How could he think of himself now when Oliver needed him?
Samson stepped closer. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Quinn expelled a bitter laugh. “And why not? Didn’t Zane tell you what happened? Didn’t he explain?”
His boss nodded. “It was Oliver’s responsibility to drive. Just because the two of you talked and joked, doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”
“I distracted him.” How could Samson not see that?
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Doing what?”
Samson drew closer, bringing his over-six-foot fame within inches of Quinn. “Don’t play stupid with me! I know you’re not. You’re smarter than the rest of them, so what are you playing at?”
“I’m not.” Rage boiled up in Quinn. He wanted to be left alone with his grief, his self-pity, his memories.
“You selfish bastard!” Samson accused him. “You’re only thinking of yourself. Why am I even surprised?”
Quinn shot up from his seat. “What the fuck? How dare you? I’m only thinking of Oliver!”
His boss sneered. “No, you’re thinking of yourself, of how this will change your life! Suck it up and don’t wallow in self-pity!”
Even though he’d hit a nerve, Quinn wasn’t ready to cave. Samson had no idea what was going on inside of him, and he wasn’t one to share his innermost self. “Keep out of it! You might be my boss, but we both know I don’t need this job!”
“Oh, ready to quit? Wanna throw it all in because it’s getting too difficult? Are we interfering with your playboy life?” Samson hissed.
“How I conduct my life is none of your fucking business!”
Samson narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you’re gonna tell Oliver when he wakes up?”
“What do you want from me?” Quinn ran a shaky hand through his hair, encountering a cluster of dried blood in the process. Shit, he was in a terrible state and in no mood to carry on this conversation.
“I want you to tell me what you’re gonna do about Oliver.”
When he locked eyes with Samson, he saw worry in them. But before he could say anything, his boss continued, “If you can’t handle it, I’ll act as his sire. After all, he’s been with me for—”
“No!” Quinn interrupted. “He’s my responsibility.” Taking a deep breath, he tried to slow his heartbeat, tried to calm himself. “I’m sorry, Samson. I know what Oliver means to you. You lost your assistant, your right hand.”
Samson let out a surprised gasp. “You think this is about me?” He shook his dark hair then rubbed his neck. “It was only a matter of time until this happened. I knew one day Oliver would ask for this. I’ve been grooming him for it. Of all the humans I know, he’s the best prepared for a turning. But that doesn’t mean, he won’t need your help to adjust.”
Quinn let the words sink in. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pushing back the memories of a happier time. A time long gone. “Seeing our life from the outside is one thing, living it is another.”
Samson motioned his head toward the bed, where Oliver still lay motionless. “He knows that.” Then he pinned Quinn with a stare. “But do you?”
Quinn didn’t flinch. “I know what’s expected of me.” He wouldn’t shirk his duty. “You can count on me.”
“Good. Now go and take a shower. You look like hell. You smell even worse.”
“But, Oliver . . . ”
Samson waved him off. “I’ll sit with him. Go.”
Quinn turned and walked to the door.
“And Quinn . . . ”
He paused without turning. “Yes?”
“I always thought you didn’t care about anybody. Guess I was wrong.”
Quinn swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. Had somebody finally figured him out?
Without another word, he left the room and closed the door behind him, wishing he could close the door to his past just as easily. Maybe then he would be able to start living again.
***
As soon as Quinn stepped out of the spare bathroom, freshly showered and wearing clothes Samson had lent him, he headed for the stairs to the upper floor, wanting to rejoin Oliver. But Zane blocked his path, holding out a cell phone to him.
“Gabriel wants to talk to you.”
Quinn hadn’t even noticed that Gabriel wasn’t with the rest of the Scanguards gang, who lingered in the living room, anxiously waiting for any developments in Oliver’s condition.