Make Me, Take Me

by Amanda Usen

  “No.” The lie opened more cracks. “We had a deal. The hotel is open. You’re leaving.”

  “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to disappear and leave you alone, like your father did. Like Kate’s father did, too. That way you can go on believing that every guy will leave you.” He plastered her up against him with rough hands. Every curve and hollow of her body betrayed her, conforming to his as if they were two halves of the same whole. “I’m not that guy anymore. I told you that, but you didn’t believe me. Remember the night you got drunk and I spent the night at your apartment? You wanted to have sex, but I already had what I wanted. You—in my arms all night—waking up with you, instead of being alone. You want me to buy Last Call so you can be right about me, but that’s not the only solution. You’re just too stubborn to see it.” He captured her lips in a bruising kiss, and the cracks widened.

  She scrambled to hold herself together, but it was impossible. She was falling apart, and the only thing she had to hold on to was him. She reached for him, winding her arms around his neck and grinding her mouth against his until she felt teeth.

  His hand gripped her throat, her breast, hot as a brand, and it kept her steady. He used both hands to pull her against him, but there were too many layers, so she lifted her dress, holding the fabric. Her brain emptied as he hauled her into the air, bracing her against the alley wall. Her vision went white and clear, and when he ripped her panties aside, she was ready for him, had been ready all night.

  She wanted him, deep, hard, and fast, filling the emptiness, making her feel safe.

  “Fuck.” He stopped and buried his face against her neck, panting.

  “Please,” she gasped.

  “Tell me what you want from me.”

  The air felt charged. She heard a crack, and lightning flashed. “Make me come.”

  He lifted his head, eyes so dark they looked black, haunted, his mouth a grim line of disappointment. “Not this time. Not if you only want me inside your body. I need you to let me into your life, your real life, your whole life, not just two weeks you can pretend never happened. I thought if I were willing to stay, to take the risk, then you would, too, but I was wrong. The only time I don’t feel like you’re leaving me is when I’m inside you, and you’re right—I should just go.”

  He peeled her hands away from his neck. Her legs slipped back to the ground, and she reached for the wall, not sure her knees would support her. Her skin felt tight and hot. Her head spun, and her ears buzzed. He was leaving; she should be glad, relieved, but she stared, mute and shaking, as the truth blew her apart.

  He had changed. He wasn’t a love ’em and leave ’em suit, a rich and powerful man looking for distraction anymore. He was something much more dangerous, a man who didn’t want to leave, a man who would offer her everything, a man who wanted more from her than she knew how to give. What did she want? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t have it.

  Someone had to be responsible. Someone had to have a plan. Every time he’d pushed her, she’d pushed back harder, and now he’d given up on her. It was for the best. Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck midnight.

  He straightened his tie and popped the cuffs of his white tuxedo. “I guess Prince Charming isn’t a good look for me, after all, but I gave it my best shot. God, I was so fucking stupid.” Sighing, he shook his head. Rain began to fall. “How many times did you tell me you only wanted sex? I thought I could make you want more. I wanted to show you how good life could be if we…” His expression flattened, and his gaze grew distant. “Actually, I don’t know what I was trying to show you because I’ve never seen it myself. But I wanted to—with you.”

  She dug her nails into the bricks and held on, not trusting herself to speak. It was better this way. He might not be a love ’em and leave ’em guy anymore, but she hadn’t changed—she couldn’t. The cracks inside her splintered. Heat rose through her, harder to contain every second. The clock continued to chime, striking her heart like hammer blows, breaking her apart.

  She dug her heels into the ground and pressed her back against the rough bricks, determined to stay on her feet until he was gone. The last chime echoed, but he remained in the alley, gazing at her with an expression so full of pain, she had to turn away.

  “Here.” Paper crinkled when he pressed something into her hand. “I know you don’t want my money, but I had to do this. I wanted to be with you, and I hoped you’d say yes to more than two weeks—eventually. But I know where your heart lies, and even if it isn’t with me, I wanted it to be safe.”

