Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (2 page)

I’ve found my mother. I know where she lives. But nowadays, that doesn’t seem as important as it once was to me.

Granted, things have turned to shit, but deep down, it was never really a priority. If it were, I would have left the moment I found out where she was. But I didn’t. I stayed in South Boston because I had found the place I wanted to call home.

It’s too bad really, because if I did, Hank would still be alive, and Tristan wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

“Nope, it’s fine. But I think we should crash. We’ve got to figure out what the hell to do next,” Quinn says, interrupting my ‘what if’s.’

Rubbing my temples in an attempt to soothe the pounding headache I have proves futile. Nothing is going to tame that beast. “Okay, good idea,” I reply, looking down at my untouched burger.

The thought of eating turns my stomach so I slide it over to Quinn. “Here, knock yourself out.”

As Quinn happily accepts, his long fingers brush over mine accidentally and I pull away like I’ve been burned. He eyes me strangely, but doesn’t question it, as we both know where that conversation will lead. For now, it seems we both want to live in denial.

I peer around the quiet diner and take in my surroundings because this time, I really am just passing through a quiet, sleepy town.

“Can I get you another cup of coffee?” the waitress asks, clearly eyeing Quinn as she wiggles the glass coffee pot, blatantly flirting with him.

I’ve tried to ignore her because this has been going on since we first sat down, but now I’m at my wits’ end. She looks to be the same age as me, with brown hair, brown eyes—nothing special, but I already know she’s a better match for Quinn than I am.

And that’s because she doesn’t have a fuckload of baggage coming out of her ass, which won’t remain dead and buried.

“I’m good, thanks,” he replies. “Red?” he looks at me, and I shake my head in response, because the next word to come out of my mouth will be a curse word.

“So, what brings you to North Carolina?” she purrs, leaning in unnecessarily close to collect Quinn’s dirty plate.

My psychotic father, I adlib in my head.

I seriously don’t blame her for flirting, because Quinn is dangerously hot, and never short of female attention, but I need to get out of here, as the images of throttling this girl are becoming way too vivid.

“I’ll meet you outside,” I snap, reaching into the back pocket of my jeans, then throwing some money onto the table.

Quinn looks up at me, puzzled, while the waitress looks relieved I’m leaving.

“Red, wait, I’ll—” he says, half standing.

But I don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence as I charge toward the exit like a cyclone of destruction.

Shouldering the door open, I welcome the cool breeze, which slaps me in the face and mercifully cools me the hell down. I need to put a lid on these possessive, irrational feelings I have for Quinn. We haven’t even established what we are, or even if we are an ‘are.’

And besides, I’m meant to be weaning myself off of him, not ready to have a smackdown with any girl that looks at him with stars in her eyes.

Thankfully, I find a distraction in the form of an ATM across the road, so I quickly run over to the quiet strip of shops with Tabitha’s credit card in hand.

Tabitha Henderson.

Another friend I collected along the way that showed nothing but loyalty till the very end. It’s only because of Tabitha’s generosity that we could afford to do any of this. Otherwise, we’d be on the run—broke.

I intend to pay her back every penny, even though I know it’ll take me my whole life to do so, as Tabitha comes from money. Not that you’d guess, seeing as Tabitha worked with me at Bobby Joe’s. That’s how we met. With her fiery red hair, warm jade eyes, and welcoming smile, I didn’t stand a chance at not being her friend—her best friend.

Trying not to look too suspicious, I flip my hand over to where I’ve written down Tabitha’s PIN numbers for each card in blue ink. As the machine reveals just how much money is available to withdraw, I have to take a closer look, as I’ve never seen so many zeros before. I feel like a big mooch, but I withdraw it all, and do the same with the other two cards she so generously gave me.

Quickly stuffing the money into my backpack, in fear I’ll get mugged on the way back to Quinn’s truck, has me wishing I had my flick knife for protection, but I lost that in a scuffle with Brad, the sheriff’s son. Kicking that bastard’s ass was so worth it, though.

