then they both laughed.

The silence that followed seemed to vibrate with expectancy.

What the hell?

As determined as Andy was to lose himself in sleep, he was now wide-eyed and conscious of Quinn’s every breath, every tiny shift beneath the blankets. His body was practically humming in response to Quinn’s proximity, though Quinn lay a discreet and chivalrous foot away.