His Paladin

by J. P. Oliver

  The trick was somehow getting that through to Raine without hurting what we had.

  The chainmail sets successfully oiled and cleaned, I let them settle in the pile, checking my phone for the time. Almost two-thirty; I could still help out for another hour. Perhaps this wasn’t my favorite way of spending my days off, but I didn’t have anything better to do, and I really did want to help Raine out. Even though the specifics of event eluded me, I knew this was incredibly important to Raine, and the future of Lochmire.

  I looked about the back room, trying to see if there was anything obvious I could get done. A row of hollow tubes, the solid cores for the foam weapons, were on a rack by the far wall, the cloth covering not yet on them. Raine had mentioned we needed new daggers, and I had worked the cutter a few times before. This was simple enough even I couldn’t screw it up. I gathered a few into my hands, and walked over to the electronic cutting tool, putting on a pair of gloves, safety goggles, and a breathing mask. Most of what Raine and Roux worked with was fiberglass, and I’d much rather be safe than sorry.

  Firing up the cutting tool, I started slicing the tubes horizontally to a length of around eighteen inches, the longest size a dagger was allowed to be in Lochmire. It was precision work, but not particularly exacting; in the span of just twenty minutes, I had nearly finished every one I had picked up from the rack.

  “What the hell are you doing!?”

  I quickly snapped off the machine, looking up at Raine’s shocked, paling face.

  “Cutting the cores to dagger size,” I explained, pulling the mask down off of my nose and mouth once the dust had cleared. “You were saying we needed more daggers yesterday.”

  “Those are kitespar,” Raine hissed. “All the red weapons -- like all of our daggers -- need to be made of carbon fiber so they don’t break on impact.”

  A hole appeared where my stomach used to be.

  “Oh,” I said, trying to hide between my shoulders.

  Raine made a loud, frustrated noise. “Quinn, that’s two hundred dollars worth of weapon cores,” he said, all venom and fire. “Two hundred dollars!”

  I felt guilty, but I had had more than enough of this. “I obviously didn’t mean to ruin them, Raine,” I told him, “but you really don’t give me enough guidance. You go over things with me once and never give me all the details. I can help you a lot better if you actually tell me what to do.”

  “I don’t have time to babysit you, Quinn,” he snapped. “Especially if it’s to teach you something a second time that Nicole wouldn’t have a problem figuring out.”

  That stung.

  “I see,” I said, my voice neutral. Raine’s face was a baneful scowl, and he crossed his arms over his chest, clearly not regretting a single word. Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to deal with any more of this today. “I’ll head out, then, if you don’t need me.”

  “You do that,” Raine replied curtly, but before I could walk out the door, Roux appeared, poking his head into the back room.

  “Uh, is there a problem here?” he asked cautiously.

  “Oh, nothing, besides the fact Quinn just ruined two hundred dollars worth of cores,” said Raine, glaring at me. I shrugged. I had nothing to say, and I was fine with leaving him to chase himself in circles to exhaustion, focused entirely on the wrong things.

  Roux frowned. “Well, we are low on arrows,” he ventured, stepping into the room and examining my handiwork. “So I don’t think these are wasted at all.”

  Bless Roux. Raine deflated slightly at that, his shoulders sagging. “I guess so,” he grated out.

  “So,” Roux began slowly, “you were kind of being a huge jerk over nothing.”

  My eyes snapped to Raine, terrified by what he might say to Roux. Raine opened his mouth, looking furious...but then he closed it, taking a deep breath instead.

  “Yeah,” Raine admitted, looking back at me for a brief minute before staring at the floor. “Yeah, I was definitely being a huge jerk.”

  Roux gave me a sidelong glance and a quick smile. “You know you missed breakfast? And lunch? And are probably going to miss dinner?”

  Raine shrugged. “I didn’t have time --”

  “But you have time now,” Roux interrupted, and before Raine could voice a protest, he quickly continued, “Or you could pass out and waste like, an entire day at the emergency room. Your call.”

