Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (24 page)

“Yeah, man, I bet. I’ve spoken to Abi about the plan,” Tristan says, and I can hear he has lowered his voice.

“Yeah?” Quinn questions. “What about it?”

“I’m coming with you,” Tristan says, the determination clear in his voice.

Both Quinn and I shout, “No!” at the exact same moment.

“Hey, I heard Mia’s voice. Is she there? How’s she looking?” Tristan asks.

Quinn looks at me, and it’s a total perverted look.

“Oh, she’s looking unbelievable,” he replies with a smirk.

Again, I roll my eyes.

“Put her on,” Tristan says, ignoring Quinn.

Quinn is chewing on his hoop, setting my skin on fire with his intense gaze.

“In a sec, we gotta talk about this idea of you coming with us. You’re staying put.” Quinn’s humor has been replaced with a serious tone.

“No fucking way, man! I wanna help,” Tristan says angrily.

“Tris, do you need another trip to the hospital to remind you of what happened the last time you wanted to help?”

“That’s totally different. They caught me off guard,” Tristan rebukes.

“This isn’t negotiable. Stay put until we figure out what to do after we arrive in—” but Quinn doesn’t finish his sentence.

He’s smart—he won’t mention where we’re headed, just in case the police are listening in. Here’s hoping they aren’t, as I should have spoken in code when Tabitha told us where to go.

“No way, bro. I’m not leaving you alone out there to deal with those two motherfuckers. I want my revenge, just as much as you do.”

Tristan is right. Not only has my father and Phil killed Hank, they forced his brother to go on the run. They also attacked him, nearly claiming his life. I understand the need for vengeance, I really do. But I agree with Quinn. It’s bad enough that I’m putting one Berkeley brother’s life in danger. I can’t do that to both.

I extend my hand, indicating to Quinn I want the phone.

“Good luck, squirt,” Quinn says with a chuckle, handing me the phone.

“Luck? What the hell do I need luck for?” Tristan says as I place the receiver to my ear.

“Hi, Tristan,” I say, looking at a chuckling Quinn.

“Oh, now I get it,” Tristan says. “Hi Pai—Mia,” he corrects quickly. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I reply. “More importantly, how are you?”

“Ah, I’m fine. I would be better if I could come help you,” Tristan says stubbornly.

“Look, your brother is right. Stay where you are. It’s not safe for you,” I reply, feeling like a total ass for saying that to him, seeing as I’m dragging Quinn into my bullshit.

“And it is for you?” Tristan asks softly.

“It’s not safe for any of us, but it’s too late for us. We have no choice but to run. You do,” I say, hoping to talk some sense into him.

“You can’t expect me to sit here while you two are in danger.” He sighs, and I can hear the frustration in his voice.

“That’s exactly what I expect. Please, Tristan, help Abi clear our names. That’s more help to Quinn and I than you coming out here, okay?” I plead.

He doesn’t reply, but I hear him huff over the phone unhappily. I reiterate, “Okay, Tristan? Promise me you’ll stay put.”

“Okay, fine. But if anything changes, I’m coming to find you.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead.

“You Berkeley brothers are so stubborn,” I reply, looking at Quinn who only shrugs, not defending his honor.

“You wouldn’t believe how stubborn we are,” Tristan says.

Great.

“Can you put Quinn back on?” Tristan asks.

“Of course. Tristan—” I pause.

How do I thank him for risking his life to save me? How do I tell him I owe him my life?

But he gets my silence for what it is. “Don’t mention it, Mia. You’re worth it. I would do it again in a heartbeat,” he whispers, his voice reflecting the sincerity behind his admission.

I don’t know what to say because his kindness and honesty throws me off.

“Thank you, Tristan. I… um, better go,” I reply, feeling incredibly thoughtless for disregarding his confession.

Tristan sighs, but replies, “Bye, Mia. I… miss you.”

I don’t respond, but quickly hold out the phone to Quinn, who gives me a small smile as he reaches for the receiver.

Sitting on the curb, I can no longer hear what the boys are talking about, but after Tristan’s confession, I don’t want to hear what he has to say, and that’s because a small part of me knows he has feelings for me. But he had feelings for Paige, not Mia.

