Quiet Ones (Hellbent Book 3), page 25
Jared gives me a nod of thanks as I move to grab my bag and water.
Madoc slaps me on the back. “Give her a hug from us.”
Yeah. I don’t tell him that I’m a criminal, too, but the irony isn’t lost on me.
I leave the treadmill area, hearing Jax behind me. “Is she on birth control?”
Jesus. I shake my head too little for anyone to see.
“We’re her birth control,” Jared replies.
I exit the gym, leaving them behind and climbing into my car. Something about how they talk about her bugs me, and it shouldn’t because I hover and talk down to her, same as them. As if I have more of a right to be invasive than they do.
But maybe I do. I want to be her friend. I want her to be happy.
And they do, too, as long as that path includes celibacy.
I lay on the pedal faster than I wish, hating that I’m anxious to see her. Is she still at work? Did she get a ride? I nearly hold my breath, waiting to make a left, and then another, until the shop comes into view.
Parking in the alley behind the bakery, I leave the car running and knock on the back door.
We’re friends…
I want the world for her.
“Who is it?”
I lean in. “Lucas.”
She unlocks the door, greeting me without a smile, but her eyes are soft and wide. She just wears her black pants and sneakers, with a T-shirt. Her baker’s jacket is gone.
“Missed you at the gym,” I tell her.
“I know.” She turns and walks back into the bakery.
I follow.
“I’m overloaded with orders in red, white, and blue.” She laughs, turning back around and slipping her purse over her head. “I have to be back in seven hours.”
Locks of hair spill out of her ponytail, and she doesn’t look the least bit overworked. Her big, brown eyes gleam fresh and happy.
I clear my throat. “Want a…a ride?” I jerk my thumb to the door and my car parked on the other side of it.
She hesitates. “I’m going to Weston.”
My gaze falters, but I nod to hide it. If she had a crush, like she said she did that night on my bed, then wouldn’t she like to be where I am? I’m in her damn house, for Christ’s sake.
“It’s okay,” I say instead. “I could use the drive.”
She tosses a cloth into the laundry bag. “Thanks.”
Walking back out the door, I head for the driver’s side while she locks up.
Climbing into the passenger’s seat, she buckles up. Her scent fills her brother’s car, and I can’t help but look at her.
“Don’t tell me I look tired, okay?” she says, meeting my eyes.
I tear my gaze away, starting the car. “You look content.”
Backing out of the alley, I head to Weston and roll down the windows. She tilts her head back, her eyes turned outside, watching the houses and businesses give way to trees.
Her hair blows across her neck, and I keep glancing at how pretty she looks.
“So,” I say, trying to think about anything else. “Did you know Farrow Kelly bought my house?”
Her gaze flashes to mine, and I see the amusement on her face. “You thought I bought it.”
“And you let me think it.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, laughing. “It bought me time,” she muses. “I did think about it. For a few seconds. But I needed space. Real space.”
“Yeah, I know.” I concede. “You don’t have to explain.”
I get it. Her family will show up in Weston uninvited and unexpected just as much as they would in the Falls, but it’s not about getting away from them. It’s about finding something new. An unfamiliar environment is what everyone needs.
Before all they want is to come back home.
Quinn opens the glove compartment, finding some tissues, but I watch a string of condoms spill out.
I widen my eyes.
She holds them up, and I debate for a second.
This is Jared’s car. He wouldn’t still be using condoms with his wife, would he? Why does he have them in here?
She smirks, stuffing them back in the glove compartment. “I think Hawke used the car last,” she jokes. “I’m told he lost his virginity in here, actually.”
“Good.”
She casts her surprised eyes on me.
“I just didn’t want you to think they were mine,” I admit.
She breathes out a laugh and stares at her clasped hands in her lap. The wheels in her head turn.
“You know, I used to have a crush on you,” she says in a low voice. “Did you know that?”
“Well, yeah.” I swallow. “You said you were going to marry me when you were eight.”
I grin, remembering her always being around me.
But then she replies, “I don’t mean when I was eight. I mean, I did then, but also later too.”
I don’t look at her now. The lines on the road rush underneath my car, one after the other.
“When I was thirteen and you left,” she tells me, “and still at fifteen and sixteen.”
We cross the bridge, and I watch her pull out a penny and let her arm whip out into the night, tossing the coin over the side.
I guess I should’ve known about the crush, but I just thought she was a bit lonely, like me.
She fills her lungs with fresh air and exhales. “I shouldn’t have put pressure on you to be here, or to be someone I imagined as a kid.” Her eyes soften. “It was unfair.”
It’s not.
I want to matter to her.
“Friends?” she says.
I can’t look at her, the ceiling of the car seeming to come down on my head. I want to be who she imagined. Exactly who she imagined.
It’s like she’s woken up from a dream to the disappointment of reality.
My eyelids flutter, searching for something to say. “Unless your favorite movie is still The Shawshank Redemption,” I grumble over the needles in my throat.
“Oh, okay, Fast & Furious,” she teases.
