Something Like Love Page 17

I grunt in response and he steals my mug from my limp hand, making sure he runs his fingers over my knuckles.

  “Brat, or should I say, brats,” he teases as he blatantly checks me out while pouring himself a cup of coffee, before cheekily saluting Tristan and Polly as he turns around to face them.

  “Merry Christmas, Quinn,” Polly gushes, jumping up and giving him a big hug.

  Trying not to scowl, I look at Tristan, who’s watching me with interest. Suddenly, the already small kitchen just got a whole lot smaller.

  “You too, kiddo,” Quinn replies, affectionately returning her hug, and I wonder when they became best friends.

  It could have been when she was saving my life, I internally mumble, and tell myself to stop acting like a lunatic.

  “Merry Christmas, jerk,” Tristan says, playfully bumping his shoulder into Quinn when he can finally pry himself out of Polly’s clutches.

  “You too, bro.” Quinn laughs, throwing his arm around Tristan and pulling him in for a warm hug, but I don’t fail to see him flinch when he sees the damage inflicted to Tristan’s face.

  My eyes fill with tears, which I quickly brush away, as I don’t want to look like a total cry-baby watching their heartfelt exchange. It’s just so good to see them together, as I know Quinn missed his brother, and I have no doubt Tristan feels the same. Once they pull apart and Quinn playfully messes up Tristan’s hair, he turns to me with a lopsided smile that lets me know I am so in trouble.

  “Merry Christmas, Red,” he hoarsely says, pulling me softly toward him by the drawstrings on my sweater until we are inches apart.

  “Merry Christmas, Quinn,” I reply with a hitch to my voice as I stare into his bold eyes.

  “So, have you been naughty? Or nice?” he asks with that damn smirk.

  “A bit of both,” I reply, licking my suddenly very dry lips.

  Quinn’s eyes follow the movement and his mouth tips up into a grin. “I think you’ve been a little naughtier than nice.” He taps the end of my nose with his finger before pulling away with a wink.

  I almost gag on the collected saliva in my mouth, and tell myself to chill the fuck out because I look like a space cadet.

  “So, you up for a big Christmas dinner tonight?” Polly asks, gazing at Quinn’s impressive physique, her eyes lingering on his nipple ring.

  “Sure, sounds fun,” he replies, absentmindedly scratching his ribs with a yawn.

  Mentally slapping myself and refocusing on the here and now, I ask Polly, “What are we going to eat? I mean, we should try and keep a low profile, and not go into town just yet.”

  Polly nods, but looks awfully happy, so I know she’s thought this through. “Have you seen the size of that pantry?” she says, pointing to the humongous cupboard which takes up half the wall. “We could feed the whole country for a week with the stuff that’s in there.”

  I guess she’s right, as there’s hardly anything that doesn’t come in a can these days. So I shrug, convinced she’s got it all covered.

  I turn to look at Quinn, because he’s gone awfully quiet, and I notice him staring at Tristan. Tristan must notice it too because he quickly looks away, uncomfortable under Quinn’s sharp-eyed stare. But that isn’t a deterrent for Quinn, because he stalks over to him and grabs his chin, turning his face from left to right, examining the damage those bastards inflicted on him. I’m surprised Quinn didn’t do this sooner, but when the small beam of sunlight hit Tristan’s face at the right angle, the grave damage seems highlighted under the gentle rays.

  Quinn grinds down on his jawbone, but keeps a level face as he asks, “You okay?”

  I now understand his distress. The seriousness of our situation has abruptly hit him, and seeing Tristan’s face is just a reminder of what could have happened. When the god awful truth is painted in swirls of black and blue, it becomes very hard to ignore.

  But Tristan scoffs, “Dude!” and swats his hand away, embarrassed by Quinn’s brotherly concern as he shrugs off his injuries.

  “You look like a total bad ass, little bro,” Quinn teases, but the strain around his eyes reveals just how concerned he is to see Tristan beaten and bruised. But he doesn’t push, or make a big deal about it. This whole situation is still so raw, and I don’t think any of us want to start picking at the open wound just yet.

