Tyler leaned into her and caught her eye. “Tell him we’ll come get him,” he said. “See if he can get you an address.”
“Do you want us to come get you?” said Quinn. “I’m with a friend.”
Jordan’s voice tightened right up. “Gross. I don’t want to hang out with you and your boyfriend.”
Fear and tension caught up with Quinn. “Damn it, Jordan, I’m trying to—”
“Stop screaming at me, Quinn! I’m sick of people screaming at me!”
She so didn’t need this. Quinn inhaled to lay into him, but Tyler plucked the phone out of her hand. “Hey, man, this is Quinn’s friend Tyler. Are you all right where you are, or do you want us to come get you?”
His voice was level, easy, very we’re-all-bros-in-this-together.
And Jordan was responding, from the bits she could hear.
Quinn stared at Tyler, wondering if she should grab the phone or kiss him.
Then Tyler said, “No, you’re right. It sucks, kid. It does.
Look, see if you can get a pen. I’ll give you my number. If you change your mind, call me. We’ll come get you. All right?”
Then he gave his number, got her brother to promise to use it, and pushed the button to end the call.
Quinn couldn’t stop staring at him. She’d never met anyone like him, so self-assured and confident yet not completely into himself.
“What?” said Tyler.
She shook herself. “Nothing. Let’s get out—”
She froze. Her mother stood by the corner leading to the gal-ley kitchen. A threadbare bathrobe clung to her frame, and Quinn was glad the belt seemed securely knotted, because the drooping shoulder showed that her mom wasn’t wearing anything beneath the terry cloth. She’d showered at some point, because her hair had dried into unbrushed clumps, but from the waves of alcohol emanating from her, she’d been hitting the bottle since then.
The expression in her eyes was terrifying. A trophy was clutched in one hand. A basketball trophy. One of Jake’s.
Quinn wasn’t sure whether to be relieved her mom was still alive, or disgusted that she was obviously still obsessed with Jake’s success.
Then her mother spoke.
“How could you do that?” she said, her voice cracked and raw. And slurring. She took a few steps toward the couch.
“How could you, Quinn?”
Quinn swallowed. “I didn’t—I didn’t do—”
“Shut up! Shut up! You’re out whoring around and now you—”
“I’m not whoring around!” Quinn was on her feet, ready to get in her mother’s face.
“Take it easy.” Tyler had a hand on her arm, and his voice was quiet. “Let’s just walk out.”
“Shut up!” Quinn’s mom shrieked. “You were here, too! You did this! He had a future, you bitch! You screw up everything!
Everything!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Now Quinn was crying, and she didn’t care. “He was—”
“Shut up!” The words were practically unintelligible with rage. “Shut the f**k up! You did this! You!”
And then, without warning, her mom crumpled to the carpet, sobbing, the trophy pressed to her face.
Quinn stood there, shaking. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know what to do.
Tyler’s voice was low. “Let’s get out of here, Quinn.”
But she couldn’t leave, not like this. Some part of her couldn’t leave her mother a weeping mess on the floor. The drooping side of the bathrobe gaped now, revealing a sagging breast. Hair was sticking to her mother’s saliva. She wailed.
Quinn went to her, dropping to her knees. “Mom. Mom, stop. Please, let me help you.” She put a hand on a shaky shoulder. “Mom, it’s okay—”
“Don’t touch me! You ruin everything!”
Then her mom swung at her with the trophy.
Quinn didn’t even see it coming. The marble base caught her square in the face. She saw stars. Constellations. Whole frigging galaxies. Then blackness.
She wasn’t out for long. She came to in Tyler’s arms, still in her apartment foyer. Her mother was shrieking at them to get out, to get the f**k out, to get that whore out of her apartment.
Quinn couldn’t seem to get her eyes to focus on anything, from Tyler’s face, to the doorway, to the dashboard in front of her when Tyler buckled her into the seat.
“Fuck this,” he said, starting his ignition, but not shifting into gear. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Quinn struggled to get her limbs to respond. “No,” she said.
“No police.”
Tyler sucked in a long breath and touched her face. “Sweetheart, I think you need an ambulance.”
“No. Please. No. They’ll call—they’ll call—”
She couldn’t get her voice to work, and she realized she was crying.
“Shh,” said Tyler. “It’s all right. I’ll just drive you to the hospital. Okay?” He shifted into gear.
“No. No. They’ll make me go to a foster home or something.
Please, Tyler. Please.” She was hiccupping now, ugly crying, full out. “Please. No.”
He stopped at the end of the parking lot and looked at her.
“You need help. She might have broken your cheekbone.” He winced. “Your face is already swelling.”
She knew it was. She could feel it all the way into her eye.
“Can’t you heal it?”
He looked back at the road. His voice was suddenly hollow.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I could.”
“Nick healed me once. Please, Tyler. Please, I can’t—I can’t—”“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.” He rubbed at his temples, then pulled out of the parking lot.
“No hospital,” she said. Her words were slurring, and it reminded her of her mother. That made fresh tears well.
