Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (22 page)

Okay, so I’m second guessing if this idea was such a good one.

Justin’s truck is a mammoth Dodge, but it may as well be a mini, as the tension fills any remaining space in the cab.

What also fills the cab is the constant dinging of Justin’s cell, alerting him to an awaiting text. I’m not sure who’s texting him, but after the twentieth message, he switched it off.

I didn’t want to be rude, so I sat up front, which was a huge mistake, as I can feel the tension radiating off Quinn every time Justin talks to me, or looks at me, or breathes the same air as me.

But what choice did we have?

As we drove out of the rest stop, there were three cops checking out our vehicle, no doubt discovering it was stolen.

“I have to stop just outside of Arkansas. Is that okay with you guys?” Justin asks, looking over at me, his warm chocolate eyes revealing nothing but kindness.

“That’s great, thanks, Justin,” I reply, giving him a small smile.

“No worries, Mia, anything for you.”

I hear Quinn snarl in the backseat and I sigh.

This is going to be a long drive.

***

As we pull up at a hotel, Justin suggests we stay the night. He mentions he has some business to take care of, so we may need to stay for a couple of days. I don’t really think that’s wise, as I think we should keep moving, but I won’t say anything until I speak to Quinn.

I’m not sure what our plans are, but I really could do with a shower and some decent food. I also want to check in with Abi.

Justin parks his truck in front of a classy hotel called The Belladonna, and smiles.

“Did you guys want to stay with me?” Justin asks, turning off the car.

“You’re staying here?” I ask, looking up at the monstrosity through the windscreen.

“Yeah, one of the perks of my job,” he replies vaguely, as he still hasn’t clarified what he does for work.

It would help, seeing as the police are probably looking for us at every cheap, hidden away motel along the highway. Odds of them looking for us here are slim. Seeing as we lived large in New Orleans, they probably think we’ve blown all our cash.

I look at Quinn over my shoulder, and he shakes his head, clearly opposed to the idea.

“Thanks Justin, that would be awesome,” I say, thankful one can’t detonate under the evil look of another, as I would be engulfed in a ball of flames.

Justin nods, and places his hand on my arm. It’s an innocent gesture, but I’m pretty certain Justin has roughly two seconds to remove his hand before he loses it to Quinn, who’s making the backseat creak in protest as he shifts noisily, ready to attack.

Justin gets the hint and thankfully, he let’s go. He tells us to wait out here while he checks in. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Quinn reaches for my arm from the backseat, yanking me toward him.

“Jesus Christ, Quinn!” I cry, shrugging out of his grip. “Do you think you could quit it with the homicidal tendencies?”

“I meant what I said. He’s lucky he still has any fingers left,” Quinn replies, his huge body crowding me from the backseat as he leans forward between the front seats.

I roll my eyes, but am I a total fiend for loving this possessive streak in him?

“He’s doing us a favor. The police won’t look for us here. They’re probably guessing we’d be slumming it in some shithole,” I explain and Quinn sighs, knowing I’m right.

“I get that, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. He obviously still carries a torch for you,” Quinn spits heatedly.

“What?” I gasp, repulsed. “He does not.” I shake my head animatedly.

“Trust me on this, Red. That torch is burning so brightly, it’s shining outta his ass,” Quinn grumbles.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I scoff, hoping that he is, as I don’t want Justin holding any torch for me.

“I’m not. That guy has a permanent hard on for you.”

“Oh my God, Quinn!” I say, mouth agape, as I turn to look at him. “That’s not true, and you’ve just put visuals in my head I wish I could burn out with acid, so thanks for that.”

Quinn leans forward, inches away from my face. “Good. The only junk I want you to be visualizing is mine.” He smirks, his warm breath heating my flustered cheeks.

I gasp, and Quinn gives me that damn lopsided smile before slouching back into his seat.

The car door opens, which startles me, and I yelp, jumping about five inches off my seat, nearly hitting my head on the truck roof.

“Okay, all set,” Justin says, tossing the keycard onto the dash as he takes a seat behind the wheel.

He looks over at me and smiles.

