Shelter for Quinn Page 16

  “I’m sorry, Emmy.”

  “I rarely go out on a workday. I’m lame, I admit it. But just because you have a day off in the middle of the week, doesn’t mean I do. I should’ve said something, I know, but I didn’t, so that’s on me. But the very last straw was Jen’s attitude. I don’t like her, John. I’m sorry, but I don’t. And I think the feeling is mutual. And that’s fine. Not everyone in this world has to like me. I’m not that conceited to think that everyone will be okay with what I look like and want to be my friend, but when I’m forced to sit there and be polite and listen to insults…that’s not okay.”

  “You’re right, it’s not.”

  Quinn couldn’t stop the tears from forming in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She’d thought she was all cried out. She’d cried until she’d almost made herself sick the night before, but apparently she still had some tears in her. “You hurt my feelings, John,” she said softly.

  John didn’t apologize again. Instead, he moved until he was lying behind her. He was on top of the covers, but he wrapped his body around hers and held her tight.

  “I just needed some space last night. It was all just too much. I don’t want to break up with you or anything, and I’m sure I’ll learn to trust you again, but everything had been so good between us that you letting me down kinda took me by surprise. That’s all.”

  “You will trust me again,” John said after she’d finally fallen silent. “I hate that all that happened to you yesterday, Emmy, but you have to talk to me. I’m not a mind reader. I told you before that I’d screw up, and assuming you wouldn’t have any issues in going over to Taco’s was a mistake. But next time something like that happens, speak up. Telling me you’ve had a hard day and just want to stay home won’t upset me. I could’ve called Taco and told him we couldn’t go, or I could’ve gone by myself.”

  “But you said Taco specifically invited us because he wanted Jen to feel more comfortable.”

  “I did. But that still doesn’t mean you have to do something you’re not in the mood to do. So please, next time I assume something or speak for you, tell me.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now, about what Jen said and what I didn’t say…I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

  “I know.”

  “The more I thought about it last night, the more I realized what she’d said was just as bad as someone coming right up and telling you to your face that you’re a freak, which you aren’t. Jen was just more subtle and sneaky about it. I know you don’t believe me, but you’re beautiful.”

  Quinn scoffed.

  John ignored her. “I wouldn’t want you to wear a bunch of makeup, because then I wouldn’t be able to see your cheek turn pink when you blush. I wouldn’t be able to nuzzle your neck because I’d get your makeup all over myself. The first thing I noticed about you was your eyes. They’re extraordinary. Then it was your smile. It truly lights up your face. And I don’t care what all the close-minded assholes in the world say, you are unique and beautiful. And nothing you say or do will ever change my mind about that.”

  He moved his hand then and put it over her heart. “And most importantly, I love what’s inside here. I’ve never met a more compassionate and loving woman than you.”

  Quinn stilled.

  Did he…? No, he didn’t.

  “I love you, Quinn. From the top of your head to the bottom of your toes.”

  He did.

  “I’m broken, John. It’s almost impossible for me to trust anyone. I don’t like most people, and I’d rather hide in my bed than face anyone when life gets too overwhelming.”

  “And? We’re all broken in one way or another, Emmy. Some of us just hide it better.”

  “You aren’t,” she accused.

  “When I was seven…I was abused,” he said quietly.

  Quinn gasped and turned over until she was facing him. “What?”

  “By a babysitter. He was fifteen, and the son of my parents’ friends. He did it twice but I never told anyone. Not my parents, not a doctor, not the pastor at our church…no one. Not until five seconds ago.”

  Quinn palmed his cheek with her hand. “What happened to him?”

  John shrugged. “Nothing that I know of. But I still think about it. Remember how helpless I felt and how confusing it was. He hurt me, and I was too embarrassed to tell my mom or dad anything about it.”

  “God, John, that sucks.”

  “It took me a long time to be able to be alone with a guy again. Even the boys in my class. There are still times today when I’m alone with one of the guys and I feel uneasy. Even though I know they’d never do anything like that, the same feelings I had when I was seven come back.”

  “Give me his name,” Quinn demanded. “I’m going to talk to Beth. I won’t tell her why, but I’ll have her track him down and make his life a living hell. She can cancel all his credit cards and make sure his credit is ruined. Ooh, I know, I’ll have her make an anonymous report to his boss. I don’t care where he works, no one will want a child molester on their payroll! Then I’ll—”

  “No,” John interrupted gently. “I’ve moved on, Quinn. He’s in my past, or as much in my past as I can put him. Don’t you see? We’ve all got shit that we struggle to deal with. All of us. Whether it’s a death in our family, someone abusing our trust, a disability, being picked on and bullied as a kid. It’s how we deal with that shit that defines us. And Emmy, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I don’t see you as broken. You’re bent. There’s a huge difference.”

  Quinn stared at him, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth or not. To see if he was really okay. It was hard to think about anyone ever overpowering the strong man in front of her.

