Fireworks: A Holiday Bad Boy Romance (46 page)

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

Owen

I
was ready to face Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, but I was not ready for the other dinner
guests. Trent met me in the doorway with a glass of wine. I almost wiped the
cheeky smile off his face with my fist. Mrs. Thomas' white carpet was the only
thing that saved him.

"Do I know
you from somewhere?" I asked Trent.

His smile slipped
a little but he brightened with malice when Quinn joined us. "I'm Quinn's
boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend,"
she said.

I handed her the
wine that Trent had given me. "The cheater," I said. "Little
late to be kissing up to the family, don't you think?"

"Advice you
might want to take yourself," Trent said.

My father bolted
to his feet. "Barbara, why don't you come help me in the kitchen."

It was too late.
My mother was already weaving to her feet with a red-painted fingernail
pointing straight at Owen. "How dare you come in here. How dare you come
anywhere near Quinn. You must be the devil sent to steal my daughters. I can
see horns on his head, can't you?"

Nicky was too
afraid to answer and tried to hide behind Trent.

"I can, Mrs.
Thomas," Trent said.

"Barbara,
dear, why don't you lay down before dinner? I can handle things down
here," my father interrupted.

Her eyes were
already filling with tears, the medication no use against the beginning of a
downswing. "None of this would have happened if… I don't want any of this,
anyway." My mother flew out of the room and up the stairs.

Just when I
thought we could clear everyone out and be done with the whole disaster, my
father said, "Quinn, why don't you help me set the table for dinner?"

"Are you
kidding me?" Quinn hissed as her father pulled her into the adjoining
dining room.

"Not at all.
You created this mess, and you damn well better deal with it," Mr. Thomas
said. "This kind of reckless and frankly disturbing decision-making is
exactly why I've asked you to start coming home on weekends. Now, I don't care
what kind of discomfort it causes you, you are going to serve dinner and we are
going to act like civilized hosts."

I stepped towards
the door to intervene, but Trent sidled in front of me. "Now, now, you
should know better than to interrupt family affairs."

"This isn't
entertainment. I'm going to help Quinn," I said.

Trent jutted out
his chin and smiled. "Or what, you're going to punch me? That would be so
perfect, don't you think, Nicky?"

"I think we
should go, Trent," Nicky said. He rubbed his mesh-covered arms. "Who
cares about dinner? Let's just go dance."

"You're
making everyone uncomfortable," I said.

"Me? I'm not
the one trying to trade in the dead sister for the younger one," Trent
countered.

I clenched my fist
then stopped. It was exactly what Trent was hoping I would do. I forced myself
to turn around and sit down in the high-backed chair across from Nicky.
"Let me guess, you had no idea what you were walking into," I said.

"He said
family dinner then a night in Vegas. Sounded alright to me," Nicky said.

"Nothing
about the ex-girlfriend that he cheated on or the overprotective family?"
I asked.

He shook his head.
Trent came to sit next to him and poor Nicky almost flinched.

"Oh, don't
worry, there is so much more. I thought dinner and show before dancing would be
the perfect second date," Trent said.

Quinn came back in
the room looking pale and hurt.

I stood up.
"Are you alright? Do you want to leave?"

She shook her
head. "He keeps talking about your intentions. Nothing about him or this
whole mess or even how any of this could possibly be making me feel."

"Oh, sweet
princess, we're just having a little fun. Come on, you can't tell me you don't
want to see your father this uncomfortable," Trent said. "Really, I'm
doing you a favor. Compared to me, Owen looks a lot less of a creep. Am I
right?"

For once, everyone
in the room was in agreement.

"I'll just
let them think my interests lie elsewhere," I whispered in her ear. I
would have kissed both Trent and Nicky if it would erase the worried furrow
across her brow.

Quinn nodded as I
opened another bottle of wine.

"I was just
at the Wynn the other night." I topped off everyone's glasses. "I
don't know about the dance scene there, but I had a great time. A friend of
mine had the most amazing suite, one of the villas."

"You have
friends that stay in villas?" Trent asked.

"Well, one
friend really. Anya. She's one of those drop-dead gorgeous jet-setters that
also happens to play video games. We meet up at tournaments from time to
time," I said.

Trent gave me an
assessing look and then turned to study Quinn. She was looking even more
miserable. I had obviously chosen the wrong plan.

"So, you and
this Anya chick, huh? Guess Quinn wasn't lying about the whole 'he only kissed
me to help make Trent jealous thing.'"

I was about to
backtrack when Mr. Thomas walked in the room. "Who’s Anya?"

"Owen's girlfriend,"
Trent said.

Mr. Thomas slowed
down and gave me a less angry look. I finally saw Quinn relax a little. Maybe
it was not such a bad idea, after all.

"She flew in
for the tournament last weekend. Then, he drove her up to L.A. and decided to
visit me," Quinn said.

"Dinner's on
the table," Mr. Thomas said. His face was regaining a normal color.
"I'm sorry to say that Barbara will not be joining us, but please, let's
eat."

We settled around
a table where take-out from a local restaurant had been artfully displayed as
home cooking. For a few minutes, everyone passed the plates and there was hope
for an almost normal meal.

"So, Owen
came back to UCLA, huh? That must have been hard. Was that before your parents
dropped the whole house arrest bombshell?" Trent asked.

"Why would it
be hard for him to come to UCLA?" Nicky asked.

I jumped in.
"Did you catch up on everything, Quinn? How's the nursing program?"

Quinn gave me a
thankful smile. "I'm actually caught up. I have a few big chapters to read
tonight, but then I'm free."