  Raine smiled at that, but it was strained, like he was trying not to. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

  Roux turned his attention to me, actually pointing. “And you, Quinn, you’re hungry, right?”

  I flinched. “Uh, well --”

  Roux nodded. “Great! Well, the only thing that makes sense now is for the two of you to grab an early dinner! Or a late lunch. Whatever your perspective is! I’ll pick Nicole up from school, and the two of us will hang out at your place until you get back, okay, Raine?”

  Raine and I stared at each other, wary and unmoving. Roux looked between the two of us, his eager smile slowly fading away as the silence continued.

  Finally, Raine heaved a defeated sigh. “The Pasta Corner okay with you?” he mumbled, not looking at me.

  I mulled it over. “Yeah,” I told him, “The Pasta Corner sounds fine.”

  Roux craned his head towards the ceiling, closing his eyes in relieved ecstasy.

  “Good,” he said, and then flicked both hands at us repeatedly. “Now scoot the hell out of here and eat some carbs.”

  Raine shuffled out of the room, looking more tired than sullen, which I took as a good sign. Roux caught my eyes as I followed and mouthed a silent “thank you” as I left. I nodded back at him, heading over to the parking lot. I was still more than a little burned from earlier, feeling like I was very overdue for an apology, but anything to get Raine’s nose away from the grindstone would certainly help. If the food smoothed things over enough, I could even volunteer some advice about delegating, not that he would take it. But despite that, I still wasn’t completely discouraged.

  I was here to help, no matter what, and Raine needed to start getting used to it.

  12

  Raine

  The Pasta Corner wasn’t my favorite place to eat by a longshot, but sometimes you just wanted a heaping bowl of Italian food to stand between you and the rest of the world. It was quiet, which didn’t really surprise me -- this was a really odd time to eat, after all -- a few other patrons sitting in booths, filling the dining area with murmured conversation. As the host led us over to our table, we passed pleasant beige walls that were filled with hanging pictures of Italian villas and scenes of Venice. There was always a muted sense of peace in the Pasta Corner, no matter how busy it got, and I had to grudgingly admit it was just what I needed.

  I plopped down into my seat and immediately started on the breadsticks, tearing them apart with my hands.

  Quinn watched a few rapidly disappear past my gullet in faint amusement, but I was starving, far past being embarrassed. Still, I tried to avoid eye contact. I hadn’t meant to snap at him like that, especially since he had been so determined to help me out since the beginning, but the impending Last Battle was breathing down my neck, its upcoming presence a low, dull roar constantly rumbling in the back of mind. I felt like I had done so much already, worked my fingers to the bone, and there was still so much more to do.

  I hadn’t even started on the goddamn dragon.

  I knew making Quinn the prime target of my frustration was not the right way to go about this, especially if I, you know, happened to really like him and wanted him to stick around. And it was stupid as hell for me to come at him for tiny mistakes that certainly weren’t the end of world, mistakes he wouldn’t even be making if I bothered to actually walk him through what needed to be done. But every one of them rankled me, little pinpricks that swept me up in a storm of rage, my own incompetence and unpreparedness given physical form, staring me in the face.

  Obviously, this wasn’t a Quinn issue. This was very much a me issue. But I wasn�
�t sure how to really go about telling him all this, especially since it would definitely crack my facade that I had everything together and under control. He might even offer to step up and do more, and I wasn’t sure my heart or my temper could take that. No, it was better to play this off as just being hangry. He didn’t need to know I was dying inside while struggling to get this all done.

  Our waitress startled me out of my thoughts. I realized Quinn hadn’t said a word to me since we sat down until he placed his order -- the chicken parm, a classic staple, and I made a mental note to keep that in mind. I went even simpler with my own order, taking a page out of Nicole’s book.

  “Spaghetti and meatballs, please,” I said to the waitress, and flashed her my best smile. “The biggest bowl you’ve got.”

  She grinned back, nodding. “And some more breadsticks?” she asked, pointing to the two left, even though she absolutely knew the answer.