  Tristan reads our concern, but quickly brushes it off as he says, “I’m gonna hit the shower,” and turns to leave, obviously not comfortable with discussing this.

  His announcement has Polly arising and promptly following him upstairs to no doubt spend whatever alone time she can with him.

  With the room cleared, I’m now left alone with a pensive Quinn. We don’t say anything and just stare, appreciating the other. Granted, I have a lot more to appreciate seeing as my subject is standing before me, basically nude. The daylight however, reveals his injuries, and although they aren’t as severe as Tristan’s, the cut above his right eyebrow and the light bruising around his cheek suggests he also took a decent beating. As my gaze drops to his ribs, I can see his torso took the brunt of his attack and I clench my fists, angered that he got hurt. I’m also angered that I didn’t notice this sooner, as I was too busy gawking at his hotness.

  “I’m okay, Red,” Quinn says, gently reaching forward and unclasping my fist.

  Raising my eyes to meet his, I notice a small clump of hair sticking to his brow. Curiosity gets the better of me and as I brush it back, Quinn hisses and pulls away, not wanting me to see. But it’s too late, because hiding under his hair is a massive, raw gash.

  I gasp, horrified that he’s so badly hurt and I didn’t even know. “You are not okay!” I affirm, pulling my hand away. “Does it hurt? Do you need stitches? Have you dressed the wound?” I ask, attempting to examine it once again, but Quinn ducks out of the way.

  Suddenly, I painfully remember me slamming my hips not so gently against his face, and I cringe, hoping I didn’t add to his injuries.

  “Don’t you dare apologize.” He grins, reading my concern.

  “But I…sat…on your…face,” I state, almost dying in embarrassment. “You should have told me you were hurt.”

  Quinn smirks as he pulls me toward him, pressing my chest to his. “Red, it would have hurt a lot more if you didn’t sit on my face.”

  I feel my cheeks instantly redden at not only his comment, but also, the very vivid memory which is currently replaying in my mind.

  Quickly stepping out of his loose grip, I once again lower my eyes, desperately needing to avoid his smug smile before I combust into needy flames. When I do, I can’t help but examine his tattoo, and in the light of day, it’s even more beautiful than I remember it being.

  Quinn can see me looking at it as he’s propped up against the counter, leaning backward, but he doesn’t shy away from my gaze.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, gesturing to his ink with my finger as I raise my eyes to meet his.

  “Thanks,” he replies, running a hand down his side. “Jim Morrison is awesome.”

  “Huh?” I counter, cocking an eyebrow, and Quinn chuckles at my puzzlement.

  “It’s a Jim Morrison quote,” he explains.

  “Oh,” I reply, disappointed, as for some reason I thought there was a hidden meaning behind it.

  “Yeah, the man was a genius.” I nod, but am still unconvinced.

  “Does it hold any significance to you?” I softly ask, hoping I’m not crossing any lines.

  After last night, I need him to know that whatever his fate may be, he’ll always have my love.

  He sucks on his hoop and weighs up how best to answer me, which makes me think he’s thinking up a plausible lie that’ll shut me up.

  No such luck. “I think we all get tattooed for a reason. Each piece has its own story, and usually holds some significance for us to get it permanently inked on our skin. A forever reminder of the reason why we got it in the first place,” I add, hoping he takes the bait.

  “Nope, no significance here,�
�� he replies casually, but I don’t buy it. “You look disappointed,” he adds as he raises the mug to his lips, watching me closely.

  Of course I am, because deep down I know he’s lying to me. But I don’t have time to answer him as Cynthia hobbles into the kitchen, putting an end to our discussion.

  “Good morning you two,” she says with a strained smile.

  Her condition has me quickly forgetting the tattoo issue, and I quickly reach for a chair, pulling it out so she can sit.

  “Thank you, Mia,” she says, hissing in pain as lowers herself onto the seat.

  “I’m gonna hit the shower,” Quinn says after a moment of silence.

  Once he’s washed out his mug, he kisses my forehead lightly and leaves us alone, giving us some privacy.

  I stare at Cynthia, and as I see her worn and tired body sag in exhaustion, the anger and hate I feel towards her slowly fades. She’s not the enemy, and in a way, she’s just as much a victim as I am. The fact she left me with my dad and uncle, has changed the story, as maybe, just maybe, she thought she was doing the right thing.

