by Ella Brooke
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I never intended to humiliate you.”
“What, then?” she demands. “Do you just make a habit of punching out random people in amusement parks?”
I shake my head. “No, I…” Why did I react the way I did? The real reasons are buried deeper than I want to dig. “I’m sorry,” I say again, raking a hand through my hair. I look up into her blazing blue gaze that’s filled with compassion in spite of her anger. Her silky hair flows down over her shoulders, her shapely arms wrapping herself in a defensive hug. She looks both strong and fragile at the same time, and all I want to do is hold her close and never let her go again. I’m an idiot to try and deny the depth of my feelings for her.
“I need you,” I say, the words falling from my lips almost on their own. “I didn’t realize how much until you weren’t there. I said a lot of things because I thought they were the right things to say, not because I believed them. Everything I know tells me that it’s wrong to fall for a woman half my age, but I have. God help me, I have, and I can’t change how I feel. I love you, Quinn. I think I have since the first day I saw you. Will you forgive me?”
Her lips tremble as she unfolds her arms and reaches out for me. I step forward and gather her in my arms.
“Yes,” she whispers, pressing her face to my chest. “Because I love you, too. We shouldn’t care what people say. All that should matter is how we feel.”
I agree and tilt her tear-stained face upward. We share a kiss unlike any other before it, filled with passion yet tempered with forgiveness and healing. Her lips are moist and yielding, responding in equal fervor to mine. Even if I can’t claim to know what real love is, trying to outrun it or outsmart it is a waste of time. It will catch up to you when you least expect it, and now that it’s here, I intend to hold onto it with everything I’ve got.
“Logan, I have to tell you something,” she says as we break our kiss.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, honey. I know how much I hurt you by shutting you out like I did. Since the break-in, everything is going to shit with Jolene sniffing around like a rabid dog. I can’t bear the thought of Rose knowing her mother’s a crazed, recovering drug addict, and I’m scared shitless that she’ll try to take her away from me. And that she might win.” As I say Rose’s name, I stiffen in fear.
“Where is Rose?” Quinn asks, and I realize I’ve left her on the carousel. I can’t believe I could do something so stupid.
“On the merry-go-round,” I gasp. “Oh my God, she’ll be terrified if she doesn’t see me.” I turn and bolt straight for the carousel, Quinn following behind. As I reach the unloading gate, I stop dead in my tracks. My blood turns to ice as I stare into Jolene’s haunted, red-rimmed eyes.
“Hello, Logan,” she says with a leering smile, accentuating her garish red lipstick that seems crooked and hastily applied. “Looking for someone?”
“Out of my way, Jolene.” I move toward her, intending to shove her aside to get to the platform when she opens the lapel of her faded jean jacket to show me what’s inside.
“Don’t,” she says, gesturing to a shiny black revolver tucked in an inside pocket. “I wouldn’t do anything sudden if I were you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Quinn
A Mother’s Love
I catch up to Logan, almost crashing into him as he stops dead in front of me. I follow his line of sight, and I don’t need to guess at the identity of the thin creature standing before him with wild eyes that glower at him from a pale, desperate face. I know with dreadful certainty that we’ve come face-to-face with the infamous Jolene.
I almost feel sorry for her—dressed in shabby denims, her red-gold hair hanging in dull coils around her face and neck—but it passes when I see the handgun tucked inside her jacket. I suck in a breath at the sight, and her sunken eyes flicker past me as I peer over Logan’s broad shoulder.
“Where is Rose?” Logan demands. “If you’ve even touched her I swear I’ll wring your skinny neck, Jo.”
“Relax, she’s fine. See for yourself,” she says, jerking her chin toward the moving carousel. I watch the spinning platform until I spot Rose’s brunette head as she rides a brightly painted pink and red pony around and around. She seems fine but is clearly looking about for her daddy with each pass. “I told her I was a friend of yours and bought her another ticket. Said it was okay for her to have an extra ride.”
