by Lynn Hagen
“So why’d you say you were too young to die?”
Uneasiness leaked into Stevie’s features. He looked away as a slight breeze lifted strands of his blond hair and made them dance. Quinn was itching to touch them, to touch any part of the guy. His panther yowled for him to get closer, to scoop Stevie up and set him on Quinn’s lap.
He curled his hands in to stop himself from doing that. “Hey, I just wanna help any way I can.”
Stevie shrugged but still wouldn’t look Quinn’s way. “There’s nothing to help with.” He finally turned his head and looked at him. “It’s late, and I need my beauty sleep.”
When Stevie got up, Quinn was tempted to pull the guy back down. Instead, he stood and nodded. “Wanna have lunch later?”
“I’m pretty broke.”
Quinn gave Stevie his most charming smile. “After all the work you did at the pub, lunch is on me.”
“No,” Stevie said a little too quickly. “I’m not taking your money. I have to go.”
There was nothing Quinn could do when Stevie raced inside the house and closed the door. He stood there on the steps, wondering how to get past the man’s defenses. Quinn’s gut told him something was definitely wrong, and he was determined to find out what it was.
Chapter Three
This was the last place Stevie wanted to be. He climbed out of his car and looked up at the house he’d been raised in, hardly any good memories to draw from.
He’d asked himself a million times why he still talked with his parents. They were both toxic for him, yet he couldn’t seem to let them go. His mom hadn’t laid a hand on him, but she hadn’t protected him, either. She’d sworn to him a thousand times that she would get her life together, that she would leave her husband and be a better mother to Stevie.
That had never happened. It was as if she’d simply given up on life, and her son.
Dread filled his stomach as he climbed the rickety steps and knocked on the door. He really didn’t want to be here, but he needed to find out about the gambling, about Cliff’s debt, and what his father planned to do in order to save them both from Mr. Bodega.
The door flew open, Stevie was snatched inside, and then the door slammed shut.
“What the hell!” Stevie jerked out of Cliff’s grasp. “What’s wrong with you? I thought I was being abducted by aliens!”
“What’re you doing here?” Cliff towered over Stevie, his arms crossed and a deep scowl on his face.
Stevie rounded his shoulders, refusing to show fear in front of his father. Then he noticed that Cliff’s face looked beat to hell and he was wearing a cast on his arm.
He glanced past Cliff, his heart racing. “Where’s Mom?”
“Tell me why you’re here.” He shoved Stevie against the door, making him smack his head. Flashbacks of years of Cliff’s abuse assaulted Stevie. He squeezed his eyes shut, mentally screaming, as he waited for the blow.
“Goddammit, Stevie. Stop acting like a little punk and answer me.”
The verbal abuse was never too far behind Cliff’s fists. In his dad’s mind, knocking Stevie around was making him tougher, manlier. The verbal shit was to harden Stevie.
Those tactics had never worked. If anything they’d made Stevie insecure and left him feeling worthless. He forced his eyes open and glared at his father.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a gambling problem?”
Cliff sucked air in between his teeth, his eyes blowing up with rage. “That was none of your fucking business.”
“It is now,” Stevie said, trying to act tough. “Some guy named Neal threatened to kill me if I didn’t pay off your debt.”
Cliff took a step back and eyed Stevie. Stevie knew that look. The wheels in his dad’s head were spinning. “But you don’t have that kind of cash.”
“No shit.”
“Be careful how you talk to me, boy.” Cliff rubbed his jaw. He glanced at Stevie and then looked away. “But you’re always around those O’Brien men. Word is they inherited a ton of money from their aunt.”
Jeez. Stevie was sick and tired of everyone suggesting that he use the O’Briens. He’d rather Neal shoot him than ask for a single penny from them.
“I’m friends with Layne,” Stevie said. “That’s why I go around them.”
There went that calculating look again. Stevie wished he hadn’t come here. It had been a bad decision that he now regretted. “Tell me where Mom is.”