  “Biggest bowl of those you have, too, please,” Quinn answered for me, catching my eye as he said it. She laughed, taking our menus and heading towards the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone.

  It was quiet. The heavy, uncomfortable kind. I shifted uneasily in my seat.

  “You should eat that one,” I said, awkwardly breaking the silence in two, “Before I get to it.”

  Quinn raised an eyebrow, but he took the offered breadstick, eating it with much less gusto than I had. That quickly changed.

  “These are really good.” He sounded both surprised and impressed.

  “They are,” I agreed. “So now you understand why I intend to eat about forty of them.”

  Quinn huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll probably only manage thirty, myself.” He smiled at me. “I’m glad you listened to Roux,” he said,. “You needed a little break.”

  I sighed. “I guess so,” I allowed, “But this is the only one I think I’m going to have time for. Everything’s just going to start ramping up even faster at this point.”

  He looked troubled, like he wanted to say something and was warring with himself whether or not to do it. At last, he simply said, “You’ll get it done.”

  I offered a weak smile in reply. “I have to,” I said, shrugging. “There really isn’t an alternative.”

  That troubled look didn’t leave; in fact, he looked like that had been enough for him to make that decision to say what he wanted to, but before he could make a sound, our food arrived, and I dove right in.

  The Pasta Corner had definitely been the right decision. I sighed happily, my stomach full to bursting, my plate of spaghetti completely empty.

  “Well, now I won’t have to eat for another three days,” I said, and Quinn grunted in agreement.

  “I guess I should have stopped at twenty breadsticks,” he replied, half-smiling, and I laughed. I paid the check, waving off his protests -- it was the least I could do to try and make up for earlier.

  We headed back to Lochmire in much higher spirits, Roux’s car already gone from the parking lot. A quick text to him confirmed that he had successfully gotten Nicole, and the two of them were busy cooking too much microwave mac and cheese. It was getting late, and there were still a ton of things I wanted to get done today, but I was so tired I decided to lock up.

  At least, that was the plan.

  “Hang on a second,” Quinn said, and took my hand in his, threading our fingers together. A bolt of lightning ran up my arm, settling in my stomach, my skin tingling in its wake, and I let him guide me onto the back room sofa. I sat there, confused, Quinn moving behind me, and then let out a surprised moan when his fingers started working heaven into the sore muscles of my back, all the tension of the day melting away.

  “Holy shit,” I garbled, every second of Quinn’s firm but gentle massage sending waves of overwhelming bliss flooding through every inch of me. “You’re really good at this.” My eyelids drifted closed, and I sighed, deep and long, letting a little bit of my anxiety out with it.

  “I used to be...very close with a massage therapist.” His voice paused, but his fingers kept working, untying decades of knotted muscles. “My wife, actually. Five years ago, now.”

  A wife? That caught me by surprise, made me realize how little I actually knew Quinn at all. “What’s her name?” I asked.

  This time Quinn did freeze, mid-massage, his fingers biting into my shoulders. The room instantly chilled.

  “Sorry,” I blurted, “I didn’t mean to pry --”

  “You didn’t pry.” He released my shoulders, coming around to the front of the couch. He sat down, as though he didn’t trust himself to stand any more, slowly shaking his head. I watched him hesitate, swallow, and then, in a soft, quiet voice, he said, “Her name was Grace.”

  Was. My heart ached. “What...what happened?”

  “Car accident,” he murmured, not looking up. He wiped quickly at his eyes, and I felt something inside me shatter for him. “We were both in the car. I was driving. It was raining and the roads were slick. Some kid in a new car was going too fast around a bend going the other way. He tried breaking but he slid into the oncoming lane. We --” His voice broke. “We collided. I tried to turn, to stop it from being head on, but a piece of the kid’s car broke off on the impact, went right through our windshield and Grace --”

  His body trembled, and an anguished noise tore out of his throat. I took one of his hands in mine in a firm grip, gently stroking his arm, trying my best to soothe him. I didn’t know what to say -- what can you even say to something like this?