You ruin everything.
Her breath caught and stuttered.
“Easy,” said Tyler. “No hospital, okay?”
“Then where?” He hit a bump and a wave of pain swept through her face, and she almost reconsidered.
“The beach,” he said. “I need fire.”
Quinn felt like time somehow vanished.
Stars scattered overhead, spinning wildly every time she moved her eyes. She lay in the sand, beside a roaring bonfire that seemed to stretch a mile high. The heat was intense, forcing sweat from her skin. Her head pounded like her mother kept swinging that trophy over and over again.
Tyler crouched over her, stroking his finger along her cheek, so lightly that Quinn barely felt it. “She broke the skin, too.”
Quinn sniffed and put a hand to her eyes, but she felt the edge of the swelling and dropped her hand. “I don’t—I don’t know why she hates me.”
“I don’t think she hates you, baby girl,” he said. “I think she hates herself.”
She gave half a choked sob. “I feel ridiculous when you call me that.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
She shook her head. The motion hurt. She wanted to throw up. Nausea meant broken bones, didn’t it? She was terrified to touch her cheek, to feel whether anything would shift.
“Heal it,” she said. “Please.”
“Quinn—” His voice was tight. Distressed. “Maybe I should just take you to the hospital. This was a bad idea.”
“No. No, I’m okay.” She struggled to get her arm underneath her.
Wrong idea. The horizon shifted. So did the contents of her stomach. She gagged and almost threw up.
“Whoa,” said Tyler. He gently eased her back down. The fire seemed to blaze brighter, or maybe her eyes were playing tricks.
“Are you worried?” she said.
“Worried?” He leaned close, his eyes picking up the glow from the fire.
“That you can’t do it?”
He grimaced and looked at the fire. “No.”
She wanted to punch him, but she’d probably end up puking all over him instead. “Then what—why won’t you help me?” A thought occurred to her and she started crying again, shaking sobs that made her head pulse with pain. “Do you hate me, too?
Did I f**k it up with you, too? Did I—”
“No! No, Quinn. No.” He leaned close again, pressing a hand to her cheek. His palm was fire-hot, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, she wanted to lean into it.
Then heat surged through her veins, fire swirling through every blood vessel, making her gasp.
“I’m not worried because I don’t think I can help you,” Tyler said quietly, his eyes afraid, his expression intense. His voice dropped until she could barely hear him over the flames. “I’m worried because I know I can.”
CHAPTER 18
When Adam knocked on the front door, eagerness and panic were waging a full-on wrestling match in Nick’s stomach. What was he supposed to do, text everyone something like, Just want to make sure you’ll all be out past eleven. Nothing to see here. Just me and my textbook.
He’d taken the fastest shower in the history of time and changed clothes, but it left him feeling more on edge. The whole five minutes he’d been in the shower, he worried Adam would show up at the same time as one of his brothers.
But now Adam was here, knocking, and Nick couldn’t seem to get the door open fast enough.
Somehow Adam managed to look better every time he saw him. The porch light threaded his hair with gold and painted shadows under his cheekbones.
“You look nervous,” said Adam.
“I am nervous,” Nick breathed. But you’re here. You’re on my doorstep. You’re in my space, and I don’t want you to go.
Adam didn’t wait for an invitation. He moved across the threshold and pushed the door closed quietly behind him. “Are we still alone?”
“Yeah.”
Adam stepped forward and kissed him. Nothing hesitant, nothing unsure. Simply the soft pressure of his lips against Nick’s mouth. Then the first brush of tongue, lighting sparks in Nick’s body, sending his thoughts reeling. The room felt warmer, the air soft and welcoming, eager for the way his mood lightened in Adam’s presence.
Adam shifted closer, until Nick could feel the heat of his chest and the brush of his hips. Then closer, his hands finding Nick’s face and winding in his hair.
Nick made a low sound and slid his hands under Adam’s coat, finding the warm muscled span of his waist.
Adam drew back and smiled. His voice was soft in the space between them. “Keep going like that and we’ll never leave the foyer.”
“Is it wrong that I don’t care?”
Adam laughed. “I want to see where you live.”
“It’s very exciting. Here, give me your coat.” And your shirt, and your—
“It is exciting.” Adam shrugged out of his coat. “And I might not get another chance.”
Well, that was sobering. But Nick took his coat and stashed it in the front closet.
Adam followed him through the lower level without much comment, until they came full circle to the staircase.
“No pictures,” said Adam.
“What?”
“There aren’t any pictures anywhere. Of your family. Or—”
He hesitated, as if realizing he’d made a misstep. “Of your brothers.”
Nick shrugged, but his shoulders felt tense again. “We used to have some. They were destroyed.”
“Fire?”
Nick shook his head. “It’s—it’s a long story.”
A lie. It was a pretty short story, really. He didn’t want to relive it, but his brain was more than happy to supply the memories. While Nick and his brothers were at their parents’ funeral, Tyler and his best friend Seth had broken into the house. They’d destroyed every picture they could find.