His dad grunted as he turned and glanced behind him. He looked back at Stevie, and for the first time in Stevie’s life, he saw apology in Cliff’s eyes. “They took her for leverage.”
Anger exploded inside Stevie. The thought of any harm coming to her made his stomach roll and bile rise to the back of his throat.
“You asshole!” Stevie shouted. “Because of you they might kill her. How could you do something like that? Why are you such a piece of shit!”
He’d never raised his voice to Cliff before. Ever. Stevie had always been too terrified to stand up to him. Cliff was tall as hell, broad, and Stevie had gotten his short and delicate stature from his mom.
Cliff backhanded him so hard that Stevie flew against the door, pain erupting in his face. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again!”
Stevie covered his head, trying to ward off the next few punches as Cliff unleashed his anger on him.
Stevie managed to turn and get the door open. He flew outside and raced to his car as Cliff shouted obscenities at him from the doorway. He reversed down the driveway, nearly plowing into on oncoming car, and drove away from his parents’ house.
A block over Stevie pulled to the curb. He was shaking so badly that he had to calm himself before he could continue to drive. He looked at his cheek in the rearview mirror and knew a bruise would soon form.
The other blows had been to Stevie’s body, but they hadn’t been as hard and Stevie didn’t think he would suffer from them.
If it were the last thing he did, Stevie would get out of this mess. After that, he was cutting all ties with his father. Why did he keep dealing with Cliff? Why couldn’t he simply walk away?
“Because you’re a glutton for punishment,” Stevie said to himself. His hands were still shaky as he pulled back onto the street and drove home. He had to be to work in an hour, and there was no way he could cover his bruise.
Stevie would just have to call off. What other choice did he have? He couldn’t work around clients with a big, blossoming bruise on his face, and he didn’t want any of his coworkers—especially Marie—or his boss to ask what had happened.
So much for winning the contest. Not that Stevie had had a chance anyway. Clara had flat-out lied about his numbers, so he doubted she would’ve been honest even if he had won.
And he couldn’t go to Layne’s. Not with a bruise on his face. He didn’t want his friend seeing him like this, and it would be too embarrassing if one of the O’Briens saw him.
He pulled into the driveway and groaned. What on earth was Quinn doing there? It was too late to pull away. Quinn had already seen Stevie and was heading to his car.
Quinn practically ripped the door open and bent over to look inside. “Who the fuck did that to you?”
Stevie’s breath caught at the vehemence in Quinn’s tone. He’d already dealt with one dominant male, and he didn’t want to deal with another.
As if Quinn read the fear on Stevie’s face, he hunkered down and smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He reached up like he wanted to touch Stevie’s cheek, but he pulled his hand away. “Why don’t you come inside?”
On unsteady legs Stevie got out of his car and let Quinn lead him inside. No one seemed to be home, and Stevie was grateful. He was already humiliated enough and didn’t need everyone gawking at him.
Quinn went to the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen vegetables. He handed it to Stevie. “Put that on your cheek. It’ll help with the swelling.”
Quinn might’ve been talking calmly, but Stevi
e saw the pure rage in his gray eyes. Why did Quinn care? They hardly knew each other. He could see if Quinn was concerned, but that amount of rage confused Stevie.
He sat in a chair and placed the cold bag against his cheek. Stevie winced at the pressure touching it, but the frozen vegetables felt good.
Quinn grabbed a chair and moved it close to Stevie before he sat. “Start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”
“Does it matter?” Stevie asked.
“It matters to me.”
“Why?”
“For a lot of reasons,” Quinn said. “For one, you’re my friend, and I stick up for those I consider a friend.”
“I thought I was like family,” Stevie teased.
“You are.” Quinn gave a firm nod. “Which makes me want to protect you even more.”
“Any other reasons?” Stevie was a complete mess. He’d just gotten knocked around by his dad and he was fishing for explanations on why Quinn wanted to help him.
“I don’t like seeing anyone bullied.” Quinn’s tone was firm, and Stevie could tell the guy was being honest. “Now tell me everything.”