  “Quin…what is this?” Her fingers felt numb and nerveless. The paper nearly fluttered out of her hand. “What did you do?”

  His expression revealed nothing. “I paid off the mortgage for Last Call. It’s a gift. No strings. Do with it what you will.” He turned his back and walked toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Forgive me for not seeing you home safely. Honestly…I can’t stand to watch you leave. I’ve seen enough of the back of your head to last a lifetime.” He opened the door of the Keystone. “Good-bye, Betsy.”

  She fell to her knees as the door shut behind him, staring at the paper in her hand. It was a copy of a bank transfer for a sum of nearly three hundred thousand dollars. The numbers blurred, and she crumpled. Pink satin made a puddle on the alley floor under her cheek, turning dark with rain and dirt.

  I knew he’d put me on my knees. She tried to laugh, but grief boiled up from her center and the sound that emerged was a scream, dry, painful, and endless. She clutched the fabric, pressed her face into the folds, and cried for the five-year-old girl who had put her broken mother to bed. The teenager who had wanted to escape. The woman who had planned to fix everything.

  Her fingers caught on something in her hair, and she yanked the tiara from her head, heedless of pins and pain, and hurled it at the garbage can. More sobs tore loose, and she felt something shatter inside her. He’d stopped pushing. How could she have known that when he stopped pushing, she’d finally break?

  He paid off the mortgage. He wanted to stay, but now he’s gone. She twisted the sparkling shoes off her feet and threw them too, screaming so hard her throat ached.

  Sudden light spilled into the alley, and she curled into a ball with her hands over her face.

  “Betsy? Darling, is that you?” Her mother’s voice made her cry harder.

  “I’m fine.” But the words emerged as a choked whisper, and her mom rushed down the alley and fell to her knees beside her. “You’re not fine, honey. Let me help. Did Quin do this?”

  She shook her head. “It was all me.”

  “Oh, honey.” Her mother reached for her, and Betsy surprised herself by burrowing into her arms. “I hoped you’d finally fall in love, but I didn’t want it to be like this.”

  “It’s not. I’m not. Don’t worry—I’m not in love. I’m just…” She didn’t want to tell her mom she’d been having a fling. “It was…um…temporary. By my choice. He’s leaving… We were just…you know.”

  Her mother’s laugh sounded like a shower of butterflies landing in the dark alley. “Oh, I know, all right. I know you can tell your heart not to love someone a million times, but your heart doesn’t take orders from you. I can’t believe Quin agreed to a…what did you call it? A temporary arrangement? Why? He is the loneliest man I have ever met.”

  “Quin isn’t lonely. Far from it.”

  “I know men. I’ve seen one of every kind come in the bar over the last twenty-five years. That man bleeds lonely. Just like you. Why won’t you give him a chance?”

  She looked at her mother on her knees next to her, and it took her back to the darkest time in her memory. She could barely get the words out. “Do you remember when I was five? The night that…”

  Her mother sucked in a breath. “I hoped you’d forgotten that.”

  “How could I? He put you on your knees. He made you beg. I swear he looked like he was enjoying himself, and
you stayed there for hours after he left.” And she’d hidden in the hall, watching, waiting, wondering if her mother was ever getting up again. She hadn’t moved until Betsy touched her. The carpet had been soaked beneath her cheek.

  “I got up, sugar. Stainless steel, remember?”

  Betsy took a shuddering breath. “But I promised myself no man would ever have that much power over me. I never wanted to fall in love. I thought it made you weak.” She shook her head. Her mother wasn’t weak; she was strong. She’d had to be. But Betsy wasn’t. “It doesn’t matter if I love him. It takes strength to get up. More strength than I’ve got.”

  “More strength than anyone’s got alone, darling. You helped me get up, and I’m sorry it had to be you…so, so sorry. A child should never have to help her mother like that. I think that’s part of why I didn’t tell you about the mortgage. I wanted to be strong for you.” Her voice broke. Betsy looked up and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. “Back then you were all I had, and I was pregnant. Kate’s father was not a nice man, not nice at all, even you could see that. I loved him, but I needed to send him away. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done.”