  John went on. “I won’t let you down again, Quinn. At least not when it comes to not speaking up when someone is being a douche. I know I’ll have to figure out when it’s appropriate to put them in their place and when a glare will do, but I promise that I’ll never give you a reason not to trust me again.”

  “Okay,” Quinn said. There really was no other answer. She was adult enough to know that she was as much at fault for what happened last night as John was. She should’ve said she didn’t want to go out to eat. She should’ve spoken up for herself and not let Jen bully her. It was long past time for her to start sticking up for herself instead of ignoring people when they were rude or relying on others to say something on her behalf. She shouldn’t have gotten as upset as she had and refused to go back to John’s house.

  Burying her face against his chest, she mumbled, “I don’t want you to regret loving me.”

  “I won’t,” he vowed.

  “John?”

  “Yeah, Emmy?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  She felt him smiling into her hair. “Then it’s a good thing I bought two dozen doughnuts.”

  “Two dozen?” she asked, not picking up her head.

  “Yup.”

  “I think I might love you back,” she whispered.

  “I’ll stick around until you’re sure,” he told her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That evening, after Quinn ate her share of doughnuts, showered, did some laundry, and picked up her place, they headed back to Driftwood’s house. Keeping a tight hold on Quinn’s hand, as if she might somehow disappear if he let go of her, Driftwood led her out of the building to the parking lot.

  When they got close to his truck, Driftwood stopped in his tracks and stared.

  Willard was standing in the parking lot with a stack of bright blue papers in his hand. But it was Driftwood’s truck that really snagged his attention. It had the same blue pieces of paper stuck under his windshield wipers. They were also stuffed into the grill and one was shoved under the passenger-side door handle as well.

  The sight of Quinn’s neighbor with the fliers in his hand made him see red.

  He dropped her hand and started to charge after Willard, but Quinn grabbed hold of his shirt and held on. “No, John
!”

  “He isn’t getting away with this shit again,” Driftwood said. “Let go.”

  “No,” Quinn said and held on more firmly.

  He tried jerking his shirt out of her grip, but she tenaciously held on. They watched as Quinn’s neighbor finally saw them and ran back toward the lobby of the apartment. Once he was out of sight, Driftwood sighed and turned to Quinn.

  “He can’t keep doing this shit.”

  “I know, but he hasn’t really done anything illegal.”

  “Quinn, he scratched ‘repent’ into my truck!”

  “We don’t know it was him. Does he even drive? I’ve never seen him get into a car. He’s always here.”

  She had a point, but he wasn’t ready to concede. “He just covered my car with more religious pamphlets.” He leaned down and picked up one of the bright blue pieces of paper blowing around the parking lot. On the bottom of the page were flames, with a devil-like caricature grinning from within them. There was another Bible verse across the top that said:

  * * *

  James 4:7

  Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

  * * *

  “I have to say, I almost miss the simple messages about bringing God into your life,” Quinn quipped.

  “This isn’t funny,” Driftwood said between clenched teeth.

  “I know. But John, he was putting them on everyone’s vehicle. Not just yours.”

  Driftwood looked around and, sure enough, most of the cars around his also had the blue papers under their wipers. “I don’t like your neighbor,” he said after a moment.

  “Neither do I. So can we go? Get away from him?”

  “Yeah, Emmy. We can go.” Driftwood walked her over to his truck and ripped off the flier on the handle before opening the door for her. He wanted to throw the paper on the ground, but he couldn’t bring himself to litter. After shutting the door, Driftwood walked around his truck and picked up as many of the blue pieces of paper as he could. He threw them on the floor of his backseat and put the vehicle into reverse.

  Right before he backed out of the parking space, he happened to look up.

  There, on the second floor, in the apartment at the end of the building, a man stood in a window, staring down at the parking lot. Driftwood could tell even from this distance that it was Willard. The bastard was watching—and he had a perfect vantage point to see everyone who came and went from the complex.

  Not wanting to alarm Quinn, he didn’t acknowledge that he’d seen the man, but he did make a mental note to talk to Beth. It was about time they found out more about Willard. And, if possible, do what needed to be done to evict the man. Even though Driftwood hoped Quinn wouldn’t be living at the complex much longer, Willard was a threat to anyone who lived there. It was in everyone’s best interest to get him to move on.

  As it turned out, Driftwood didn’t get a chance to call Beth that night. The second they entered his house, Quinn had backed him against the wall and kissed him. One thing led to another, and they left a trail of clothes on the floor that led from the front door to the bedroom.

  The next morning, both he and Quinn had to go to work and, after an intense lovemaking session in the shower, they had to rush around to make it to the lab and fire station on time.

  Then work was crazy for Driftwood. From the second he arrived at the station they were on the go. They hadn’t even been able to sit down for lunch, they were so busy.

  It wasn’t until Driftwood was lying in bed at the station, after talking to Quinn and making sure her day had gone all right, that he remembered. But by then, it was close to eleven o’clock and he was exhausted. Telling himself he’d call Beth first thing in the morning, Driftwood closed his eyes and was immediately out.