Thinking back to how different things would have turned out if not for Quinn saving my ass, I realize how much he’s done for me. Time and time again, Quinn has saved me, and my ass. All I’ve done for him is get his ass into trouble.

“There you are,” Quinn says when he sees me leaning up against the hood of the truck.

“Here I am,” I reply sarcastically.

Quinn raises his eyebrow, confused by my behavior.

“Let’s go find somewhere to stay. I’ve withdrawn some money,” I say, patting my bag.

Quinn nods, but wisely doesn’t make a big deal about it, as we don’t know who may be listening.

“Cool, let’s split,” he says, walking over to the passenger door to open it for me, but I pop off the hood and get there first.

Again, he raises his dark eyebrow and chews on the silver hoop in his lip, but he thankfully let’s it go.

This is all part of my plan for him to hate me.

In the words of Quinn Berkeley, ‘it’s for the best.’

***

We find a little motel a few miles out of town, which is perfect, as it’s hidden along the highway. My heart breaks as I see its condition is similar to that of Night Cats, the motel which Hank owned and I worked at. It didn’t take long for it to become my home.

“You okay?” Quinn asks as he switches off the truck and catches me staring at the motel vacantly.

“Never better,” I blankly reply, not making eye contact as I reach for my backpack off the floor.

“Red.” Quinn sighs. I can clearly hear the exhaustion in his voice, but I ignore him and push open my door before he can corner me and make me crack.

Finding the office, I barge through the front glass door, needing to get away from Quinn. But the pang of guilt I feel as I step into the small room hits me straight in the guts and I want to head back out the way I came.

There is nothing in this room which resembles Night Cats as it’s cold, sterile, and unfriendly. I still can’t stop my heart from pounding out of my chest, and my breaths from leaving me in loud, anxious pants.

“Miss? You okay?” a nasal voice asks, snapping me out of my blackout.

“What?” I ask, looking up at the lady in front of me with cold eyes, unlike Hank, who always greeted me with a smile.

“She’s fine,” Quinn answers as he weaves his arm around my waist to stop me from collapsing.

The lady looks from me to Quinn, pursing her thin lips. “What can I get for you then?” she asks in a thick, Irish accent.

“A room please,” Quinn replies, stepping toward the counter, while softly releasing me.

Surprisingly, my feet hold me up.

“How long?” she asks abruptly, looking at me like I’m a pest when I hold onto the counter for support.

“Just a night,” Quinn says, pulling out his wallet, which is attached to a silver chain.

I’m convinced the lady hates me, and that’s probably because I can’t help but compare her to Hank. He would never welcome his guests so ungraciously, eyeing them like they’re about to make off with his pen.

She reaches for her silver rimmed glasses, which are tangled in her grey, wiry hair, and perches them onto the tip of her skinny nose as she begins tapping away on a computer.

“Two single beds or a double?” she asks, looking at the screen.

“Double,” Quinn says.

“Single,” I say. We reply at the same time, which is not at all awkward.

Quinn glares at me, his nostrils flaring slightly, and when we’re asked again, double or single, he replies, “Double,” never breaking eye contact with me.

I lower my eyes, unable to maintain contact, as I know I’m being a total bitch to him, but I have no other choice.

“You’re in room fourteen. And
no
pets,” she barks, curling up her lip. “I saw you pull up with that
dog
.”

I’m about ready to poke her eyeballs out as she refers to Lucky in such a derogatory manner. But suddenly, an inexplicable wrath passes over me, and I lean forward, bracing my hands onto the counter, getting into her personal space, while she leans back nervously.

“The only
dog
around here is yo—”

I’m rudely cut off by Quinn, who yanks on my arm, talking over the top of me.

“Thanks,” Quinn says quickly while grabbing the room key and escorting me out the door like a naughty child.

“Let me go!” I demand, attempting to shake myself free, but it’s pointless. Quinn drags me toward our room without loosening his grip.