“I don’t know how you got here, or how you found us, but if you have any decency left in you, Jo, you’ll leave now,” Logan says. “Quietly. And don’t even think about touching that gun. Security will be on you like flies.”
Jolene tosses her head in defiance. “You think I’m so nuts I’d pull a gun out in front of my daughter? I only wanted to talk to you, Logan. The gun’s just to make sure you listen.”
The ride is slowing down, and my mind is racing as to how we can get to Rose before Jolene does, or before she does something reckless that can’t be undone. I feel the tension in Logan’s body as I stand close behind him.
“I’m listening,” he says, his voice stern but even.
“I want to see her, Logan. I’m her mother, and I should get her half the time, fifty-fifty, all nice and fair.”
I clutch Logan’s muscled arm, sensing his desire to lunge forward and get physical with her; what Jolene is asking is not an option, not in a million years. I know how he feels about even acknowledging her to his daughter, much less sharing any kind of custody.
“You really are out of your mind,” Logan scoffs in disbelief. “You’ll never have that kind of access to her. The courts wouldn’t allow it, and I sure as fuck won’t.”
“Please, Logan,” Jolene replies, her voice sounding more frightened than aggressive. “You have to believe me, I’m not off my rocker. I’ve changed, really changed, for good this time. I went through hell in rehab, for Rose’s sake—just to be with her again. I’m clean, I swear it.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me. The only reason you’re here is because you know the courts will turn you down flat with your self-destructive history. You don’t give a shit about Rose, or me, or anything but your own sick needs.”
Jolene is visibly trembling, and something tells me it’s taken a lot for her to even be here and stand her ground. Despite her brave words she’s clearly terrified. She’s come way out of her comfort zone for the sake of her daughter, and that says a lot about her sincerity in rehabilitation. But Logan doesn’t see it; all he understands is his pain and his rage at the one who’s caused him that pain.
“No,” Jolene says, shaking her head and taking a tentative step forward. “It’s not like that. Things are different now. I’m not the same person as I was with you, Logan. I didn’t have the strength to deal with the responsibility of a child, then. But I do now. I’m better now, can’t you see that?”
“Bullshit,” Logan says. “A snake can shed its skin, but it’s still a snake. Don’t come any closer. Turn around, walk away—and maybe I won’t call the cops.”
“Logan,” I whisper over his shoulder. “Don’t threaten her. She’s barely holding it together—she could snap.” My years of behavioral study are setting off alarm bells in my head, and suddenly I recall every word of those case studies I thought I’d never need to know about. Threatening someone who’s already emotionally compromised is not the right approach; it can push them over the edge and force them to take acts of desperation. Especially if that person has a weapon; and this one does. We have to get through to her on a different level entirely.
She’s close enough that I can see the tears welling in her blazing eyes. “I can’t,” she says, her voice cracking. “I won’t walk away this time. I want to know my daughter—is that so much to ask? Please… I know I screwed up before. Give me another chance…”
Logan shrugs us both off, cutting Jolene short again. “You had your chance. You had every chance. For God’s sake, Rose was only a few days old when you left, Jo. What kind of mother d
oes that? No fit kind… you don’t deserve a second chance, not now, not ever, do you hear me?”
“Don’t say that…” Jolene pleads, near to tears.
“Don’t go begging for sympathy when you have none for anyone else. You’re incapable of a single, decent human feeling!” Logan shouts.
“Shut up!” Jolene cries, placing her shaking hands over her ears. I swallow hard. The scene is painful to watch and is attracting the attention of nearby carnival goers. Despite Logan’s hurtful censure, I know in my gut she’s not crazy, nor inhuman; her responses are mostly rational and self-aware. She’s unstable, certainly, but not deranged. She’s just a mother who wants her child and a fresh start. No impulse or motivation could be simpler or purer than that; I understand that now more than never.