  As luck would have it, however, the tones went off at four the next morning, and everyone was sent to a huge warehouse three-alarm fire. They were on scene until three in the afternoon, making sure the fire was completely out and wouldn’t rekindle the second they left. The good news was that no one was injured or killed, the bad news was that the building was a complete loss.

  Fires were a weird thing. They were devastating and destructive, but they were also exciting and exhilarating for the men and women who fought them. Each one was different, no two fires acted the same way. The science and physics behind them were the same, but the adrenaline rush from entering a burning building or from trying to figure out how best to put out the fire was a high Driftwood couldn’t explain to someone who wasn’t a firefighter.

  Medical calls and vehicle accidents were exciting, but in a completely different way.

  They’d battled the massive warehouse fire for almost twelve hours straight. The community had come through in a big way by donating water, pizza, and even an air-conditioned truck so the firefighters could get a small break from the fire as they refueled their bodies.

  As they made their way back to the station, exhausted and dirty, Driftwood pulled out his phone. He had a few texts from Quinn. Work was going fine, she felt pretty good about the progress she was making on the destroyed samples from earlier. She hoped he was safe and she looked forward to hearing from him.

  The second he walked into the fire station and could get some privacy, Driftwood took out his phone and clicked on Quinn’s name.

  “Hey, Emmy.”

  “John! Are you okay? Is the fire out?”

  “I’m fine, and yes, it’s out. We’re back at the station now.”

  “Good. Was anyone hurt?”

  “Nothing serious.”

  “I’m glad. Are you getting off work at your usual time?”

  “We should be. It depends on if we get a call right before shift change, but here’s to hoping not.”

  “Want me to make something for dinner?” Quinn asked.

  “That would be awesome.”

  “Want anything in particular?”

  “No. Whatever we’ve got in the house is fine. Don’t go to the store. I’ll take care of that tomorrow when I’m off.” Driftwood never thought having this kind of conversation would be one of the highlights of his day. Talking about what to have for dinner and who would do chores.

  “I can stop by the store on my way home. It won’t take very long,” she told him.

  Remembering the difficult day she’d had the last time she’d gone to the store, to get the stupid potato salad for Taco’s dinner party that they hadn’t even eaten, Driftwood immediately said, “No. It’s fine. We’ve got some hamburger in the fridge and lots of pasta. You can just make a quick and dirty spaghetti or something.”

  “You sure? I don’t think we have any salad. The last time I looked in the drawer, there was black stuff growing on that bag we bought.”

  “I’m sure. All I need is a bunch of carbs…and you.”

  “Well, I think I can help you with both those things,” she said coyly.

  Loving their banter, Driftwood smiled. “I know you can,” he told her.

  “Okay, Sophie is rolling her eyes at me,” Quinn said. “I need to go. I’m finishing up here, then I’m going to stop by my place and grab my big stockpot.”

  “Quinn, I’ve got a pot,” Driftwood told her.

  “I know, but it’s not like mine.”

  “I don’t think the pasta cares what kind of pot it’s cooked in,” Driftwood said.

  “Whatever. Besides, I need to grab some more clothes.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. At least not by yourself. I’m not comfortable with you going over there with Willard living right next door.” Thinking about Willard made him remember that he needed to call Beth, to have her look into Quinn’s neighbor and see what she could find out about him.

  “I’m just going to run in, grab some stuff, and leave. I’ll lock my door the second I get inside and I’ll carry my cat-shaped brass knuckles. Will that make you feel better?”

  “I’d feel better if you waited until I was with you to go over there,” Driftwood told her.

 
“I’ll be fine, John. Promise,” she said. “I know to be careful, and I can’t live my entire life locked in your house.”

  “All right, but please be careful.”

  “I will.” Then she chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d complain this much about me moving more of my shit in.”

  “Emmy, if I had my way, you’d be giving your landlord your notice and moving all your stuff over to my house.”

  She was quiet for a beat after his pronouncement. Then she said, “I’m not ready yet, John. I’m trying, but…” Her voice trailed off.

  “You don’t trust me fully yet,” Driftwood finished for her.

  “It’s not that, it’s just—”

  “It’s fine. I understand,” he interrupted her. “I get it, I do, Quinn. I fucked up, and it’ll take time for you to feel like you don’t need your own space to hole up in and hide from the world…from me. I had a long talk with Taco about Jen. He wasn’t happy with what she’d said either. I think that was actually the last straw for him. He called her last night and told her that he didn’t think things were working out between them. You aren’t going to have to see her again.”

  Driftwood heard Quinn let out a small sigh of relief, and he hated that she’d bottled up her feelings about the other woman and hadn’t shared them earlier.

  “From here on out,” he said sternly, “you tell me if you don’t click with someone and I’ll make sure you don’t have to spend time with them.”

  “That’s not fair,” she protested.

  “You are what’s most important to me,” Driftwood told her. “And if someone does something to make my girlfriend uncomfortable, then I don’t want to be around them.”