  “I’m so sorry, Mia,” she whispers, disturbing my thoughts.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, I reply, “You need to tell me the truth. The fact that Phil is your brother, and my uncle,” I say through clenched teeth, “it just adds to the crazy. You owe me the truth, Cynthia,” I say, on the cusp of begging.

  “You’re right,” she replies, running a shaky hand down her face before meeting my eyes. “I left you because…” She pauses, her lower lip trembling. “I left you,” she looks at the floor, “to save your life.” A tear spills from her red rimmed eye.

  “How? How does that make any sense?” I ask, baffled and angered by her response.

  “Because your father was going to kill you if I took you with me,” she sobs. “I left you, Mia, because if I didn’t, he’d kill us all.”

  Her revelation hits me like a sucker punch to the guts, and I clutch onto the countertop for support. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice wavering at her shocking reply.

  Cynthia wipes her teary eyes before she begins her tale. “I loved your father, I really did. But he never wanted kids, which was something he never told me. But when I got pregnant with you, I thought that would change.” She sniffs noisily.

  I give her my full attention, my heavy breathing the only thing alerting her to the fact that I’m alive, as I remain motionless, not wanting to miss a moment of her story.

  “Throughout the pregnancy, your father never changed his mind. He showed no interest and pretended like I wasn’t pregnant. He just refused to accept the fact that he was going to be a father. If I knew how strongly he opposed being a parent, then I would have never married him,” she whispers. “He changed, Mia. He wasn’t the man I once knew.”

  “Halfway through my pregnancy, I converted the spare bedroom, which was Thomas’ study, into your nursery, and I spent hours in there, making it perfect. I thought if I could show him how this wasn’t a curse, but instead a blessing, that he’d come around, but sadly, he didn’t. He simply ignored me, and when I asked him to come to my doctor appointments, or shopping, he just acted as if we both didn’t exist. After a while, I just accepted his detachment, disillusioned by the fantasy that he would eventually come around.”

  She takes a big breath before she continues. “One Friday evening, I was putting together the crib I purchased for you and Thomas came home, smelling of cheap beer and even cheaper women. He found me in the study and looked around the freshly painted pink walks like he’d stepped into a dream. The look in his eyes, it scared me,” she says, shuddering at the memory. “He demanded to know where all his things were, and then, everything just exploded. I questioned where he was, because it was obvious he was with a woman, as the cheap lipstick mark on his collar was a dead giveaway. But he was enraged, and the more I pushed him, the worse he got. All he seemed to care about was where his things were. Ina rage, I lied and said I had thrown them all away. They were in storage, but I was just so mad that that’s all he cared about.”

  An ominous feeling begins building within me, and I know what she tells me next is going to break me.

  “I began yelling at him, and my anger towards him came boiling to the surface. I told him that I couldn’t be with him if he wasn’t going to accept you into our lives. He got so mad,” she whispers, wringing her hands. “The look in his eyes was so cold, so detached, and I knew then that he would never accept being a father. I told him I was going to stay with my mom until I figured out what I wanted to do. But he didn’t take too kindly to that suggestion, and when I tried to leave, he stood in my way. I fought him, which was silly, but I was just so angry at him. I never thought he’d fight back.”

  “What?” I gasp, covering my gaping mouth with a shaky hand.

  She sadly nods. “When I told him I was leaving and he couldn’t stop me, I felt so elated for the first time in so long. But I only got as far as the hallway, because in a drunken rage, he grabbed me and threw me against the wall. I don’t remember the pain, because all I could focus on was the red pool of blood staining my white tennis shoes.”

  I blindly fall into the empty seat next to Cynthia before my unsteady legs collapse out from under me.

  She went on with her story, appearing as if she couldn’t stop now that she’s unbottled the truth.