“The Matrix, thank you.”
We smile at each other as she points for me to take the hill, and we cruise through Weston, bypassing Green Street down the road on the right.
Yes, her film preferences are a little more sophisticated than mine, but her choices produce far too many emotions for me to go through more than once a year. I guess my taste was shaped by her brothers. Jax raised me on Mission Impossible. Jared loved martial arts films. And Madoc loved old school action.
“In fact,” I tell her, “You need to see both franchises again. Got a TV yet?”
She directs me right and points to the house on the left. “Yes.”
I park, looking up at one of the many massive brownstone townhouses of Knock Hill. I drove around this town many times in college, but I didn’t think anyone lived here anymore. Three stories, worn wooden door, ornate stairwell up to the front door.
It must’ve been beautiful back in the day.
I follow her up to the house. “I’m going to log you into my streaming accounts.”
“Fix the settings in there while you’re at it,” she fires back. “I don’t like that TruMotion, or whatever it’s called.”
She unlocks the door and steps inside. I start to follow her, but something catches my attention, and I see Farrow Kelly standing at the window of the brownstone next door, shirtless and smoking a cigarette.
He lives next door?
I turn away. Great.
“I’ll be back,” she calls out, heading up the steps.
Drifting through the door and into the foyer, I let my eyes roll around the entire space, taking in all the disrepair—the damaged floors, the broken walls, the ancient electrical running across the ceiling to the chandelier. The house creaks when I walk, and as she moves upstairs, immediately making my heart palpitate. Can her bedroom floor even support proper furniture? She couldn’t have had this place inspected because it wouldn’t have passed. I can already see that. Everything needs to be gutted.
I could start a fight and bring her home.
Or maybe she’ll let me help her. I am an architect, after all.
I see her flatscreen and dip down for the remote on the coffee table. Her old notebook lays open, a pen discarded on top as if she was in the middle of writing, and just as I look away, I notice the page titled Birthday Presents.
I don’t mean to read it, but after the first one, I just keep going.
Blow him while he’s on the phone.
Have sex with him while my brothers are in the house.
Flash him while he’s in a meeting.
Read erotica to him.
Feel what it’s like to have my panties ripped off.
Let him make me come with a rose or a feather.
Wear a collar.
Perform for him.
Wash him.
Be really loud. So loud, I
So loud, she what?
She stopped writing mid-sentence. Breathless, I rise, squeezing the muscles in the back of my neck and feeling sweat. What the fuck?
I see her on my bed again. I’m behind her. Number five…
My cock swells in my pants, and I groan.
I reach over to close the book in case she thinks I read it, but I stop myself. If I touch it, she might know then.
I rise with the remote in my hand. She could’ve made this list years ago. She said she recently dug it out to review it.
But no, she was adding to it. Oh, Quinn.
Flipping on the TV, the moaning hits my ears before the images, and in a moment, I’m staring at two men pumping their fucking dicks into a young woman.
I fumble with the remote. What the hell?!
Quinn!
But I don’t shout. I can’t even catch my breath.
I flip off the television. I don’t tell her I’m leaving. I don’t say goodbye.
In fifteen minutes, I’m back in Shelburne Falls, on High Street.
I climb the stairs to the historical society, whip back the tarp covering Jax’s set up, and snatch the case of small security cameras.
She needs more fucking supervision.
Quinn
“Have a good day tomorrow!” I shout to the back of the bakery. “Stay safe!”
“Bye!” Hailey calls out, followed by the others out the alley door. We should be all set for the Fourth of July the day after tomorrow—pre-orders are ready, cupcakes and tarts baked and chilling, and the booth is set up in the park. The shop will be closed tomorrow to give everyone who volunteered to work the holiday the day off before, and I’m looking forward to it. Maybe I can get some groceries and do some online furniture shopping for my new place. I do have a little money left.
“Codi, do you have a phone?” I ask my remaining employee who finishes cleaning the display case.
She stands up straight. “Yes.”
I take out mine. “Can I get your number?”
I’m not sure if she’s more than a summer employee yet. Somewhere I picked up the impression that she might not be able to commit to a long-term schedule, so we’re taking it a few days at a time. I’ve just been paying her under the table, but I need to get her on payroll. Taxes and such…
“We’ll be all over the place for the holiday,” I warn her. “It’ll make it easier to find each other.” I hand her my phone. “Wanna put your number in?”
Keeping her eyes down, she takes the phone and starts punching in digits.
I take it back and add her as a contact. “Doing anything fun tomorrow for your day off?”
“I have to clean Farrow’s house.”
Her voice is nearly a whisper, but I’m getting used to it.
What does she mean she has to clean Farrow’s house?
“As a…a job?” I ask.
She hesitates, as if thinking, before she nods.
Which makes me doubt he’s paying her. Is she returning a favor or something? Does he help her out in return?
Farrow’s been kind to me, but I haven’t known him long.
I step in closer. “He’s nice to you, right?”
Again, she nods, but I knew before I asked that she would never say he wasn’t. She’s afraid of him.