"She's
actually a really good nurse," Trent said. "When we first started
dating, we went to this outdoor concert. People were just getting loaded all
over. So, naturally, I was having a great time. Until I fell down this
embankment and cut my arm on a signpost."

Trent launched
into an animated retelling of his bloody injury. While he was monopolizing the
other end of the table, I turned to check on Quinn.

"I'm sorry, I
had no idea," she said.

"Why are you
apologizing? Just say the word and we'll leave right now," I said.

She smiled.
"I would. I really would, but I honestly think it would only make things
worse."

"What?
Leaving your father with your jealous ex-boyfriend and his painfully
uncomfortable boy toy?" I asked.

Quinn smiled
again. It felt like a knot came loose in my chest.

"I really
didn't think this would be so bad. I actually am caught up with my coursework.
I thought I'd read my chapters like a good collegiate tonight and meet you for
pancakes in the morning," she said.

"Pancakes in
the morning? What am I, your eighty-year-old aunt?" I asked.

"No. You're
just my buddy dating an amazing jet-setter named Anya," Quinn said.

"I only said
that to take the heat off you." I reached for her hand under the table.
"She is the farthest thing from my mind when I think about that
tournament."

"What's the
first thing that comes to mind?" Quinn asked.

"Blood
spurting everywhere. Remember, Quinn?" Trent asked.

She pulled her
hand away. "All it took was a little pressure to stop the bleeding. It was
just a nick on your wrist. No big deal."

"I still have
the scar," Trent said. He held up his wrist. "The best part was her
bedside manner, or should I say trenchside manner. Only Quinn would be able to
calm down a raving drunk in the middle of a crowd of raving drunks while the
band goes into their loudest number."

"So, I'm not
such a monster for making you stick with it," Mr. Thomas said.

"It’s not
that," Quinn said. "I'm just not sure I really want to become a
nurse."

The good will in
her father's eyes disappeared. "Nonsense. Think about how excited Sienna
was to have you at UCLA and in the nursing program. Don't you want to see it
through for her?"

I felt the wine
turn to acid in my mouth. "You would think Sienna would want her little
sister to be happy."

"You are the
last person I want to hear speculating on what my daughter would have
thought," Mr. Thomas said.

Trent gave me a
malignant smile. "Why don't I help clear some of these dishes?"

"Thank you,
Trent," Mr. Thomas said.

Quinn jumped up to
help them. When they all went through to the kitchen, I let out an angry sigh.

"Who's
Sienna?" Nicky asked.

"You don't
want to know," I said. "If you leave now, I'll cover for you and get
a cab for Trent. Go dancing and have fun."

"You're
sweet," Nicky said. He got up and moved into Quinn's seat. "I can see
why Quinn loves you and why Trent hates you."

"That'd be
nice if it were true," I said.

"What? That
Quinn loves you? Oh, honey, no one's going to buy that girlfriend in Vegas
story. Even I saw how you two are like magnets," Nicky said. He patted my
hand.

"Hell, you
have nothing to lose. Want to tell Mr. Thomas to let his daughter live her own
life? I swear, if you do it, I'll spring for a suite at the Wynn for you. You
don't even have to tell Trent where you're going unless you want to," I
said.

"Honey, all
you have to do is ask me nicely," Nicky said. He clinked his wineglass
against mine and it was still ringing when Trent came back into the dining
room.

"Really,
Nicky? You are a total slut. I brought you here and now I find you flirting
with him?" Trent asked.

"He's nice.
And gorgeous," Nicky said. "Besides I drove and you know this has
been a disaster."

"I can call
him a cab right now," I said to Nicky.

"That's it,
I'm leaving!" Trent said. He flounced to the hallway door. "Thanks,
Mr. Thomas. We're heading out to Vegas!"

Nicky patted my
hand again and got up to follow Trent. I poured the rest of his wine into my
glass and sat back to take a long drink.

#

Mr
. Thomas came back to the
dining room first. "They left?"

"Yes," I
said. "I guess Nicky was anxious to hit the dance clubs. I told him they
were open all night."

"Well, I
guess a quick farewell is better than sticking around after the party is
over," Mr. Thomas said.

"Need a hand
in the kitchen?" I asked. I stood up and stacked the dishes closest to me.
Before he could make up an excuse, I moved past him and into the kitchen.

Quinn was at the
sink, rinsing the dishes. The recycling was bulging with the take-out
containers. She saw me notice and she smiled.

"I sure do
miss my mother's home cooked meals," she said.

"Your mother
isn't well," Mr. Thomas snapped from the doorway.

Quinn looked at me
and bit her lip. Mrs. Thomas' wild mood swings had always been cause for
concern, but her husband was still pretending everything was normal. Even after
Sienna, whose personality could be the perfect mirror image of her mother's,
had suffered for it.

"I'll just
grab the last of it," I said. I headed back to the dining room and
considered going right out the front door.

"You're
right, Father, she isn’t well. Don't you think she might want to see a
doctor?" I heard Quinn ask.

"That's not
what I meant. She's just sick of seeing you so far off track," Mr. Thomas
responded. "If you could pull yourself back together, your mother wouldn’t
have to be so stressed and worried."

I gripped a fork
hard enough to leave an imprint on my palm. I knew Mr. Thomas tried to find
excuses for his wife's erratic behavior. But this was the first time I had ever
heard him place the weight of it squarely on Quinn's shoulders.

"I'm worried
too about her. Don't you think after what happened to Sienna, we should ask her
to see someone?" Quinn asked. Her voice was faint but I could hear the
resolve in it.