For that split second before they know I’m there, I feel like everything comes in a strobe light flash of images. Hunter’s hand fisted in Quin’s hair, yanking it back, the other trying to shove her shorts down. Quin’s hands spread against the wall as his body presses her against it. The look on my brother’s face, one I’ve never seen before—gritted teeth, muscles tense, eyes vacant—that causes chills to race up my spine. The shit from the coffee table strewn all over the floor.
I hear my yell before I even realize I’m shouting, and something snaps inside me. Fury shatters through the haze of disbelief at the same time Vince’s headlights turn off. Hunter and I collide into each other, him to flee, me to avenge. We land with a crash in the darkness, brother against brother, right versus wrong, past versus future.
My shoulder smarts from connecting against the corner of the wall, knee meeting solid muscle, fists pounding into him with a disturbingly satisfying crunch. I’m exhausted, I’m exhilarated, I’m enraged, I’m heartbroken over my brother and his continual capacity to hurt everything that I care about, everything I find myself wanting to love.
I shrug Vince’s hands off my shoulders time and again but still hear him shouting as Hunter connects with my jaw. The pain stuns me momentarily the same time as the light floods the room we’ve destroyed.
But I don’t stop. Can’t. Memories of the past and the here and now become a Molotov cocktail of emotion and I can’t stop myself from unleashing years’ worth of pent-up aggression in each action. For Quinlan. For me. For my bandmates. For my sanity.
“Hawke! Hawke!” Vince is calling my name again and for a fleeting moment I fear that if I stop, my head will quiet and I’ll be forced to face whatever Hunter’s done to Quinlan.
And I don’t think I can handle it. Can’t face it. Because if it’s what I fear deep in my soul, I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself. The one real, pure thing I’ve had in my life and he’s damaged her too so that every time I look at her, touch her, I’ll have to think of him.
That is if she can stand to look at me, handle me touching her again and not remember my brother.
He lands another punch but it doesn’t faze me because I’m so focused on turning the hatred he’s had for so long back onto him. And because I’m scared. So fucking scared so it’s easier to take his pain than to deal with my own.
There are more voices as my back connects with the edge of the coffee table and it knocks the wind out of me. Steals more than just my breath as hands grab at my shoulders and now I’m fighting more than one person because I’m not done yet. I have a well of emotions to pull from and I’m nowhere near the bottom.
I’m hauled backward, fists swinging, chaos swirling, and it takes me a moment before I come out of the viscous haze holding me in my past. And when I come to, when I see the disorder of the room, the blood on my brother’s face, feel the pain in my eye socket … all of it seems so fucking surreal that I can’t process it properly.
I notice the police officer though, the red and blue lights filtering through the open front door. I can feel the vice grip of Vince’s hold on me, can see Hunter pushing himself up and back against the wall as the officer approaches him. I can hear the rage of white noise in my ears as I squeeze and release my sore hands, knuckles aching.
And then I see Quinlan.
She is standing silently like a ghost in one shadowed corner of the room. The blanket from the couch that we’d snuggled under after our Guitar Hero session is wrapped tightly around her body. She has one hand up, fingertips covering her lips, but it’s the look on her face as she stares at my brother that paralyzes me: shock, disbelief, confusion, all laced with a sort of innocence that I’ve never seen there before.
Her eyes shift some and lock with mine. My breath is knocked clear out of me even though I’m still struggling for air, and I immediately yank my arms from Vince’s grip the exact same time a sob falls from her lips.
I’m across the room in an instant, my only thought, my only goal in this moment is to reach her. She’s my salvation. By the time I reach her she’s sagged to her knees, the adrenaline finally abating from her system while mine is so rampant my body is vibrating with it. I drop to my knees in front of her and freeze, afraid to touch her, yet dying to hold her, desperate to feel her against me and know that she’s all right.
Tears burn my eyes as we speak without words, and I can’t take it anymore. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I tell her as a lone tear slides down my cheek. Her bottom lip quivers and her own tears well as the gold of her eyes glimmers through them. I reach out to touch her and pull my hand back, afraid to touch her without knowing what happened to her.
Does she hate me for bringing this upon her? Will she ever allow me to touch her again without seeing him? Is there even an us after all of this?
Her eyes flick down to my withdrawing hand and she shakes her head quickly, a slight intake of air from her swollen lips. “No. He didn’t. No,” she says, and every part of my body sags in relief.
I can’t stand the chill between us, the loneliness, the unease I feel without her for one more second, so I reach out and timidly touch the side of her face, thumb brushing over the red mark on her cheekbone, palm framing the line of her jaw. She moves her face ever so slightly into my hand, and at that little sign, that reflex movement, fuck, I’m lost.
And found.
Within a beat I have her body gathered in my arms and pulled against me so that there isn’t even room for air between us. I cling to her, hands fisted into the back of the damn blanket, and I can do nothing else to reassure her but use my actions, hope she feels the desperation and apology in my touch, because I can’t find the words to say any of the things that are rushing through my head and then dying on my lips.