  “I drove myself to the hospital because your father was too drunk to drive. The entire time, I ignored his tears and apologies, because all I could focus on was you. I couldn’t lose you because you were all I had, because after this, there was no way I was staying with Thomas. We arrived at the hospital and I was on autopilot as I calmly walked into the ER, leaving a trail of blood behind me as I asked to see a doctor. Everything is a blur from that moment forward, as I slipped in and out of consciousness, but that Friday night I nearly lost you, Mia.” She sniffles, meeting my wide eyes.

  I wish I could speak, but I feel like my tongue weighs 200 pounds, and I only nod, silently begging her to continue.

  “They performed an emergency C-section to get you out because you were dying. The whole time, Thomas cursed you, saying it was your fault, as I too almost died from internal hemorrhaging.”

  I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth.

  “You were so tiny when they pulled you out and you weren’t crying, so I thought you hadn’t made it. But the moment I heard your tiny cry, my body gave out in relief and I passed out. I came to the day after, demanding to see you, but Thomas said you were in the Intensive Care Unit, and the doctors weren’t sure if you’d survive. I demanded to see you, and Thomas thankfully complied. He lifted me into a wheelchair and took me to see you. The moment I saw you through that glass window changed my life. You were a part of me, Mia, and I promised to never allow anyone to hurt you ever again.”

  “What happened? Because you lied,” I reply, my throat raw, as I’m trying to keep my tears at bay.

  Cynthia sighs, rubbing her brow. “I know, and I’m so sorry. You stayed in the hospital for weeks, and I visited every day. The day I finally got to hold you, that day was the best day of my life. You were so tiny, but you were perfect because you were mine, and that’s when I decided on your name. Mia. It seemed fitting.”

  “During this time, Thomas slowly accepted you, but it was too late. Because of him, you had almost died. But as each day passed, the old Thomas Lee, the man I loved, and the man I married, returned, and my illusion of playing happy family started to become a reality.”

  Cynthia watches me scoff, and she nods. “I know, Mia, but I was young and stupid, and I was also afraid. A single mom at age nineteen scared the living daylights out of me, and I wanted to provide my baby with what I never had. A mother and a father. Because like you in a way, I never knew my father. He left when I was too young to remember, and it was only me, my mom and Phillip.”

  I see the way her voice quakes when she mentions Phil. But he will have to wait, as I need her to finish this story.

 
; “So, what happened?” I encourage.

  “When the doctors said it was okay for you to come home, I only agreed to go back on the proviso that your father was to go to counseling. He promised he never meant to push me and that it was an accident, and that he would change, and he did. The next eighteen months, they were the happiest of my life as we became a family. But the day Phillip was released from prison was the day things changed.”

  “Phil was in prison?” I gasp.

  “Yes. Phillip was always a troubled teen. I blame my father for his behavior. Anyway, he was incarcerated for being in possession of a large quantity of ecstasy tablets. Phillip stated they were for recreational use, but the judge didn’t buy it. He had over five hundred tablets on him when the police arrested him.”

  My face pales as I begin to digest what Cynthia just said. This means that Phil started out being a drug pusher, just like me. That motherfucker imposed the same life sentence on me. And even though he knew what the risks were, he just didn’t care. He had no qualms forcing his eight year old niece to follow in his footsteps.

  Cynthia sees my pain and softly places her hand on my knee. But I pull out of her grip, not wanting any comfort.

  She nods, understanding my actions. “Because it was his first offense, he went to jail for five years. The man who went into Statesville Penitentiary was not the same man who came out. Prison changed Phillip, and instead of teaching him a lesson, it only taught him to become a smarter criminal. I knew your father looked up to Phillip, he always had, but once he was released, Thomas worshiped him. It was like Phillip represented what he wanted—freedom. Not long after, they became very close, and Thomas got into the routine of going out all night with Phillip, and not returning until the early hours of the next morning. He slept all day and partied all night, and the man I loved was once again lost to me.”

  “A few months after your second birthday, I made the decision to leave your father. He missed your birthday when he promised he would attend. In secret, I made preparations to see an attorney and that’s where I met Chandler. He was working as an intern at the law firm, but I lied and didn’t tell him why I was there. There was an instant attraction, as Chandler was everything your father once was—kind, caring, and in love with me. After the hardships I had with Thomas, I was vulnerable, and in a moment of weakness, I sinned, breaking my marital vows.”