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But Quentin felt nothing. The only person who seemed to ignite this lion-like fervor within him was Charlotte. He halted himself, thrusting his palms against the wall, trying to calm his racing heart. The blood had rushed into the tip of his cock full-force now. He needed release. But deep in the labyrinth-like hallways of his daughter’s hospital, he would have nothing.
He’d be pent-up. He’d be forced to linger through dozens of dreams of Charlotte’s naked quivering body until morning.
Quentin slept fitfully on the side bench in Morgan’s room, waking periodically to check that his daughter was breathing all right. He remembered when she was a baby, taking her home with him for the first time, anxious that he didn’t have Kate by his side any longer. He’d forced himself to stay awake, wide-eyed, without any drugs besides coffee, just to ensure she was all right. She’d slept like a log, yet Quentin had felt they were continually on the brink of disaster.
Kate arrived at around eight in the morning, when the doctor was planning to do his final analysis and then let Morgan go. She brought a change of clothes, along with some bagels, and the three of them chewed companionably, with Morgan sitting upright in bed, her legs crossed before her.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you eat carbs in years,” Quentin told Kate. “Perhaps ever.”
Kate rolled her eyes, taking a delicate bite. “Do you see me growing fatter in front of your eyes?”
“You’d be beautiful either way, Mom,” Morgan said, sounding annoyed.
“The kid’s right,” Quentin said firmly.
Kate gave him a glowing smile.
“Listen,” Quentin said, addressing both of them. “I do have to go into the office today. I have a big interview with an up-and-coming band, and I need to check in on the writers. We’re printing next week. Stressful time.”
“You should go,” Kate said, her eyebrows high. “Morg’s about to get released, and then we’ll just chill out at home the rest of the day.”
“I have to practice anyway,” Morgan said stiffly.
“Why not take another day off?” Quentin asked.
“You’re not,” Morgan said pointedly.
“Fair,” Quentin said, rising. He kissed his daughter on the forehead, already feeling regretful to leave. “Well, promise that the moment you feel weak, you’ll head back to bed. Okay?”
Quentin fled the hospital and hailed a taxi immediately, rushing back to his apartment building to shower and change. He felt the weight fall from his shoulders, knowing that Charlotte wasn’t currently in the apartment building, having already trudged to work. He scrubbed himself clean, kicking his nails into his back and feeling at his spine. As he left the apartment building, he yanked the trash from the trashcan, remembering that the Chinese residue was leftover there—something he wanted far, far away from his sanitary house.
When Quentin had been his dominant rock star self, he’d avoided women constantly after sleeping with them, turning a blind eye and almost taking pleasure in the pain that danced across their faces. He’d hurt hundreds of women, probably, with his ravenous, sexual addiction and his assurance that no one girl was “the one.”
He would do the same to Charlotte. For the good of them both.
Taking the elevator up to the MMM offices, he prepped himself, internally, for the meeting with Thick Soled. While his writers took over most of the features, he liked to write at least one big one every magazine, positioning himself as the top-tier writer at the magazine. He wasn’t just in charge, he was fucking good, an artist. And his articles were most often read on the Internet, anyway.
Thick Soled had been an up-and-comer for at least a year, playing dark, dive bars in Brooklyn and Chicago before finally signing a label and releasing their first record. Their sound was grungy, raspy, howling—not unlike Orpheus Arise had been, ten years before. Their plan, to meet at his office at one-thirty and then trudge to whatever bar would have them, was Quentin’s saving grace for the day. Ignoring Charlotte’s brilliant form would be easier from far away.
But the moment the elevator doors opened, Quentin took his first step into the office and found himself in tense, impenetrable eye contact with Charlotte herself, who stood speaking with Maggie near the entrance to his office. After several seconds of heart-racing, gut-wrenching uncertainty—during which he wanted to blast Charlotte against the wall and rip at her business clothes—he finally lurched his eyes away, all-out ignoring her. He eyed Maggie and nodded toward his office. “Maggie. I’d like to see you in my office.”
“Q. Good to see you back,” Maggie said.
Quentin felt Charlotte’s brooding eyes upon him, dancing from Maggie to Quentin and back. Her lips parted soundlessly. Through the corner of Quentin’s eyes, he thought he could see a tiny tear trickle from the corner of hers. But he didn’t dare look closer, just to be sure.