Quinn is looking at me, while listening to something Tristan is saying. The way his eyes rake over me, I know they’re talking about me.

I not only have one incredible man trying to protect me, putting his life in danger for me… I now have two. But I could never live with myself if anything happened to Tristan—again.

“I’ve got an awesome idea,” Quinn says, bumping me with his shoulder as he sits near me after he ends his call to Tristan.

“What’s that?” I ask, looking at him.

“Let’s go find a liquor store, and drink it.”

I laugh because at the moment, there’s nothing else I would rather do.

Chapter 20

Drunken Confessions

Once we’re checked into the hotel, I feel terrible for my insensitive jab, and invite Justin to join us for drinks after he’s finished his work. Quinn hates me right now, as his stress free night of getting drunk and forgetting our troubles has just taken a nosedive.

But I feel horrible, as Justin is helping us out without even realizing how much so.

I decide I need new clothes, seeing as I left the majority of my things in New Orleans. A thrift shop down the road is the perfect place to pick up some cheap clothing. Quinn was in the shower when I left, which was good, because I need some alone time after speaking with Tristan. Why do I have a feeling our conversation was one-sided? Deep down, I have an awful premonition that regardless of mine and Quinn’s warnings, Tristan will come find us.

However, trying to focus on the task at hand, I pick out some cool, cheap items for Quinn and me, and figure that’ll do us for now.

As I exit, I pull my newly purchased jacket lapels over my face, as the cold December breeze has picked up.

Jolly fat Santa decals and fairy lights are displayed in every shop front, preparing shoppers for the mad Christmas rush. I wonder where I’ll be spending Christmas this year. I’m hoping it’s not in a 6x8 cell, or dead.

Shaking those thoughts aside, I ride the elevator up to our floor and find Quinn walking around the bedroom in only a small towel. The towel barely covers anything, and if he shifts the wrong way, I’ll be getting an eyeful.

I quickly turn my back, not really knowing why, as I’ve seen him nude before.

“Hi?” Quinn asks my back, phrasing it as a question, as he’s obviously just as puzzled by my weird behavior as I am.

“Er, hi,” I reply.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks, laughing.

“I don’t know,” I reply, as I suddenly feel shy.

We haven’t spoken about what went down (literally) in the hotel room back in New Orleans, seeing as we had other important matters to deal with, like not falling to our deaths.

Quinn and I have said, in a roundabout way, that we’re dating. But he hasn’t actually said, “Red, I want you to be my girlfriend.” But do people even do that anymore? Have that talk?

After tasting Quinn and feeling him in every pore of my body, I would be a liar if I said I haven’t thought about sex. What would he feel like? And why do I have a feeling once it happens, Quinn will own me; mind, body and soul? I’ve never wanted to do that with anyone—ever. But with Quinn, it’s all I can think about when he’s near me, especially when he’s half nude.

“Why have you gone shy all of a sudden? You certainly weren’t shy back in New Orleans. Or in the truck,” Quinn says seductively into my ear.

He’s leaning into my back, and I hope to God he’s put pants on, as the thought of a pantless Quinn, pressed up against me, has my breathing coming out in loud puffs, totally giving my thoughts away.

Thankfully as Quinn steps into view, I see he has indeed slipped into a pair of track pants, but no shirt. My eyes dip to his navel, which is perfectly covered in a fine dusting of soft, dark hair, which leads into his low slung pants.

Will I ever get used to seeing him without my heart ending up in my throat?

“What’s the matter?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

I raise my eyes to meet his inquisitive emerald orbs.

“I was just thinking,” I respond.

“About?” Quinn prompts.

“About what happened between us back in New Orleans.”

Quinn raises his eyebrow. “You want to be a little more specific?” he smirks, knowing damn well what I’m talking about.

“Never mind,” I say, shrugging it off. “Anyway, I bought you some stuff,” I say, hoping to evade this topic as I rifle through the plastic bags.

Quinn is about to rebuke me, but Justin chooses that moment to enter, and thankfully put an end to this awkward conversation.

***

Happy’s Bar and Grill is anything but happy.