Logan seems beyond hearing, his anger escalating out of control. “Get this through your baked-out skull, Jolene. You will never, never have a relationship with Rose. Not while I’m alive…”
“Shut up!” Jolene screams, dropping her hands and reaching inside her jacket. “Then you can die,” she adds, pulling the gun from its folds and leveling it straight at Logan. My stomach twists and I feel like I’m about to pass out. If I lost him now, there’d be two more fatherless children in the world. I can’t breathe, and I’m seeing stars as my vision threatens to fade and go dark. I lean my head down against Logan’s shoulder, my fingers digging into his strong arm as he goes stiff, readying for a fight.
“Logan,” I whisper. I close my eyes, willing my head to clear. “Don’t say anything else, just watch for Rose.” I draw two deep breaths and raise my head. Then I take a slow, deliberate step out from behind him. Jolene’s gaze slips sideways over me, and she seems even more afraid of me than of him. A slight, small woman, both Logan and I tower over her by comparison.
“Who are you?” she squawks in surprise. “Get back, or I’ll finish him right now.”
“Jolene,” I say calmly, my brain seeming to switch into a different mode like I’d just pressed the power button on a hidden, powerful machine that shows me exactly what I need to do. “Rose is right behind you. Don’t let her see this. Put the gun down.”
Chapter Fourteen
Logan
Brave & Crazy
“You’re lying, she’s still on the merry-go-round,” Jolene says, the gun barrel wobbling violently in her unsteady hands, still pointed at my chest. Every fiber of my body is tensed like a drawn hunting bow, ready to spring. Adrenaline surges through my veins, through every limb and every cell; Quinn has purposely stepped into the line of fire, left herself purposely open and exposed, and I’m about to lose my mind with fear for her.
Several yards beyond Jolene’s frail, wispy frame I see a stranger lift Rose off the carousel platform and attempt to comfort her. She doesn’t see us and is clearly panicking. I’m torn in two wanting desperately to protect both her and Quinn, unable to fathom what’s possessed Quinn to pull this dangerous stunt.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” she says to Jolene, holding her hands out, palms upward in a gesture of openness. “My name’s Quinn. I know Rose, and I know she wouldn’t want to see her daddy get hurt. Please put the gun down.”
Jolene shifts her aim to Quinn, and a cold blackness takes root in my soul. If anything happens to Quinn I’ll never forgive myself; I’m responsible for getting her in this mess. I have to find a way to take out Jolene without letting her get off a shot.
“Put it down now, Jo,” I say. “Last warning.” Quinn glances my way and silences me with a subtle flick of her hand. The gesture says that she has a plan, and I’m not part of it.
“I know you’re upset, Jolene, and that you’ve had a rough go of things,” she continues. “You love Rose, too—I can see that. I understand you want to be with her. You’re her mother, you’ll always be her mother. No one can take that away from you.”
I’ve never heard Quinn speak in this tone of voice; it’s assertive but soft and soothing. I’m dumbfounded at the nerves of steel she’s displaying, and the effect it’s having on Jolene. Maybe the sympathetic words are getting through to her. I stay still, but with my muscles still jacked into high alert, ready to catapult across the small distance between us at the slightest false move from Jo.
“Damn right,” Jolene says. “I gave birth to her.”
“Of course you did. Bringing life into the world is a great thing, but a hard thing, too. I’m sure you were just overwhelmed. You never meant to hurt anyone, and you won’t hurt anyone now, will you Jolene?”
“I want my daughter,” Jolene says, stamping her foot. “No one gets hurt if you just let me walk away with her, nice and quiet-like.”
Quinn shakes her head slowly. “That can’t happen, Jolene. Not until you get more help. When you’re better, you can see Rose, I promise you. I’ll see to it.”
Jo seems confused, and her agitation starts to build again. “No! I’m not waiting anymore. I’m already better, I want her now,” she cries, her arms quivering from the effort of holding up the revolver. I’m terrified it just may go off in her clumsy grip. Jolene shakes her curly head as if trying to rid it of Quinn’s words like a swarm of buzzing insects. “Just shut up!” she barks, wagging the business end of the gun at Quinn. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’d better give me my daughter right now, or I’ll shoot. I will!”
