Besca felt hot iron in her gut. The heat welled in her chest and made her throat ache and close. Unable to speak quite then, she shook her head to buy time and gripped Quinn’s hand tightly. [i]A bad daughter[/i]. The words were nonsense, they’d be lost quicker than it had taken to speak them, no doubt, but they stuck to Besca like paper-mâché. [i]A bad daughter[/i]. Quinn knew a lot of things—more than she thought she did, about things no one ought to know about—but she had no idea what it mean to be a bad daughter. She never would. Just wasn’t the kind of girl she was. 

A sigh let the air back into her lungs. “[color=gray]No,[/color]” she said as soon as she could. “[color=gray]No, hun, you’re not. You’re a great daughter.[/color]”

It made her almost sick to say it. The Loughveins had done unspeakable things to this girl, and from day one Besca might have been absolutely certain they had no right having any children, and they certainly hadn’t deserved Quinn. 

But that didn’t matter now—not [i]right[/i] now, anyway. What mattered was getting Quinn to sleep, and making sure she survived the ridiculously terrible hangover waiting for her once she woke up. 

“[color=gray]All you gotta do now is close your eyes, yeah? Just close your eyes and breathe, and it’ll get better. You need a lil’ rest, that’s all.[/color]” She let Quinn hold onto one hand, and brought the other up to keep brushing through her hair. “[color=gray]Go on, you’re all safe now. I’ll make sure.[/color]”