“Everything okay, Mia? You look flustered. Is it hot in here?” Justin asks, turning on the AC.

Giving Justin a polite smile, I don’t reply, as all I am focused on is Quinn... and his junk.

***

This hotel is perfect.

Not only does it have an underground parking garage for easy escape, the pretentious clientele’s heads are so far up their asses, they want nothing to do with us.

Looks like Quinn and I should be fine, for now.

As we enter the two bedroom suite, Justin tosses his bag onto the plush carpet in the living area.

Looking around the large, stylishly decorated room, I can’t help but compare it to our hotel in New Orleans. It’s not as grand, but I guess I’m just biased, as nothing could compare to my time there.

“I can crash out here if you two want to take a room each,” Justin suggests, sinking into the huge brown sofa, crossing his legs onto the coffee table in front of him.

“No need,” Quinn says, which are the first two words he’s spoken to Justin in hours.

I cringe when I hear the bitterness behind his tone. It’s probably better he doesn’t speak to him again.

Justin looks over at me, raising his pierced eyebrow, and suddenly, I feel embarrassed for some stupid reason, so I avert my eyes, and the corner lamp is the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh, right,” Justin says, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he stands. “Okay, well, I’m just going to make a call.”

He awkwardly reaches for his bag, entering the room to his left. Thankfully, ours is across the hall from his.

When his door shuts, I look at Quinn and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he says, faking ignorance with a dimpled smile.

I roll my eyes and decide to take a shower before I make contact back home.

***

After a scorching shower I only stepped out of because I didn’t want to hog all the hot water, I’m sitting on the edge of our king size bed, waiting for Quinn to finish up in the bathroom so we can call Abi. She’s working the late shift at the diner, and I can’t help but think about Bobby Joe’s. I miss it. I miss the simplicity of going to work, doing my job, and coming home to Hank.

After visiting the church in New Orleans, I feel like I’ve made some sort of peace with myself over Hank’s death. I will never forgive myself for what happened to him, and will forever be at fault, but I have to try and move on, because that’s what Hank would have wanted. The selfless person that he was, he would tell me to go on, because I’m alive, and he would want me to live my life without this awful sense of regret.

However, deep down, I know the only way for me to ever really move on, will be when the people who are responsible for his death pay for what they did to him. And by pay, I mean when they’re dead.

“Whatcha thinking?” Quinn asks as the bathroom door opens and he steps out, looking like a total god dressed in snug black jeans and nothing else.

His hair is wet from the shower, and he’s unsnarled it by running his fingers through it, flicking it off his perfect face. The light catches off his nipple ring as he searches through his backpack for a t-shirt. I know I’m staring at him, but with a sight such as this before me, how can I not?

“Um, just about Hank,” I confess, still in awe of his firm body.

Quinn freezes, his hands stilling from rummaging in his bag.

“Yeah? You okay?” he asks apprehensively, no doubt in fear I’m going to take off, or break down like I have in the past.

Looking up at him from the edge of the bed where I’m sitting cross-legged, I meet his concerned eyes.

“Yeah, I think I am,” I reply, fiddling with my sleeves, pulling them down over my fingers.

Quinn smiles. “I’m proud of you, Red.”

“You are?” I ask, confused.

He nods, his wet locks slipping into his emerald eyes. “Yes. What you’ve gone through, not just the past few days, but your entire life, is something not a lot of people live through and stay sane.”

“Sometimes I question just how sane I really am,” I reply softly, lowering my eyes.

“Hey, look at me,” he says, walking over to the bed and crouching down.

I meet his concerned stare.

“Red, I’ve never met anyone like you. You are the strongest person I know.”

I give him a disbelieving look, but he shakes his head. “I mean every single word. You have every right to be barely holding on after everything you’ve seen in your nineteen years. You could be a cruel, bitter, cynical bitch, but you’re not. You care about others and put them before yourself. If that isn’t strong, then I don’t know what is.”

I don’t know how to respond to him. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met, and I’m falling desperately in love with him.

“Thank you,” I whisper, reaching for him and wrapping my arms around his warm neck.

Quinn kisses my temples and asks, “What for?”

