He sighed, then swore under his breath. When they came to a red light, she could feel his eyes on her.
“Please don’t do this,” he said, his voice quiet but intense.
“You’re the only friend I can talk to. If I’ve f**ked something up, just tell me.” He paused. “I know you’re not talking to Becca. What happened?”
“How do you know that?”
“She asked me about you.”
“Oh, she remembers me now? That’s awfully sweet of her.”
“She’s concerned about you. When you said you were all right last night, I thought you were at her place.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“Where were you? Did you go home?”
“No, I was waiting out my mom. I was dancing on the trail by the woods.” Part of her didn’t want to talk about this, about any of it. Another part of her wanted to throw everything in Nick’s face.
God, this sucked. He was too good looking, too nice. Throw supernatural powers in the mix, and it was like fate was playing a cruel joke on her. Maybe next he’d tell her he had a winning lottery ticket in the glove box.
“You were dancing on the trail? Where?” said Nick.
“Where you picked me up the other night.”
Nick blew a loud rush of air through his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. “For god’s sake, Quinn, are you insane?”
“Probably. Some punk tried to steal my iPod.”
“You’re lucky that’s all that happened. Tyler lives near there.
He could have—”
“Tyler stopped him.”
Nick’s jaw tightened. The truck instantly went ten degrees colder. Quinn shivered.
“Stop it,” she snapped. “I’m already freezing.”
He turned the vent to high, but it didn’t help much. “What do you mean, Tyler stopped him?”
It wasn’t until he spoke that she realized this was what she wanted. Fury in his voice. A hint of anger and jealousy and pro-tectiveness. “The kid who stole my iPod. Tyler stopped him before he could take off with it. Then he bought me taquitos and we drank sodas on the roof of his strip mall.”
She flung the words at Nick like an attack. She didn’t know what she expected from him. A reaction, for sure. But silence captured the interior of the truck cab, thick and hard to breathe.
His disapproval hung in the air, pressing against her skin.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he finally said.
“I’m not kidding. It was fine. He was nice.”
“He is not nice, Quinn.”
“Maybe not to you, but he was nice to me.”
“This isn’t a game!” he snapped. “If he’s being nice to you, it’s so he can use you against me.”
“Why?” she fired back. “Because I’m only good for guys to use me? That’s working out really great for you, isn’t it, Nick?”
The air in the cab moved, lifting a few strands of her hair.
Nick’s hands clutched the steering wheel like he wished it was Tyler’s neck.
“Look,” he said, his voice rough and low like gravel. “Tyler is cruel. Destructive. You know this. He hit you in the face and burned your arm and—”
“He didn’t hit me in the face!”
Nick gave it right back to her. “Then who did, Quinn?”
She locked her eyes on the windshield, suddenly afraid she might cry. Air moved through the cab again, warmer now, a caress along her exposed skin.
It felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t tell him. Like Becca, Nick knew some of what her home life was like, but not enough.
They mostly knew what it had been like before: the screaming matches with her mother, the father who seemed to forget he had a family. But since the fire, things had changed. Money was tight, and it was like her parents clung to Jake and his scholarship as if that was the shining star in their lives. Like that put food on the table.
More likely, keeping her mom away from the liquor store would do a lot more for their family than Jake’s stupid scholarship.
Not like Jake was making use of that scholarship, the way he kept frying his brain cells every night.
If Quinn told Nick about how her mother practically drank herself unconscious, or how her brother could barely string a sentence together, but didn’t mind strong-arming her into the wall when he needed twenty bucks, Nick would step in. He’d be the white knight in shining armor. He’d rescue her.
And then he’d kiss her on her forehead and go off with a knight of his own.
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me,” said Nick, his tone resigned. “I can’t believe you think that ass**le could be nice—”
“He was nice,” she said icily. “You know, he still thinks your brother killed his sister. He actually seemed kind of upset about it.”
“Upset. Yeah, okay.” Nick looked disgusted. “Did he tell you about the time he tried to kill Chris? Or the time he and his friends pinned Michael down in a parking lot and took a butane lighter to his face? Or how about the time he cornered me in the gym and—”
Nick broke off, breathing fast.
“And what?” she said.
“You know what? Forget us. Think about Becca. Just ask her what she thinks of Tyler.”
Quinn didn’t want to think about Becca. Lately, any time thoughts of Becca entered her brain, a bunch of jealousy and resentment crowded in alongside. “Well, maybe if Becca had been honest all along, I’d already know her thoughts about Tyler.”
Nick looked incredulous. “Maybe if you’d talk to her, she could be! Tyler’s best friend was one of the guys who tried to rape Becca. Seth Ramsey. He and Drew McKay dragged her onto the soccer field at Homecoming. Remember that?”
