Sacrifice
Page 114
Irony was like a devil on his shoulder, thinking this was a grand ol’ knee slapper.
He stopped her on the top landing. Her face was flushed and damp, her blond hair wild and full of moonlight. She looked like an angel of vengeance, ready to kick his ass.
“Let me go,” she snapped.
“I know this isn’t all about me,” he said carefully.
That made fresh tears well, and she pressed fingers to her eyes. “You’re right. It’s about like fourteen different people. So why don’t you go away and let me deal with it?”
“Quinn.” He moved closer and spoke low. “Quinn. Please talk to me.”
She swiped the tears free and looked up at him. “Why do you even give a crap, Nick?”
Because she was a hot mess, every emotion on her sleeve, and he admired that—no, he envied that. Because he could feel her intensity when she danced, and he craved that kind of passion in his life. Because she was trapped by circumstance, and so was he.
Because, until tonight, she’d never expected anything from him, and that was damn refreshing.
He studied her face, her eyes that had turned so furious. Every breath that came out of her lungs whispered to him about her tension, her fluttering heartbeat, her anger.
“No one wants me,” she said fiercely.
“Quinn—that’s not true.”
She got right up close to him, putting her chest against his. “It’s not? Do you want me, Nick?”
If it had been any other girl, or any other tone, he could have played along. He probably could have thrown her up against the wall and kissed her silly. But it felt like she was throwing all her cards on the table. Lying to Quinn now would be like the worst kind of cruelty.
It didn’t matter anyway. She’d read his hesitation, or maybe she’d just read the look in his eyes. She turned away.
Shit.
“Quinn. Quinn, stop—”
She whirled. Her hand flew.
She didn’t slap him. She punched him. Hard.
Before he could get it together, she was shoving her key into the door at the top of the steps and then slamming it in his face.
And Nick stood there staring at the wood, wishing he could call her back.
And what would he say? It’s not you. It’s me.
Yeah. Right.
But at least in this case it was true. It had nothing to do with not wanting Quinn.
And everything to do with not wanting any girl.
Quinn just wanted to go to her room, throw her bag down, and crawl into bed.
Unfortunately, Jake was in there.
And he was entertaining. The door was locked. Quinn could hear female giggling and smell pot.
In her room.
Tears bit at her eyes. It was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and go after Nick.
On the opposite side of the hallway, her parents’ bedroom door clicked open. Her mother stood there in rumpled pajamas. She looked about as happy as Quinn felt, that is, not at all.
She’d also obviously been drinking. That scent, sickly sweet, was battling with the marijuana wafting under Quinn’s door.
“Do you know what time it is?” her mother hissed.
“I don’t know why you’re whispering,” Quinn said, sniffing back the tears. “Jake’s obviously not sleeping.”
“Well, at least he has the decency to be quiet about it.”
“I’m standing in the hallway! You’re the one who came out here to talk to me.”
Her mother threw her hands up. “I’m not starting this again.”
“Whatever.” Quinn turned away. “I guess I’ll just make up my bed on the couch.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “You know he’s smoking pot in there.”
Her mother’s lips pursed. “Your brother is home from college. I’m not an idiot, Quinn.”
It wasn’t worth getting her mom riled up when she was lit, but Quinn was already fired up from the argument in the stairway, and she just couldn’t keep the rage confined in her chest. “You’re the one allowing illegal activity in your home.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you were out late working the soup kitchen? Maybe you could cut the attitude.”
Her mother’s voice was devolving into mockery—with a bite. Her voice always gained this cruel edge, as if, when drunk, her sole mission in life was to eliminate any shred of dignity Quinn might be able to cling to.
Quinn wished she had somewhere she could storm off to. At least their house had a basement and a backyard; this itty-bitty condo wasn’t doing anyone any favors. “I wasn’t breaking the law,” she said.
“Oh, who knows what you’re doing anymore, Quinn?”
“I was dancing!”
Her mother rolled her eyes, like that was worse than illegal activity.
“You won’t let me take lessons,” Quinn snapped. “You should be happy I’m going somewhere free.”
“Why would I throw money at something like that? You’ve already gotten yourself kicked off the dance team at school. You mouth off to everyone. You’re ungrateful and nasty and no one can stand you.”
“Well, you’re just a bitch.”
Her mother’s eyes took on a furious gleam, until Quinn wondered if she’d come after her. Sometimes she did. Quinn would hit back. Her father usually dragged them apart.
But her mother just pointed. Her voice was a hoarse yell. “Get out of this house.”
“Where do you want me to go? I can’t walk to Becca’s now.”
