Love M

Quinn found herself at a loss for words, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Her concern for Abigail was palpable, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease at the thought of her friend racing.

Abigail, seemingly oblivious to Quinn’s worry, exhaled deeply and flopped down onto the sofa. She grabbed an orange from the coffee table and turned to Quinn, her eyes filled with curiosity.

“Have you told him about the pregnancy?” she asked.

Quinn’s breath hitched, and she shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Why haven’t you told him?” Abigail probed.

Quinn’s mind flashed back to the past, to the fear that he would demand she terminate the pregnancy as he had done before. She swallowed hard, her throat tight.

“How do you plan to keep the baby a secret if you don’t divorce him?” Abigail asked, casually tossing the orange in her hand.

Quinn remained silent, her mind a blank canvas, offering no answer.

“Do you want to leave him?” Abigail asked again.

Quinn’s fingers clenched the fabric of her clothes, her heart torn. Even if she left with Abigail, she would still be dependent on another person, not herself. That was no real change.

She felt ill-equipped to wander the world alone, which made Abigail’s offer all the more tempting.

Sensing Quinn’s indecision, Abigail stood, walked over, and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

“Quinn, I’m not fickle like some men. I’m never getting married. Life with me would be happier than staying with Alexander.”

Quinn’s eyes snapped to Abigail, whose radiant smile and striking beauty nearly dazzled her.

“Why me? Why do you want to take me with you?” Quinn asked.

Abigail arched an eyebrow and chuckled as she pinched Quinn’s cheek, “Who could resist helping a beauty in distress with my heart of gold? And how could I pass up the chance to stick it to Alexander? No, that’s not quite the right way to say it. But between those two reasons, that should be enough,

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Abigail’s disdain for Alexander was not without reason. The privileged kid who had raced Alexander in the streets was none other than Abigail’s childhood sweetheart.

Even if their connection wasn’t romantic, the bond formed from growing up together was something far deeper than any ordinary friendship.

Though Alexander wasn’t to blame for the tragedy, he was the only survivor, and the friends and family of the deceased needed someone to bear the brunt of their grief.

And no one was more suitable than Alexander.

Quietly contemplating, Quinn finally admitted to herself that the latter reason was the true one. Abigail’s dislike for Alexander was genuine.

Seeing Quinn’s silence, Abigail added, “Don’t overthink it. I’m not offering to get you out of here for revenge. That’s not who I am. I just see you as a friend, plain and simple.

Quinn’s gaze flickered. She looked at Abigail and hesitated to make another move.

With a smile, Abigail shrugged, “It’s up to you. Stay if you want. If you decide to leave, I’m right here, ready to take you.”

“Let’s go. Come see me race,” Abigail said as she pulled Quinn out the door.

Caught off guard, Quinn found herself outside and, before she knew it, sitting on Abigail’s motorcycle.

Abigail strapped a helmet on Quinn’s head and gunned the engine, tearing off into the street.

In a flash, a car approached from the side. Abigail’s eyes narrowed as she slammed on the brakes.

But it was too close. Abigail’s motorbike still clashed against the side of the car.

Everything happened so fast that by the time Quinn regained her senses, she was already lying on the ground, feeling a searing pain in her arm and wrist.

Looking up, Quinn saw the car’s door dented inwards. It wasn’t too bad. The motorcycle had just lost a mirror, and other than the pain, Quinn seemed okay.

The passenger door of the vehicle opened, and Alexander stepped out, his eyes fixing on the two scrambling up off the ground.

A storm was brewing behind those eyes.