Quinn flinched. She remembered Becca’s torn, rain-soaked dress, the way her best friend had shivered in the backseat on the drive home. Chris Merrick had witnessed the attack, and Seth and Drew had been expelled from school. “I remember. But I’m not going to hold Tyler responsible for something Seth and Drew did—”
“Jesus, Quinn, fine. Maybe not then. But he tried to kill her at Drew’s party a few weeks ago. She and Chris ran into the water, and Tyler tried to shoot them. With a gun.”
Quinn didn’t say anything to that. Her brain was roiling with two different emotions.
Fear. Tyler had a gun. She’d seen it. He’d played it off by saying he was protecting his property, but . . . he’d been shooting at Becca?
Then anger. Becca had never said anything about Tyler shooting at her that night.
She’d never said anything about any of this.
Becca acted like she wanted to kiss and make up, but what was the point? Quinn was so tired of all these secrets.
Nick kept going. “I can’t believe you thought he was nice. Do you just find the most destructive people you can and latch on to them?”
She flinched. The words hurt more than anything her mom had said. Anything her brother had done. Quinn had to squish her eyes closed to keep the tears from planning an escape route.
When she was sure her voice would be steady, she looked at him. “I don’t know, Nick. Do I?”
He jerked the wheel to turn into the parking lot of the dance studio, then flung the vehicle roughly into park.
He didn’t look at her.
She wasn’t going to wait around for him to make her feel worse, so she got out of the truck and slammed the door closed.
Then she pushed into the nearly empty studio and stomped across the wooden floor, throwing her bag on the ground beside where Adam was making notes on a clipboard.
He looked as good as Nick, despite the bare feet and cutoff sweatpants. He was all unruly hair and dark eyes and caramel skin. A maroon long-sleeved tee did little to hide his build.
Her hair was a windblown mess, and if she took her sweatshirt off, there was probably a roll of pudge hanging over the waistband of her spandex capris. God only knew what state her makeup was in, after nearly crying in the car.
Adam glanced up, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. One kind word and she’d go to pieces.
Nick hadn’t followed her.
She wanted to cry for all the wrong reasons.
Adam set the clipboard down, and she could hear it in his in-drawn breath, that he was going to pry. His hands were already reaching out to touch her.
Just what she needed. Another guy who had no interest in her.
Quinn swiped at her eyes and grabbed her bag. “I can’t do it tonight, Adam. I’m sorry.”
“You—wait. Stop, Quinn—what’s wrong?”
“Not tonight,” she called back. She walked through the back door to the studio, bursting into the cold night air.
Nick’s truck was on the other side of the building—if he’d bothered to wait at all. Quinn hunched her shoulders and headed for the road.
What a dick. Everyone else got everything they wanted.
Becca had Chris. Nick had Adam. Quinn had nothing. She had a fake boyfriend who gave her a raft of shit the first time someone else was nice to her.
The thought rang false inside her head, and she told her subconscious to stick it.
A metro bus was rolling up to the curb. The brakes squealed into the darkness and the door creaked open. Adam took the bus all the time, but Quinn had never tried. At least it was a surefire escape from Nick.
She climbed the steps and sniffed back the last of her tears.
“How much?”
“One sixty, one way. Three fifty, ride all day.”
All day. Quinn wondered who would spend the entire day on a bus. Then she realized it was warm in here, and empty aside from the driver. No one to bother her.
“Ride all night, too?” she asked.
“We stop running at two.”
Well, there went that. She counted out a dollar sixty and crammed her money into the slot.
Once the vehicle started moving, she realized she had no idea where she was going.
Wasn’t that always the case?
Her phone chimed. Nick.
Where did you go?
Quinn deleted it.
Then she started a new text.
Playing sentry again tonight?
The response text took less than three seconds.
Why? Need rescuing, baby girl?
Quinn smiled.
Now that you mention it, yeah. I do.
Her phone vibrated almost immediately.
What’s up?
I’m on a bus, bound for nowhere.
Sweetheart, it’s a TRAIN bound for nowhere.
Her heart gave a little squee at the endearment. It meant nothing and everything all at once. She smiled over her phone while she texted back.
Well, I’m on a bus with no destination in mind.
Want me to come get you?
Quinn stopped and stared at the phone. Was this dangerous?
It didn’t feel dangerous. Tyler had had ample opportunity to hurt her last night and he hadn’t.
When Becca had first told her about finding Chris in the middle of a fight with Tyler and Seth in the parking lot, Quinn’s first question had been, “Why?”
She’d never gotten a good answer.
She slid her thumbs across the face of her phone.
Are more taquitos in my future?
Play your cards right and there might be a soda, too.
His texts were teasing, so she wasn’t sure if his offer to come get her was genuine. She didn’t want to get off the bus until she knew for sure.
Then her phone lit up with a new message.
Don’t make me ride the bus all night. Where should I pick you up?
“Excuse me,” she called to the driver. “What’s the next stop?”
“Annapolis Mall. West side.”
Next stop is Annapolis Mall. West side.
Well look at that. You just got upgraded to a soft pretzel. See you in 10.
CHAPTER 12
Nick swore at his cell phone for the third time. Or maybe the tenth. He’d lost track.