He stopped her on the top landing. Her face was flushed and damp, her blond hair wild and full of moonlight. She looked like an angel of vengeance, ready to kick his ass.
“Let me go,” she snapped.
“I know this isn’t all about me,” he said carefully.
That made fresh tears well, and she pressed fingers to her eyes. “You’re right. It’s about like fourteen different people. So why don’t you go away and let me deal with it?”
“Quinn.” He moved closer and spoke low. “Quinn. Please talk to me.”
She swiped the tears free and looked up at him. “Why do you even give a crap, Nick?”
Because she was a hot mess, every emotion on her sleeve, and he admired that—no, he envied that. Because he could feel her intensity when she danced, and he craved that kind of passion in his life. Because she was trapped by circumstance, and so was he.
Because, until tonight, she’d never expected anything from him, and that was damn refreshing.
He studied her face, her eyes that had turned so furious. Every breath that came out of her lungs whispered to him about her tension, her fluttering heartbeat, her anger.
“No one wants me,” she said fiercely.
“Quinn—that’s not true.”
She got right up close to him, putting her chest against his. “It’s not? Do you want me, Nick?”
If it had been any other girl, or any other tone, he could have played along. He probably could have thrown her up against the wall and kissed her silly. But it felt like she was throwing all her cards on the table. Lying to Quinn now would be like the worst kind of cruelty.
It didn’t matter anyway. She’d read his hesitation, or maybe she’d just read the look in his eyes. She turned away.
Shit.
“Quinn. Quinn, stop—”
She whirled. Her hand flew.
She didn’t slap him. She punched him. Hard.
Before he could get it together, she was shoving her key into the door at the top of the steps and then slamming it in his face.
And Nick stood there staring at the wood, wishing he could call her back.
And what would he say? It’s not you. It’s me.
Yeah. Right.
But at least in this case it was true. It had nothing to do with not wanting Quinn.
And everything to do with not wanting any girl.
Quinn just wanted to go to her room, throw her bag down, and crawl into bed.
Unfortunately, Jake was in there.
And he was entertaining. The door was locked. Quinn could hear female giggling and smell pot.
In her room.
Tears bit at her eyes. It was almost enough to make her turn on her heel and go after Nick.
On the opposite side of the hallway, her parents’ bedroom door clicked open. Her mother stood there in rumpled pajamas. She looked about as happy as Quinn felt, that is, not at all.
She’d also obviously been drinking. That scent, sickly sweet, was battling with the marijuana wafting under Quinn’s door.
“Do you know what time it is?” her mother hissed.
“I don’t know why you’re whispering,” Quinn said, sniffing back the tears. “Jake’s obviously not sleeping.”
“Well, at least he has the decency to be quiet about it.”
“I’m standing in the hallway! You’re the one who came out here to talk to me.”
Her mother threw her hands up. “I’m not starting this again.”
“Whatever.” Quinn turned away. “I guess I’ll just make up my bed on the couch.” She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “You know he’s smoking pot in there.”
Her mother’s lips pursed. “Your brother is home from college. I’m not an idiot, Quinn.”
It wasn’t worth getting her mom riled up when she was lit, but Quinn was already fired up from the argument in the stairway, and she just couldn’t keep the rage confined in her chest. “You’re the one allowing illegal activity in your home.”
“Oh, and I’m sure you were out late working the soup kitchen? Maybe you could cut the attitude.”
Her mother’s voice was devolving into mockery—with a bite. Her voice always gained this cruel edge, as if, when drunk, her sole mission in life was to eliminate any shred of dignity Quinn might be able to cling to.
Quinn wished she had somewhere she could storm off to. At least their house had a basement and a backyard; this itty-bitty condo wasn’t doing anyone any favors. “I wasn’t breaking the law,” she said.
“Oh, who knows what you’re doing anymore, Quinn?”
“I was dancing!”
Her mother rolled her eyes, like that was worse than illegal activity.
“You won’t let me take lessons,” Quinn snapped. “You should be happy I’m going somewhere free.”
“Why would I throw money at something like that? You’ve already gotten yourself kicked off the dance team at school. You mouth off to everyone. You’re ungrateful and nasty and no one can stand you.”
“Well, you’re just a bitch.”
Her mother’s eyes took on a furious gleam, until Quinn wondered if she’d come after her. Sometimes she did. Quinn would hit back. Her father usually dragged them apart.
But her mother just pointed. Her voice was a hoarse yell. “Get out of this house.”
“Where do you want me to go? I can’t walk to Becca’s now.”