My boots drag on the gravel as I attempt to kick my heels in, but I have no doubt Quinn will get me there, kicking and screaming if need be, so I let him lead me. He unlocks our maroon door and hurls me into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The dirty white walls rattle with the force, and I know Quinn is pissed.

“What is the matter with you?” he shouts, dropping our bags onto the stained fawn carpet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I smugly reply, plonking onto the end of the bed.

“Bullshit, you don’t.” He huffs, stalking over to me, his huge frame dwarfing mine. “You do remember we’re on the run, right? Trying to keep a low profile is kind of imperative. But you insulting everyone you come across is not really low profile material.”

He drops to his knees, crouching down in front of me. “I know this is hard, but…”

“I’m going for a shower,” I snap, standing up and stepping around him, as I’m in no mood for a lecture or pep talk.

Nothing he says will change the fact that Hank is dead, and Tristan is hurt, and it’s all my fault.

“Red!” I slam the bathroom door shut, wishing I could do the same with Quinn. Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.

***

So, this is what guilt feels like.

Staring at my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror, I have an urge to smash my fist through the glass, shattering the image before me, because I hate what I see.

I have destroyed so many people’s lives—good people.

I’d do anything to trade places with Hank, because he deserves to be alive, not me. And as for Quinn, he deserves to be free. I plan on setting that one thing right, because that’s the only thing I can control.

“Red?” Quinn knocks softly. “Everything okay?”

I sigh. Damn him for being so nice to me. He should hate me for everything that I’ve done. But he doesn’t.

But he will.

“I’m fine, Quinn,” I reply, tying my wet hair into a high ponytail. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

With my hands braced on the edge of the basin, I take a deep breath, needing a sea of courage for what I have planned. I step out wearing my PJ’s, even though it’s late afternoon, but I’m beat and want to catch up on a little sleep before I make good on my plan.

However, all plans of sleep are thrown out the window when I see Quinn slumped forward on the end of the bed, head cradled in his hands, his foot tapping frantically.

“Quinn?” I ask, rushing over to him, my heart in my throat.

As he lifts his head, his bright emerald eyes peek out from under his long, messy bangs. “He’s going to be okay,” he says, a breath leaving his chest in a whoosh of relief.

“Oh, thank God,” I gasp, my hands clutched to my heart, biting back my tears.

Quinn nods, holding up Tabitha’s iPhone.

“Abi just texted. Said it was a close call, but he’s just come out of surgery and the doc said he’s going to be fine.”

I can’t help moving toward Quinn, embracing him to me. He wraps his warm arms around my waist and presses his head to my belly. We stay this way for a while, both needing the comfort of this connection.

And I need it because it’ll be the last time I hug him.

Chapter 3

Plan A

I’m trying to faux sleep while Quinn is in the shower, but the thought of him in there, all soapy and wet, forces images into my mind that make me want to do anything
but
sleep. However, tonight is the night where I make things right. Knowing that Tristan is going to be okay is a small weight lifted off my shoulders, but it’s still not enough.

As I hear the shower switch off, I shut my eyes, hoping sleep will be kind to me—but it’s not. My eyes snap open, and no matter how tired I am, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get a sound night’s sleep ever again.

I’m still awake as Quinn strolls out of the bathroom, switching off the lights. It’s dark out, so the only light illuminating the room is from a dim streetlight just outside. I try to clamp my eyes shut, but as soon as they fall onto Quinn’s bare, chiseled chest, they do the opposite and open wider. He is a work of art, which is funny, considering he’s the artist.

I’ve seen his work, and it should be hanging in some gallery somewhere. I think about the sketchbook he showed me all those nights ago, and remember the sketch of Hank. His kind, grey eyes came alive onto paper, Quinn capturing him perfectly.

But now I’ll never see his light ever again.

I don’t realize I’m crying until Quinn slips in under the covers, pulling me into his warm chest.

“Sshh,” he soothes, brushing tendrils of hair off my face that have stuck to my fallen tears. “It’ll be okay.”

This just makes me cry harder because it’ll never be okay, but I allow this one moment of vulnerability, because there are to be no more after it.