  “She didn’t die. Not right away.”

  I stared up at him in shock. He wasn’t looking at me, the tears freely streaming down his face now.

  “I held her,” he whispered. “I held her with all my might, but I couldn’t keep her here.”

  The words were a knife to my already shattered heart. My eyes started to burn, prickling with tears of my own. “Oh, Quinn,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I wrapped my arms around him, trying to offer any possible comfort I could. Quinn hugged me back, heaving a sob against my shoulder, and I put my fingers through his hair, moving them in slow, soothing circles against his scalp. And I let him cry.

  We sat there for a long time until Quinn’s sobbing finally ceased. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away, wiping frantically at his face.

  “Sorry,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and thick. “I didn’t meant to --”

  “Quinn.” I was horrified that he would even think he needed to apologize to me after that. “What you went through...you never, ever have to be sorry for that. Ever.”

  He sniffed, turning away from me; I ran to the bathroom to get him a box of tissues. He took it gratefully out of my hands, using them to wipe away the last remnants of his tears.

  “I meant to do something nice for you,” he mumbled, tossing the used tissues away in the trash and returning to the couch. “I didn’t mean to unload all of this on you. Especially when you’re so busy.”

  “Hey, you did do something nice for me.” I cupped his face in my palms, my thumbs tracing his cheekbones, and watched his mouth curl into a smile. “You’ve been doing nice things for me, even if I scream at you like a brat afterwards.” He chuckled, a low, quiet rumble. “I don’t even know why you stick around.”

  “There’s a lot to like about you,” Quinn replied. His eyes were shining again, but this time with mirth. “Brattiness notwithstanding.”

  I laughed, but it was cut abruptly short when Quinn closed the distance between us and pulled me into a deep, slow kiss.

  I responded immediately, moaning in his mouth, shifting against him on the couch until I was practically in his lap. He didn’t seem to mind, his arms holding me securely as I kissed him back, just as slow and searing. It wasn’t the primal, urgent heat of the night we had spent together earlier -- this was something different, aching and tender, but no less passionate. I curled a hand around the nape of his neck, pulling apart just for a moment to nuzzle against his face, my sk
in catching on his stubble. Quinn made a pleased, throaty noise I could feel better than I could hear, leaning against me, the two of us breathing gently in the fading light. Dusk was falling outside, the windows of the back room still open from before, and a gust of cool wind blew into the room, making me shiver despite Quinn’s intimate warmth. The motion made him hold me tighter, and I rested my head against his chest, listening to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

  I couldn’t imagine how terrible losing someone he was that close to had been, especially someone as quiet and reserved as Quinn. Never in a thousand years would I had ever guessed he was a widower. How do you even go on after something like that? I sure as hell had no idea, but I was forever grateful he was still here, and here with me.

  “Thanks,” I murmured. Quinn huffed a confused, light laugh.

  “For what?”

  “Everything. Being here. Being so nice to me.”

  Quinn smiled into my hair. “Well, that’s what boyfriends are supposed to do, right?”

  Boyfriend. I swallowed, trying to quiet the hot, fluttering surge that blossomed from my heart. “Yeah,” I choked out, somehow. “I guess so.”

  I shifted back upright, facing him, running my fingers over the plump, lush softness of his lips. They parted at my touch, sending a thrill spiraling down my spine. I kissed him again, relishing in the feel of his mouth moving against mine, still slow, still gentle, still sweet.

  For a long while, there wasn’t the Last Battle lurking in the back of my mind, or the hundred thousand things for it that I needed to get done bearing down on me, or the shrieking, overwhelming distress that was constantly threatening to swallow me whole. There was just Quinn, warm and solid and safe and strong. My paladin, fighting against the impossible darkness all on his own.

  Sappy? Sure -- definitely, terribly so. But the thought made me feel better than I had in days, so, maybe a little childishly, I kept it as close to my heart as I could.

  13