“For believing in me,” I reply, leaning into his lips.

Quinn sighs as I toy with the wet locks at his nape. “And one day, you’ll believe in yourself.”

I hope he’s right.

***

It’s now about 4 p.m. in South Boston, so the diner should be a little less chaotic for Abi to chat.

We find a little pay phone and decide to make the call quick, just in case the line at the diner is tapped. I know we’re probably overreacting, but it’s better to be safe than dead.

Thankfully, Abi answers on the fifth ring.

“Hi, Abi, it’s me,” I say softly.

I hear her gasp and then her footsteps quicken as they pound on the floor. I know she’s walking out back for some privacy.

“Hi, Mia, how are you? I was so worried about you guys,” she says on a rushed breath.

“We’re good, Abi. Sorry to worry you. We had some shit go down,” I say, referring to nearly being caught by the police—twice.

“I’m glad you called because my dad told me you and Quinn need to head to Canada until he can clear your name. It’s taking longer than expected, and with the town pressuring Sheriff Davidson for your arrest, the police are more persistent than ever.”

I look at Quinn and sigh. Out of all places to run, why does it have to be Canada? Is this the universe’s way of looking down at me, and laughing at the irony?

Quinn lifts an eyebrow to ensure I’m okay, and I nod.

“Okay, Canada it is, then.”

Quinn’s eyebrow shoots up into his hairline when I mention Canada.

“Are you going to stay with your mom?” Abi asks.

Gee, her dad has been busy checking me out.

“I’m not sure,” I sigh, rubbing my forehead.

“My dad just thought it would be safer if you stayed with her,” Abi says cautiously, while I feel like I’m about to be sick.

Safer with my mom? I hate that I can’t give Abi a definite answer that staying with my mother would indeed be the safer option, as opposed to running.

“My dad said his guys have tracked your dad, Mia. He’s always a step behind you. How does he know?” Abi asks when I remain mute about the whole mom topic.

I close my eyes, as hearing Abi confirm what I’ve known to be true just sucks. I know my dad and Phil will eventually catch up to me. And when they do, I’ll be ready.

“Because he’s my father. He knows how I think,” I confess, wishing I could change that fact.

I see Quinn out of the corner of my eye shift forward at the mention of my dad.

“Well, change that, Mia. If your gut is telling you to go left, then go right. Shake it up so you throw him off,” she says in a determined tone.

“You’re right, Abi. Thank you,” I say, wanting this conversation about my dad to end, as my throat feels dry.

“How’s Tristan?” I ask, wanting to change the subject.

“He’s okay. He’s just been released from hospital. I think they were sick of him being such a pain in the ass.”

“He’s been released already?” I ask. “Isn’t that too early? I thought you said he’d be in there for a week or so?”

Quinn looks at me with a small smile on his face. He obviously knows his brother is as stubborn as he is.

“He was determined to get out and help you guys. He knows everything, and wants to do anything he can to help,” Abi replies. I can hear the strain in her voice.

No doubt she’s been trying to convince him otherwise, seeing as he’s still probably in a lot of pain, and in no condition to be helping anyone out other than himself.

“He knows everything?” I ask with a catch in my throat.

“Yes. I told him. Oh God, I hope that’s okay?” Abi asks, fearful she’s done something wrong.

“Yes, of course. I’m just—” Embarrassed, mortified. I settle for, “I just hate that you guys are involved in my mess. You’re both sticking your necks out for me.”

“We’re doing this because we love you and want you to come home,” Abi states firmly. Tears prick my eyes.

“I want to come home, too,” I reply, close to tears.

“Mia?” Abi asks, concerned when I don’t speak.

“Sorry, I’m here. I better go. I’m not sure about this phone line.”

“Okay,” she replies with a sigh.

“Abi, can you do me a favor?” I ask.

“You betcha,” she replies without delay.

“Can you get Tristan there tomorrow, around four, your time?” I ask, looking at Quinn who smiles.

“Yes, of course.”

There’s a big elephant in the room, and I really want to address it, but don’t know how.

“How was the—” funeral, I silently add, unable to voice it aloud.