Stevie wanted to. He truly did. It was one hell of a burden to carry on his own. Even though he’d told Stanton, there was nothing his friend could do about the situation.
And he didn’t want to get Quinn involved. “A fight club, though I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
Quinn curled his finger under Stevie’s jaw and lifted his head until they were looking each other in the eyes. “Did you win?”
It was evident in Quinn’s expression that he didn’t believe Stevie.
“Won a boatload of money. Now I can treat you to a meal.”
Quinn rubbed his finger under Stevie’s jaw in a gentle motion. The touch seemed to settle Stevie’s quivering nerves. He didn’t pull away. Stevie craved being touched by him.
“Did you run into a door or fall down the steps?”
“Something like that,” Stevie said. “Can we change the subject?”
“Let me have a look.” Quinn pulled the bag away. “I know a thing or two about fight clubs and wounds.”
Stevie held steady, and Quinn tentatively poked at his cheek. It hurt like hell, and Stevie winced a few times as Quinn probed.
“I don’t think your cheekbone is broken, but you’re gonna have one hell of a bruise.”
“What do you know about fight clubs?” Stevie pressed the bag back against his face. “Can you teach me how to fight?”
He doubted he could ever beat up Cliff, but a few defense strategies would be good to have. That way the next time—if there was a next time—Stevie could use them to get away before he was pummeled.
“Not fight,” Quinn said. “I’ll do that for you if you let me. But I can teach you self-defense so you can get away.”
“That makes me sound like a wuss.”
“That makes you sound like a survivor,” Quinn corrected. “And if you ask me, that’s smarter than sticking around to get beat up.”
“That still makes me sound weak,” Stevie argued.
“Fine.” Quinn blew out a breath. “I’ll teach you ninja skills and build you an Iron Man suit. How does that sound?”
Stevie snickered. “That sounds perfect.”
* * * *
That afternoon, Quinn had baby Connor tucked in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to leave Stevie, but the guy had insisted he needed some rest. Quinn would be back, though. He saw now that Stevie needed protection.
“Thanks for watching him while I take a shower,” Layne said. “Nash had to run errands, and I feel yucky.”
“Nah, you look great,” Quinn said. “Although you do have a weird smell to you.”
Layne narrowed his eyes. “Very funny. You should take your act on the road.”
Quinn chuckled as Layne stormed from the room. He looked down at his nephew, who was looking up at him. “Your daddy is too dang sensitive. Later, you and I are gonna slip some shaving cream into his shoes. How does that sound?”
Connor yawned.
“I agree,” Quinn said. “We have to be very quiet when we do it.”
He adjusted the blanket wrapped around Connor, and a pang settled in his chest. He’d never thought of becoming a father. He’d been too busy living his crazy life.
But now that he had Connor in his arms, Quinn couldn’t help but imagine a child of his own. Stevie had the panthera mark, which meant when he reached twenty-five—Quinn knew he hadn’t yet because he’d asked Layne how old Stevie was—any panther could knock him up.
In Quinn’s opinion, fate was a mean bitch for doing that to those who carried the mark. Now all Quinn wanted to do was go back to Stevie’s house and bite the human, kick-starting the process that would ready Stevie’s body for conception.
But Quinn would fight that urge. He had to, although it might be damn near impossible. It was an evolutionary drive, a need so deep to procreate that most panthers were unable to fight it.
Quinn wanted Stevie’s consent. He wanted the guy to know what he was getting into, but how did you ask a guy without freaking them out?
The inheritance Quinn had gotten would ensure his ability to take care of his family. He wasn’t worried about that. And if he was honest with himself, he was ready to be a father.
Connor had proven that. Quinn loved spending all his extra time with his nephew. He’d even had Layne show him how to change a diaper and how to feed Connor from a bottle.
He was grateful he had because Quinn had had no idea you were supposed to burp a baby. He’d learned a lot from just watching Layne and Nash with their son.