  Surprise jerked her upright. “You sent him away? I thought he left you.”

  “No.” The word trembled in the air, full of anguish.

  “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.” How much of her inability to trust had been born in that one misinterpreted moment? She’d spent all this time thinking of her mother as a victim, so many years trying to keep from becoming a victim herself. It rocked her to the core to learn she’d been wrong, that her mother had been protecting them, protecting her.

  She shrugged away from her mother and held up the crumpled paper. “Quin paid off the mortgage for Last Call.”

  A dreamy smile tilted the corners of her mother’s lips. “Oh my—isn’t that romantic.”

  “Are you kidding me? We’ve got to pay him back. He can’t just…” The pain on his face as he looked over his shoulder flashed into her mind’s eye. She forced it away. Her mother’s revelation didn’t change the way she was wired—it couldn’t. She wasn’t going to take Quin’s money. Not gonna happen.

  Her heart zinged a warning, and she clapped a hand over her chest before her subconscious could kick any thoughts to the surface. I know where your heart lies, and even if it isn’t with me, I want it to be safe. Her breath squeezed out of her lungs, and she couldn’t get any back in.

  Her head buzzed, and her skin felt itchy and hot. The thought of a future without Quin made her feel like crying again, but she couldn’t give him what he needed, even if she wanted to. She sagged against the wall, defeated.

  “My poor baby.” Her mother gathered her into her arms again.

  The kitchen door opened and light filled the alley. “Betsy? Mom? What the hell?” Kate’s voice was tight with shock.

  “Mrs. Mouton? Is everything all right?” Even though the light was behind them, it was impossible not to recognize Lila and Jenna standing in the kitchen door.

  “What are you doing here?” Betsy struggled to her feet.

  Jenna put her hands on her hips. “It sounded like you have a pretty serious case of the flu. We came to make you some chicken soup, of course—whether you want it or not.”

  …

  Quin strode through the kitchen and into the thick of the party, making a beeline for the main bar. “Bakers.” He made himself add, “Please.”

  “You look like you could use a double.” The bartender was on the right track.

  “I’ll take the bottle. Put it on my tab.”

  “You got it.”

  Quin accepted the bottle and stalked out of the hotel into the pouring rain, leaving the party behind, a success, indeed, and all of it wasted. Broken. Lost. She thought he wanted to put her out of business. How long would it be before she decided he’d paid off the mortgage to make her feel beholden to him in some twisted way? She obviously hadn’t believed a word he said—or she didn’t care. Anger burned a wall inside him straight to the ground, leaving a line of black ash. He stepped over it and walked.

  The cemetery was in a lousy part of town, and he sensed shadows around him, behind him, and in front of him. He’d always known where his mother was buried, but he’d never let his midnight wanderings take him there. He wasn’t sure why he was going now.

  When he reached the cemetery gate, he sank down to the ground, cracked open the bottle, and let the bourbon burn a path to his heart. It didn’t take the edge off his pain. Didn’t dull it. Didn’t blur it. Didn’t even touch it.

  He’d done everything but tell Betsy he loved her, and she couldn’t even admit she wanted him for anything but sex. Defeat pounded through him, a sickening thud in his heart, throat, and chest. He’d always sensed another loss would destroy him, but he’d opened himself up anyway. He’d thought his nightmares were gone. He was wrong.

  They were coming for him now.

  He braced his hands on the sidewalk. Gravel stung his palms, and colors flashed before his eyes. The wet smell of incense made him dizzy. He knew that scent. It never meant anything good, but the wall between him and the past was gone. He couldn’t hide anymore.

  He raised his face to the rain.

  Red hair, dark eyes, freckles. His ghost, the woman he’d seen walking with the boy on his trip to New Orleans two years ago, the one who had run away, was standing in front of him.

  “Mind if I join you?” Her voice had sung him to sleep. She’d always stood between him and the nightmares. Until she hadn’t. Now he remembered everything.

  He shook his head, barely able to speak. “Melly?”

