Skies & Florets

Chapter 21

QUENTIN

I push open the front door of my childhood home, greeted by the familiar scent of cedar wood and coffee. It's a comforting aroma, but it only amplifies the turmoil brewing in my chest today. As I step inside, I wince at the sting of the cuts on my lip and the bridge of my nose—remnants of a fight I never anticipated.

"Quentin! Is that you?" My mother's voice calls from the kitchen, brightening the otherwise dim hallway. I force a smile, trying to mask the pain and confusion swirling inside me.

"Hey, Mom. I'm back," I reply, keeping my tone light as I head toward the kitchen. The warm glow of the overhead lights makes everything feel a little more like home, but the comfort feels distant today.

My father looks up from his newspaper, his brow furrowing as he takes in my appearance. "What happened to your face?" His voice is calm, but I can sense the underlying concern.

"Just a little. . . run-in," I mutter, trying to brush it off. I pull out a chair and sink into it, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.

My mother approaches, worry etched across her features as she inspects my wounds. "A run-in? It looks more like a brawl, Quen." Her fingers brush against the side of my face, grazing the bruise forming under my eye. "You need to be careful, sweetheart. Fighting is never the answer."

"Mom, it's fine, really," I insist, though the knot in my stomach tightens with every word. "It was Wren. You remember him from high school?"

Her eyes widen. "Wren? The boy who always acted like he owned the place. I thought you two had moved on from that."

"Yeah, well, apparently he hasn't," I reply, frustration creeping into my voice. I can't shake the image of Lilac standing there, cold and beautiful, with Wren's hand gripping hers. It gnaws at me, stoking the confusion and hurt deep within.

"What happened?" my father asks, folding his newspaper and giving me his full attention.

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I saw Lilac in the park today. She was with Wren. I. . . I just wanted to talk to her, but Wren got in my way."

"And it escalated?" My mother's tone is gentle yet probing.

"Something like that." I avoid their eyes, focusing on the table instead. The wood is worn and familiar, just like the arguments I used to have with my parents about my dreams. "I just wanted to know what was going on between them and I just want to clear things out for me and Lilac. I meant no harm."