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Quinn groans and leaves behind an angry Mohawk as he fists his hair in frustration.
“Seriously?” He sighs, pointing at a pouting Polly. “You wanna know what she is?”
I allow him to finish because I’m quite certain his description of her will be a lot nicer than mine.
“She’s trouble, Tristan. She’s sixteen!”
“I’m seventeen in two days!” Polly pipes up defensively.
“Same shit! You’re still a kid!” he yells, and Polly shuts her mouth right away.
“I don’t need to listen to this shit, ’cause from where I’m standing, you’re in no position to tell me what’s right and wrong,” Tristan snarls, and Quinn flinches, devastated by Tristan’s intentional stab.
Polly reaches for him, but he violently shrugs out of her grip and storms outside.
I move to take off after him, but Quinn grabs my forearm.
“Let him cool down. I’ll talk to him once he’s blown off some steam.”
I look at the door, biting my lip as I really want to go talk to him. But I nod because Quinn knows his brother better than I do.
Quinn turns dangerously slow toward a cowering Polly. “And you,” he snarls. “Stay the fuck away from my brother. He’s got enough shit to deal with, and he doesn’t need your melodramatic crap to add to the shit pile.”
Polly’s mouth gapes open, and I fight the urge not to smile.
Polly sees me silently gloating, and her eyes turn cold. “This is all your fault,” she says between clenched teeth. “You’ve ruined my life.”
A tad overdramatic, but I don’t have time to rebuke as Quinn quickly snaps, “No, you spoiled brat, you’ve ruined your own life by being nothing but self-absorbed and only thinking of yourself. You talk to her like that again, and I’ll show you what a ruined life looks like.”
He latches onto my hand, and we leave the room, headed for our bedroom.
He sits on the edge of the bed and cradles his head in his hands.
He’s not okay. And neither am I.
We just told his brother, who might be a little bit in love with me, that we had sex and that Quinn has loved me since…when? When was the exact moment he felt it?
I know there was never a precise event or moment for me—I think I’ve always been in love with him. But that love, it grew into…this.
Stepping forward, I run my fingers through his hair, giving his head a light rub. “Hmm…that feels good.”
“Thank you for sticking up for me.”
Quinn raises his eyes, looking completely confused.
“You know, with Polly,” I explain, and his mouth forms an O in understanding.
“She had it coming.”
“I thought you liked her?”
“I guess I had a little soft spot for her.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice dripping with disgust.
“Her situation reminded me of—”
Tristan,I internally finish.