  She sank to the ground beside him. “I’m so sorry, Quin.”

  The vast inadequacy of that statement shocked his brain back online. “Sorry for what? For leaving me to fend for myself when I was a kid? For running from me in the street two years ago? Or for waiting two weeks to finally say hello?”

  “I’m sorry for all of it.” Her eyes were ancient, holding as much pain as he felt. “You didn’t recognize me two years ago.”

  “Because I couldn’t remember. Until now, just this second, I couldn’t remember anything that happened before you left me with Peter and Maeve.”

  “I couldn’t face the past, either.”

  But she hadn’t been alone, not like he had. He sucked in a breath that felt like a knife in his throat. “Was that your son? Do I have a nephew?”

  She nodded, and his heart seized. It was hard to contain the sudden, swelling joy, the hope. It could so easily be lost. “Why aren’t you running now? What changed?”

  “You,” she said simply. She reached for his hand, and her bracelet chimed. She gazed at his palm. “You show up in the leaves like a storm in the Delta.”

  “Mumbo-jumbo.” He tried to pull away, but her grasp was firm.

  “So angry and hungry, changing everything in your path.” She traced lines on his palm. “You can’t deny your destiny.” She met his gaze, and her eyes glistened. “I’m a junkie, Quin. I have the gift and the curse, just like Mom.” Understanding punched a hole in his gut. All of the things he hadn’t understood as a child fell into place. The tiny envelopes he wasn’t allowed to play with, the paper plates when there was no food…the long naps…the constant fear. “Peter and Maeve were good people, and I knew they’d take care of you. You were safe and so much better off without me. Look at you.” She fingered the sleeve of his white jacket, now soaked with rain and smudged with dirt. “You turned out great.” She was silent for a moment. “But I wasn’t gonna make it.”

  “They looked for you. For years.”

  “I didn’t want to be found. It’s easy to hide when you can see what’s coming down the pike, but that day on the street surprised me. I saw the storm, but I didn’t know it was you until I looked into your eyes and saw a man who had lost everything and was hell-bent on destruction. So I ran. I thought I’d saved you, but I hadn’t. You were lost, and I was afraid. It wasn’t just me anymore.
I had Quincy.”

  “Quincy?” he asked, pierced.

  A tear slid down her cheek. “I was high when I found out I was pregnant, and it was bad. I used the drugs to block the visions. I think Mom did, too. It’s not always comfortable to know things.” She took a breath. “Without the heroin, I knew it was a boy. I knew he’d look just like you. And every time I thought about him, I saw your expression after you found mom. Blank. Frozen. Completely shut down. I couldn’t save you, Quin.” She clung to his hand. “But you saved me. I never touched another needle, and I named him after you.”

  He looked down at their clasped hands and then turned hers over to trace the tracks on her arm with his gaze. She’d been right to run. The man he’d been two years ago would have tried to take Quincy the moment he learned about Melly’s drug addiction. He wouldn’t have cared that she was in recovery. His breath shuddered from his lungs, and he gathered her into her arms.

  “Can I meet him?” he asked when he could speak. He was holding her so tight he felt her nod.

  “Let’s say good-bye, and then I’ll take you home.”

  Home. He hadn’t had one since Peter and Maeve died. He’d lived in hotels. “Wait—good-bye?”

  “To Mom. Isn’t that why you came?”

  Was it? He stared at her, confused.

  She stood. “C’mon, Baby Q. Accept the gifts your past gave you, and let the rest go.”

  “Gifts?” How did a history of addiction, second sight, and denial qualify as gifts? He left the whiskey on the ground and rose to his feet.

  A mischievous smile curved her lips. “If I remember correctly, you can hustle Scrooge out of his last quarter through sheer force of will.”

  “How can you joke about it?” He didn’t see any humor in his now readily accessible memories of being on the street, picking his guitar until his fingers bled, filthy, hungry, and wondering if their take would be spent on anything but drugs.

  She shrugged. “Practice.” She did something to the lock on the gate, and it swung open.