Roni’s hand flew to her mouth as a sob tore through her chest. She went to him, wrapping her arms around him, and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Quincy,” she said between sobs. “I can’t…” His entire body was rigid, muscles corded tight. She realized he wasn’t returning her embrace, and when she looked up at him, there were tears in his eyes. “Quincy…?”

He shook his head, but he didn’t say a word, and she wondered if he couldn’t. She reached up and touched his cheek, whispering his name, bringing his troubled eyes to hers. “Quincy, I’m not running, and I’m not sending you away. You were protecting your mother. If someone had done that to my grandmother, I would have probably done the same thing.”

His stare was cold and sad as he said, “There’s more.”

QUINCY HAD TOLD his story dozens of times, though not in this much detail, and while it had never been easy, it had never been this hard. Every word felt like a shard of glass, and yet Roni still held him, cried for him, despite the blood on his hands. He hadn’t wanted to say there was more. He’d wanted to keep looking into her beautiful, trusting eyes until his past disappeared. But since he wasn’t Houdini, that wasn’t an option.

She stepped back, and he could see she was bracing herself for the worst, standing straighter, squaring her shoulders, and lifting her chin. She was so fucking strong, even after that ugly underworld had nearly killed her.

“Is there someplace I can grab a glass of water before I tell you the rest?” he asked.

“Why don’t we go up to my apartment?”

He reached for his helmet and jacket, stopping short, and said, “Are you sure you don’t mind having me up there?”

She touched his stomach with her fingertips, meeting his eyes as directly as he’d met hers, and said, “Yes, I’m sure. I know there’s more, and I assume it has to do with alcohol or drugs since you mentioned rehab earlier. I don’t know how I’ll feel after hearing the details, but if you’re asking me if I still feel safe with you, the answer is yes.”

His head dropped forward with relief, her words a salve to his newly opened wounds. He was so damn thankful, he gathered her in his arms, holding her as he hadn’t been able to moments earlier. She may send him away after she heard the rest, but he had this. He kissed the top of her head, and in a strained voice laden with too many conflicting emotions, he said, “Thank you.”

They went upstairs, and as they stepped into her apartment, it felt completely different than last night, like even the room knew he should have told her everything yesterday.

“Do you like iced tea? Or do you want water?”

“Iced tea is great, thanks.” He set his helmet on the table by the door and hung up his jacket. As she got their drinks, he went to the couch where he’d lain her down last night, and more guilt swamped him. He was still standing there when she returned with their drinks.