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Quinn grinds down on his jawbone but keeps a level face. “You okay?”
I now understand his distress.
The seriousness of our situation has 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 bad motherfucker, little brother,” 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 wants to start picking at the open wound just yet.
Tristan reads our concern but quickly brushes it off. “I’m gonna hit the shower.” He turns to leave, obviously not comfortable with discussing this.
His announcement has Polly rising 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 each other.
Granted, I have a lot more to appreciate, seeing as my subject stands 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 suggest 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, infuriated that he got hurt. I’m also angered that I didn’t notice this sooner.
“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 attempt to examine it once again, but Quinn ducks out of the way.
Suddenly, I painfully remember 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 of 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 vivid memory currently replaying in my mind.
My eyes drop to his torso, and I can’t help but examine his tattoo, and in the light of day, it’s even more stunning than I remember it.
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.”
“Oh,” I reply, disappointed, as I thought there was a hidden meaning behind it for some reason. “Does it hold any significance to you?”
After last night, I need him to know that whatever his fate may be, he’ll always have my love.
