Chapter Seventeen

Ashton

“Mom, I have something to ask you.” I picked up another sheet of sparkly silver foil paper. My mom sat across from me at the scratched kitchen table as we wrapped gifts for the wedding party. Griffin had picked out sterling silver engraved flasks for the groomsmen along with a really expensive bottle of tequila. Perfect gifts, for his friends. I wondered if they’d all toked up at the bachelor party.

No. That wasn’t fair. I still didn’t know the truth.

I also wondered if Griffin had thought of Quinn during his decision to ask his friends to serve in his wedding party. Missed him, even with a sigh instead of a breath. If that night had never happened, I had no doubt that Quinn would have served as Griffin’s best man this weekend.

My mother taped a small white bow on a present that I had just wrapped. “This sounds serious,” she said. “Go on.”

“What happened the night Quinn got arrested?” I asked in a small voice. Not sure I even wanted to know the answer. Because the truth doesn’t always set you free. Sometimes, it throws you in a gilded cage without a key.

“Quinn Andrews?”

She knew whom I was talking about. “I want to know the truth,” I insisted.

“Did you see him while you were in Destin last week?”

That’s my mom, Betsey, the queen of avoidance. She would rather stick her head in the sand and pretend nothing was wrong. I loved my mother to death but she had a history of being non-confrontational and was a master of redirecting the questions she preferred not to answer.

“Yes, I had to work with him on the property that were purchasing,” I said. “But then you knew he was there in Destin, didn’t you? Mom, you could have warned me. Especially, since you know the history.”

“Huh, it’s a small world,” she said, shoulders slumped and gaze downcast. Contrite was a good look for her but it didn’t stop me from pressing.

“What happened, Mom? Did Griffin do something to Quinn?”

My mother continued to tape the bows, not making eye contact. “You’ll have to ask Griffin about that.”

I hissed out an exasperated breath, the frustration shooting through my body to land in a painful heap at my temples. I rubbed the throbbing away. “But I’m asking you. This is important to me.”

She finally peeled her eyes away from the tape dispenser and looked at me. “Why?”

“Because I like Quinn and if we’re going to move forward with our relationship, I need to know the truth. I’m owed the truth.”

“That was so long ago, Ashton. The boys were just that. Boys. Immature, without a care in the world.” Mom continued with her wrapping. “Sometimes it’s best to just let sleeping dogs lie.”

I snapped my eyes up and glared at her. “Better for whom? Griffin or Quinn.” I finished wrapping the last present and handed it to her. “It sounds like you’re making excuses for bad behavior. And it’s just not just boys being boys. This involves me, too. I deserve to know the truth.”

“Watch your tone with me, Ashton Jansen.” She argued with me, eyes flashing. Just another pathetic attempt to stop the line of questioning. Sometimes, lack of information was the same as too much information. Her unwillingness to tell the truth, led me to believe that Quinn was telling the truth and Griffin had something to hide.

Pushing the last present toward my mom I sad, “I’m not being disrespectful, Mom. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I will ask Griffin myself.”

“Wait until after the wedding so nothing ruins his special day,” she backpedaled. “Your brother has enough going on,” she said. “Quinn’s parents will be there. I didn’t get a RSVP from Quinn or his grandmother, so I’m assuming they aren’t going to make it.”

“Yeah, I doubt it. His grandmother didn’t look like she was feeling well.”

“I always adored Nanna. She’s a lovely lady. And a fabulous cook to boot,” my mother said.

“Quinn takes care of her, you know,” I said, staring at her face to gauge her reaction. “He lives behind her house in a cottage. He refuses to put her in a nursing home. He pays for her to have round-the-clock care.”

“Sounds like you spent quite a bit of time with them,” my mother said.

“I did.”

My mom reached across the table and patted my hand. “I always liked Quinn and treated him like a son. It was a shame what happened between him and Griffin. But it’s their problem to work out. After the wedding, you can talk to Griffin if you must. Just be prepared to hear answers you may not like.”

Answers I may not like because they reflected poorly on Quinn? Or Griffin?

I got up to fix a pitcher of iced tea. I really hadn’t expected to pry much out of my mother. But I would get the answers I needed from Griffin. He wasn’t going to be able to slither away from the issue like a snake in the grass.

My cell phone buzzed across the granite countertop. I took a peek at the caller ID and my heart stopped. Because this caller wasn’t supposed to be reaching out to me.

Quinn Andrews.