Page 104 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
There are more voices as my back connects with the edge of the coffee table and it knocks the wind out of me. Steals more than just my breath as hands grab at my shoulders and now I’m fighting more than one person because I’m not done yet. I have a well of emotions to pull from and I’m nowhere near the bottom.
I’m hauled backward, fists swinging, chaos swirling, and it takes me a moment before I come out of the viscous haze holding me in my past. And when I come to, when I see the disorder of the room, the blood on my brother’s face, feel the pain in my eye socket … all of it seems so fucking surreal that I can’t process it properly.
I notice the police officer though, the red and blue lights filtering through the open front door. I can feel the vice grip of Vince’s hold on me, can see Hunter pushing himself up and back against the wall as the officer approaches him. I can hear the rage of white noise in my ears as I squeeze and release my sore hands, knuckles aching.
And then I see Quinlan.
She is standing silently like a ghost in one shadowed corner of the room. The blanket from the couch that we’d snuggled under after our Guitar Hero session is wrapped tightly around her body. She has one hand up, fingertips covering her lips, but it’s the look on her face as she stares at my brother that paralyzes me: shock, disbelief, confusion, all laced with a sort of innocence that I’ve never seen there before.
Her eyes shift some and lock with mine. My breath is knocked clear out of me even though I’m still struggling for air, and I immediately yank my arms from Vince’s grip the exact same time a sob falls from her lips.
I’m across the room in an instant, my only thought, my only goal in this moment is to reach her. She’s my salvation. By the time I reach her she’s sagged to her knees, the adrenaline finally abating from her system while mine is so rampant my body is vibrating with it. I drop to my knees in front of her and freeze, afraid to touch her, yet dying to hold her, desperate to feel her against me and know that she’s all right.
Tears burn my eyes as we speak without words, and I can’t take it anymore. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I tell her as a lone tear slides down my cheek. Her bottom lip quivers and her own tears well as the gold of her eyes glimmers through them. I reach out to touch her and pull my hand back, afraid to touch her without knowing what happened to her.
Does she hate me for bringing this upon her? Will she ever allow me to touch her again without seeing him? Is there even an us after all of this?
Her eyes flick down to my withdrawing hand and she shakes her head quickly, a slight intake of air from her swollen lips. “No. He didn’t. No,” she says, and every part of my body sags in relief.
I can’t stand the chill between us, the loneliness, the unease I feel without her for one more second, so I reach out and timidly touch the side of her face, thumb brushing over the red mark on her cheekbone, palm framing the line of her jaw. She moves her face ever so slightly into my hand, and at that little sign, that reflex movement, fuck, I’m lost.
And found.
Within a beat I have her body gathered in my arms and pulled against me so that there isn’t even room for air between us. I cling to her, hands fisted into the back of the damn blanket, and I can do nothing else to reassure her but use my actions, hope she feels the desperation and apology in my touch, because I can’t find the words to say any of the things that are rushing through my head and then dying on my lips.
“Oh God, Q … I’m so sorry,” I sob into the curve of her neck, needing the reassurance of the heat of her skin against my lips. I reek of desperation, of need for this woman who can’t even hug me back because she is so busy holding up a blanket to cover up for the clothes my brother ripped off her.
The thought hits me hard now. What could have been. What might have happened. And so I keep murmuring to her over and over, again and again.
The world around us falls away. The cops asking to speak to me, the hands I shrug off me, the sounds of my brother calling my name, none of them register because what matters the most is in my arms and now I just hope I don’t lose her because of this, because of him. Because I’ve enabled him for so long he felt entitled to the one person I’ve ever allowed myself to begin to fall in love with.
Holy shit.
My grip loosens with the realization. My breath hitches. I swear that my mind misfires because the ingrained habit to push away, to deny this emotion tries to grab hold and doesn’t find purchase. Instead of finding a way to walk away, I just pull her even tighter into me.
I find an odd comfort in this moment. Not the hurt it has brought upon Quinlan, not the memories it will scar in both of us, but that after all of the shit of the past week, we’re clinging to each other rather than shoving each other away.
And fuck yes I’m pissed that Hunter robbed me of the innocence of this dawning moment. He may have forced it with his fucked-up actions, but he stole something good, something special from me by doing something so unforgivable.
Chapter 38
QUINLAN
I jolt awake in the darkness, the silence around me screaming with the remnants of my nightmare.
It takes me a few moments to acclimate myself in the unfamiliarity of my surroundings, but soon I pick up the scent of Hawkin’s cologne. My heart is pounding and my body aches as I shift in the luxurious bed, my mind reliving everything from earlier.
My skin crawls remembering the feeling of Hunter’s deceptive hands on me. I force myself to swallow down my feelings of stupidity, my guilt, for not connecting the dots earlier before the situation went as far as it did, shame riding rampant over me that I didn’t even know my own lover’s kiss. I chastise myself for the harshness, tell myself to grant me some leeway, because I did notice the irregularities but wrote them off as our disconnect given the circumstances.
My stomach churns as I think of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens if Hawkin hadn’t swooped in to save the day. It was like one moment I felt Hunter against me, fear holding me hostage, and then the next he was gone, the fear motivating me to flee. And as I did, as I reached for the closest thing to cover mysel
f up, I heard a sound from Hawkin, one of pure, unadulterated rage. It stopped me in my tracks and I turned to watch Hawke not only vindicate me but I also saw years of emotions unleashed between the two of them. The brawl between two brothers, one trying to defend my honor from the one who tried to take it.
And then when all was said and done, when the police showed up and began to cuff Hunter on Vince’s directive, when I looked up to find Hawke, I was found. I never knew that such a simple statement could have so much meaning behind it but it’s true. Maybe it was the broken look on his face or the clarity in his eyes, but it was like he was seeing me in an all new light.
Change. Change brought on by force is not always a good thing, but for some reason I think this time, for Hawkin, it might just be what he needed to break free from the chains of his past.
I shift again, wincing from the pull on my battered muscles, and think of the look on Hawkin’s face as he watched them load his brother in the police cruiser, expressionless, disgusted, done. And then there were questions and statements for the police, and reassurances that I didn’t need to be seen by a medic, before I convinced them all that I was fine, would be fine, and just wanted a shower.
