Quinn is silent, then says. “Weird because I still see two people standing here with you, man.”

Ambrose lowers his head, bracing his hands on his thighs before standing up and then stumbling to the left.

“Fuck, it’s like that now.” Quinn catches him and then wraps an arm around him, helping him walk toward the house. “I’ll be back to help, Mary-Belle; let me just get him to bed, not our first rodeo.”

It’s weird how they hate each other yet have this connection I can’t quite understand. Ambrose doesn’t even fight Quinn.

And earlier, it seemed like Quinn was almost afraid of him, but now he’s taking care of him. I’m so confused but also exhausted, so I do the only thing one does after a party’s ended.

I grab a black trash bag, and I wonder how I went from carrying everything I owned in one to cleaning up a party at the mansion I now live in with my foster brother.

And no guardians.

I shake my head and start picking up random cups and beer bottles. The pool’s a mess of red cups just left there, and let’s be honest, most likely puke and other things I don’t want to think about.

I’m out there for about ten minutes when Quinn finally comes back, his expression blank.

“He okay?” I ask as he starts picking up trash. I can’t read his face at all; he looks like he’s closed off to the world, which what little I know about him, isn’t normal.

He nods. “Yeah, Ambrose isn’t dying in his own vomit, and he’s in bed, mouthwash has been distributed, and I gave him some Advil with two bottles of water. He’s gonna be feeling it later though.”

“Thanks.” I hold out the trash bag.

Quinn smile. “Don’t mention it. I might actually just crash here tonight if that’s okay with you? I shouldn’t drive, and I want to keep an eye on him later… he’s going to be a complete bear when he wakes up, and you don’t need that on you.”

I shrug. “Kind of used to his bear-like antics.”

“He slept with you, didn’t he.” Quinn just drops the bomb like it’s no big deal.

I freeze. I can’t even drop the cup into the trash bag and stand there like an idiot.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just figured you’re sexy as hell, like the perfect temptation for someone like Ambrose, and he clearly likes you.”

“He hates me.”

“He hates the things he likes.” Comes Quinn’s fast response. “Trust me on this.”

I pick up another cup. “Trust you, hmm? Then tell me why you guys hate each other—he like you?”

Quinn smirks. “Oh no, he has both hate and hate for me, at one point, maybe, yeah…” He looks back at the massive house from the yard. “Some choices you make, you never come back from, like a wound that never heals, you see that person, and it’s just blood and gore all over the place again. I’m like that to him. He’s like that to me. Trauma,” He grabs another cup. “Sometimes, has no place to go, so it just continues to exist until you acknowledge it, but what do you do when you can’t? When you can’t even talk about it? It just lingers, so yeah, he truly hates me.”