The banging on our bedroom door has me shooting up in bed, reminiscent of the last time someone knocked on our door. And that time wasn’t good because it was the police. Quinn sleeps peacefully near me, curled onto his side, his head resting on my pillow.
I can’t run again. I just can’t.
Thankfully, the banging ceases, and Justin’s soft voice echoes outside our door. “Mia? Are you awake?”
The bedside clock reads 3:34 a.m. What does he want?
Silently slipping out of bed, not wanting to wake Quinn, I grab his hoodie off the floor and slip it on before opening the door and stepping out to face Justin.
“Everything okay?” I ask because he looks a little stressed out as he slips his cell into his back pocket.
Justin rubs the back of his neck. “Um, yeah. Sorry to wake you,” he apologizes, s
