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“Well,” said Adam, a slight smile on his lips. “That was unexpected.”
Unexpected. Somehow the best and worst word to use. All of a sudden, the emotion of the evening caught up with him, and Nick felt the inexplicable urge to put his head on Adam’s shoulder and cry.
But then a girl cleared her throat from behind him.
“You can say that again,” said Quinn.
CHAPTER 6
Quinn wondered just how many times life was going to jerk her around today.
She’d have to storm past Nick and Adam to get to the front door, but a sliding glass door led out of the living room. An alcoholic buzz still made her thoughts swim, but she managed to get the lock thrown. She stumbled onto the tiny concrete patio. Cold air bit at her cheeks before Nick caught up to her.
“Stop,” he said. “Quinn, stop, please—”
She swung around and hit him. Rage-filled strikes that slammed into his chest and made her head ache and vision whirl.
She was vaguely aware she was crying, and she had no idea how many times she hit him before he caught her arms and forced her still.
Quinn looked up at him. Her body felt like she was still moving. The stars spun overhead. Her stomach rolled.
“Quinn,” he whispered.
“Nick,” she said back.
And then she threw up on his feet.
He deserved it, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating. She expected him to shove her away in disgust, or to drop her there in her own puke, because she could barely hold herself upright.
But he kicked off his shoes and picked her up.
“I want you to leave me alone,” she said, even as her head lolled onto his shoulder against her will.
“No offense,” he said as he carried her back into the apartment, “but I’m pretty sure you’re as screwed up about what you want as I am.”
He cleaned her up and put her back in Adam’s bed. Then he wrapped the quilt around her and lay down beside her.
Adam brought her Tylenol and a glass of water, then left them alone.
Quinn stared through the darkness at the ceiling. It wasn’t spinning now. Every breath seemed to clear her head.
Stupid tears were still leaking out of her eyes, and she angrily swiped them away.
“I’m sorry,” said Nick.
“So you’re g*y?”
He was silent for a moment, and his voice was careful. “I don’t know.”
“No offense,” she said, mocking his earlier tone, “but I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of thing you’d know by now.”
He rolled up on one shoulder to look down at her—but he didn’t say anything.
And then she recognized the uncertainty in his eyes, the mixture of worry and fear and panic and need. She struggled with acceptance every day—she’d never considered that someone like Nick Merrick would be struggling with the same thing. He’d seemed like such a rock, such a steady, put-together guy, and she’d latched on to him, hoping to find some security.
He was really just as screwed up as she was.
That chased the anger away. “Do your brothers know?” she said quietly.