Looking at my untouched burger, I internally apologize to all the starving kids in the world, because there is no way I can eat my meal. I feel like I’m about to be sick. Justin is at the bar, waiting in line to get another pitcher of beer, and I wish Quinn would quit it with the death stares.

“Would you please stop looking at him like he’s The Antichrist?” I sigh, pushing at my fries.

Quinn’s eyes are narrowed, and he’s rubbing his stubbled jaw, deep in thought.

“I don’t trust him, Red. There is something off about him. I just can’t put my finger on it,” he replies, still eyeing Justin.

I blow out a frustrated breath. “Quinn, please. Just till we get to Canada.”

“Yeah, well, Canada is over 1000 miles away. And he’s about zero miles away from me strangling him,” he replies, tossing back his beer.

I don’t know what it is about Justin that Quinn despises so much. Apart from the occasional longing stare, or lingering touch, Justin is harmless.

***

After one too many pitchers of beer, I decide the next girl who accidentally on purpose touches Quinn will lose a finger.

There’s something about Quinn, and it’s not just his phenomenal looks. His ego alone is enough to fill a room, but it’s his presence and his confident, cocky demeanor which seems to attract insecure people, hoping to bask in his confidence.

I can’t help but watch him as he casually stands at the bar, surrounded by bleached blonde barflies. Justin is talking to me about something, and I know I’m being extremely rude peering over his shoulder watching Quinn, but I’m hoping his drunken brain won’t notice.

But he does.

“You really like him, huh?” he asks.

My eyes snap to his sheepishly, totally busted. “Sorry,” I say with a small smile.

Justin shakes his head. “It’s nice to see you smile.”

I am anything but smiling at the moment, but I guess he’s referring to the times when Quinn and I don’t want to throttle one another.

“It’s nice
to
smile,” I reply, sipping my beer.

“You were at school, but not really there, if you know what I mean,” Justin comments, fiddling with a coaster.

“I know exactly what you mean,” I reply, as I had more important stuff to deal with other than Algebra, like delivering drugs, and being a parent to my dad.

“Don’t judge me, but I had the biggest crush on you,” Justin randomly says, his eyes lowered by his confession.

I blush, taken aback. “Really?” I ask, incredulous.

“Yeah, you were such a badass. I think every guy had a crush on you,” he confirms, nodding.

What now? I don’t think so. I was the brunt of everyone’s jokes, and I accepted that.

“Trust me, Mia,” Justin says when he sees my reaction. And here I thought I was invisible in school.

He reaches across the table, surprising me by taking my hand. I don’t have time to pull it back. “This is kind of pathetic, but no one has even come close to blowing my socks off like you did when we kissed.”

Suddenly, I feel extremely uncomfortable and want my hand back. I pull back subtly, but he won’t let go.

“What are you running from, Mia?” he inexplicably asks, drawing my hand toward him.

Again, I attempt to pull back, but his grip is strong.

“What makes you think I’m running from anything?” I ask, my breath coming out in small pants, confused by his question.

“We’re all running from something,” he replies, dropping his eyes, focusing on a patch of spilled beer in the center of the table.

“What are you running from?” I ask, suddenly feeling a chill pass over my body.

“I’m not running away from everything, Mia. You could say I am running towards it.”

“Towards what?” I question, suddenly seeing a side to Justin I never knew existed.

“Revenge,” he simply replies, meeting my eyes.

I’ve seen that look before. It’s one I see every day in the mirror. Justin has obviously lost someone he loved, and is seeking retribution.

I was too wrapped up in my bullshit to remember much about Justin, other than the fact he was deemed a freak, just like me. His family life was rough, but whose wasn’t? Unless you were the fucking Brady Bunch, then every family had their problems.

The two times we kissed were neither earth shattering, nor sock blowing. The first time was under the bleachers, near the gymnasium, and I felt vulnerable and tired after my dad was on one of his three day benders. And the second time was at some party where we were two misfits, wanting to belong.

After the non-eventful kiss, I saw Justin now and then in the hallways at school, but like I said, at that stage my dad was so far gone, I was more at home than at school, trying to fix his problems. I failed senior year, eventually dropping out.