“Why do babies always smell so good?” Quinn bent his head and sniffed at his nephew. “I swear I could gobble you up.”
“Eat my son and I’ll strangle you,” Nash said as he walked in from the kitchen. He must’ve used the back door to come inside. Quinn hadn’t even heard him, which wasn’t a good thing. If trouble had entered, he would’ve been caught unaware.
That just told him how worried he was about Stevie. The twink was never too far from Quinn’s mind. “You’ve got a handsome boy,” he said to Nash. “Then again, he is an O’Brien. He comes from a long line of handsome men.”
Nash scooped Connor from Quinn’s arms and sat on the recliner. “I’m not gonna argue about that.”
The way Nash looked at Connor melted Quinn’s heart. “Can I ask you something?”
“No, you can’t use my son to pick up hot guys,” Nash said. “Go buy a puppy.”
“I mention it one time, and you won’t let me live it down,” Quinn griped. “And I was just kidding.”
There was only one guy he was interested in. Quinn just wanted to take things slow. But now that he knew Stevie had the mark, things had to speed up. Layne had told him that Stevie’s birthday was in two weeks.
Two weeks. Jesus. That wasn’t enough time, but that matter was out of Quinn’s hands. If he wanted a shot at Stevie, he had to make his move.
Quinn didn’t like the rushed timeline, but what could he do? Already his panther was going nuts to get back to Stevie. If any other panther got to him first, Quinn would be…what? Heartbroken? Disappointed? Hurt?
“What’s on your mind?” Nash placed the baby on his shoulder and patted his back.
Nash looked good with a kid. Quinn hadn’t known how badly his brother had struggled with life until they’d come back together for their aunt’s funeral. He’d learned a lot in those few days about Nash.
If Quinn had known how lost Nash had felt, he would’ve hunted him down before they’d met up again and helped out. It had been years since he’d seen any of them—Nash, Keller, and Hayward. Quinn had lost touch, dealing with his own shit.
The string of men who he’d thought were the ones for him. The fighting. His own version of being lost in countless cities and towns, trying to make something of himself.
When he’d returned to Kendall, it was as if home had been calling him back all along. The restlessness he�
�d always carried had faded. That was one reason why, when Nash had said he wanted to buy Aunt Beatrice’s house, Quinn had wanted to stay.
He’d felt reconnected to his siblings, to this town, to who he’d once been. It wasn’t as though he’d had a life to go back to. In fact, Quinn was hoping to settle down there and put some roots down.
But first he had to convince Stevie that he was the one Quinn wanted to have a life with. Everything about the guy made Quinn smile. He’d only known Stevie a few weeks, but they’d felt like magical weeks.
“Your question?”
Nash’s voice pulled Quinn out of his own headspace. “You already know I’m interested in Stevie.”
His brother nodded.
“How did you convince Layne that you two were meant to be together?”
Nash snorted. “Nothing about us coming together was easy,” he said. “I’d bitten him on accident, started the process, and had to chase him down half the time. Layne flipped out when he found out what I’d done. I thought for sure he would slice my nuts off.”
“But clearly it all worked out for you.”
“Honestly,” Nash said, “I wasn’t even ready to start a family. It scared the hell out of me because I thought I had to get my life together first, and as you know, I was pretty fucked up in the head.” He looked down as he continued to pat Connor on his tiny back. “I still am, but I’m working through it.”
Quinn knew that because he still heard Nash’s screams in the middle of the night. Not as often as before, but it broke Quinn’s heart to know the guilt his brother carried over something that wasn’t even his fault.
“If Stevie is who you want, and you know he wants you, don’t give up,” Nash said. “Nobody comes with a pretty bow. Life doesn’t work that way. Everyone has issues, Quinn. You just have to ask yourself if this is what you really want, and if the answer is yes, fight for it.”
Quinn rested his elbows on his thighs. “He has the mark. According to Layne, Stevie will turn twenty-five in two weeks.”
Nash sat forward, his brows hiked. “He has the mark?”
“On his lower back.”