The question is, should she be, or is she just afraid of everyone?
“Call me if you ever need anything,” I tell her. “I’m always here.”
She presses her lips together before turning and leaving.
I don’t stay long. I finish up scheduling, and my lineup for next week’s new additions to the menu, as well as carving out time after the holiday to work on the ice cream stand. It would’ve been ideal to have it for the Fourth of July, but the hottest days are yet to come.
I climb on my bike and ride to my parents’ house. The multi-day backpack I got in high school during that phase where I thought I was going to hike the Appalachian Trail is still buried in my closet, I think. Perfect for transporting more of my stuff.
In six minutes, I’m home. Walking inside, I head upstairs and dive into my bedroom, so full of energy even though I’ve been working for twelve hours. Tonight, I’ll be in Weston. In my house. Sitting at my table, eating something from my kitchen. I don’t even care if it’s cereal or croque monsieur. It’s mine.
Finding my pack, I stuff in essential shoes, clothes, extra chargers, and snatch framed photos of my family off my wall. I’ll hang them in my new house.
I hesitate for only a moment. It would be smart to wait for the loan to go through before moving all of this in. What if there’s a problem?
But I can’t wait. I’ve got the keys. It’s as good as mine.
Mentally, I make a list of things to do after the holiday, like getting the utilities in my name, setting up Wi-Fi, and doing a proper scrub down. The place isn’t filthy, but it’s far from comfortable.
Dashing into the hallway, I open the closet and steal some of my parents’ linens. Luckily, there’s a twin bed in one of the upstairs rooms of my new house, and Mom keeps twin sheets for anyone crashing on the couch when we’re overbooked for the holidays.
Snatching them, I carry the bundle back down the hall. A bathroom door opens, and I stop short, watching Lucas turn off the light. He steps out in black lounge pants, steam pouring around him as he dries his hair with a dark blue towel.
He sees me and slows, water dripping down his chest. The sheets weigh as much as a truck, but I can’t take my eyes off his chest. My gaze descends to a toned stomach and trim waist. He’s so long and lean…
I look away, blinking. “It’s midday,” I gripe. “You just getting up?”
“I’ve been up since the same time as you probably,” he retorts, taking the sheets out of my hands and following me to my room. “Work calls in Dubai, and then I helped Fallon at the workshop until I came back and swam some laps in the pool.”
I open my pack and grab a handful from him, stuffing the sheets inside.
My pulse races. I wanted to ask him why he just disappeared last night, but he’s in my room. Half-naked.
I just packed my bikini. Would he get back in the pool with me?
I lick my lips, grabbing the blanket out of his hands and packing that too.
“What are you doing?” he inquires, running the towel over his dripping hair.
“Taking another load over.”
I toss in a few books, some lotions and cuticle oil, and a candle from my night stand. I add Renting a Moving Truck to my mental list. I can’t keep packing up backpacks as if I’m on an extended sleepover. I have shelves of books, boxes with old keepsakes, and I’m sure my parents would let me have my bedroom set. I’ll ask before I take it, though.
Digging in my drawer, I pull out a handful of underwear and some silky sleep shorts, stuffing them in the pack. He drifts back a couple of steps, but looms like a giant in my periphery. Orange and vanilla swirls into the air from his body. My bodywash. He used my bodywash. Something tightens between my thighs, and I whip around, gathering more clothes.
“That place could use a lot of renovations,” he points out. “Might be a good idea to stay at home till it’s more livable.”
I tell him softly, “I like it how it is.”
“What’s it like?”
He looks amused, like I’m telling him about a croissant again, but I don’t know…
I don’t know how to describe it. The house is bare, raw, and a little dirty, completely unlike me.
“Quinn?”
Joy lifts the corners of my mouth, possibility the only thing coming to mind when I think of 01 Knock Hill. Possibility.
“Like things are going to happen to me there,” I tell him.
That’s what it’s like. Stormy nights and misty mornings, and maybe I won’t be alone for all of them.
His eyebrows nosedive, his voice sounding curt, and I almost snort. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
I lift up the pack and slide my arms in, strapping it to my back. “See you in a couple days,” I reply, keeping my secrets to myself that I seem to have trouble containing.
Leaving him in my room, I exit the house, climb on my bike, and start pedaling for home as thunder cracks across the sky.
The air grows thick, the clouds bearing down, and the wind whips over my body.
There are a million reasons that I’m scared about buying a house I can barely afford in an area where I’m not sure I’m safe, but it’s like every minute that takes me deeper into this mistake, the better I feel about myself. I’ve never done anything on my own, except the bakery. I don’t have my own friends. I don’t travel without my family. I don’t have a past. Hell, Dylan has more of a past than I do.
My parents will have every right to be concerned, but I’m starting to understand that it’s okay. My brothers can fight and yell as much as they want. In the end, though, I’m an adult.
And I can’t believe I just left Lucas—again—when we could be in my parents’ house alone together. If it were the Lucas from eight or ten years ago, I would’ve stayed. He’s changed.