I can tell by the feverish look in her eyes that she’s on the brink; she’s going to go over the edge any second. I’ve seen it too many times before. It’s all I can do not to jump her right now—take a bullet if it came to that. Better my miserable ass than Quinn, or some innocent bystander.
“You won’t,” Quinn assures her in firm, confident tones. “I know you won’t because, you see, I’m a mother too.” My head jerks in her direction at her words. What is she saying? She lowers her hands slowly to her midsection to stroke her belly. “I’m going to have a baby. It’s still inside of me, and I know you don’t want to hurt a baby who isn’t even born yet, do you, Jolene?”
Jolene blanches, and her jaw quivers. “No,” she gasps, as though insulted at being accused of such a thing. My brain is on overload trying to take in what I’m hearing, or what I’m seeing. Quinn is pregnant? The idea knifes through me like a heated blade. Have I done it again, carelessly impregnating a woman like a worthless jerk? Or is it a calculated lie—a trump card to persuade Jolene to stand down? Either way, I’m blindsided, wracked with guilt and completely speechless at Quinn’s handling of this bizarre situation in front of us.
“That’s good because if you hurt me, I will never get to see my baby,” Quinn pleads. “And I want to see my baby, just like you want to see Rose. How would you feel to never be able to see her again?”
“I will see her.” Jolene nods, sniffing back her building tears. “You can’t stop me.”
“I know how much you must miss her—that you’ve never got a chance to hold her, kiss her and put her to bed at night. Don’t you want to do all those things?”
“Yes!” Jolene shrieks, the tears now spilling down her cheeks.
“Then you have to put the gun down. If you don’t, you may never see Rose again.” Jolene’s breath is coming in heaves, her watery gaze darting back and forth and her body trembling uncontrollably. “You’ll go to jail,” Quinn continues. “Is that what you want? For Rose to have her mother locked away and never know her?”
“No,” Jolene gasps.
“Just put the gun down, and that won’t happen. Please. Rose needs her mother. Do it for her.”
Jo dissolves into helpless, convulsing sobs and her shaking arms collapse to her sides. As her knees buckle, the handgun clatters to the pavement, and she covers her face with both hands. “For Rose,” she wails.
I dive for the discarded weapon at the same moment Quinn rushes forward to catch Jo in her arms as she crumbles to the ground in a sobbing heap. I’m stumped at the amazing strength and compassion of this brave, brilliant young woman, and I thank the moon and stars and whatever po
wers that be that have brought her into my life. If my child is inside of her, I’m the most undeserving son of a bitch in the world. I look gratefully into her luminous blue eyes as she cradles and comforts Jolene—a stranger to her who could have ended us both—in a gentle, forgiving embrace. A tired smile curves her beautiful lips.
“Everything’s okay. Go get Rose,” she urges quietly. “I’ll find you.”
I get to my feet just as two hefty men working security arrive to secure the handgun and take control of the situation. A police SUV pulls slowly into the area, sounding an intermittent woop of its siren to clear the crowd. I step back to give them space before I turn and cut a swath through the shocked onlookers to get to Rose, who I find lodged in the arms of a kind-looking middle-aged woman.
“Daddy!” she cries, reaching out to me with her tiny arms.
“I’m here, Rosebud. Daddy’s here.” I can barely choke the words past the ball of emotion trapped in my throat. “Thank you,” I say to the lady as she hands Rose off to me. I hold my little girl close amid the crush of people, flashing lights and ringing sounds of the carousel, memorizing the feel of her precious warm body against mine, and the sweet smell of her just-washed hair, and vow I’ll never let her from my sight again.
I know that’s not possible, but the day she was born I’d promised to be the best father I could possibly be. And if Quinn is telling the truth, I have twice as many reasons to live up to that promise now. I never thought I could love anything or anyone as much as Rose, and as much as I hate myself for what I’ve done, the thought of Quinn carrying my baby fills me with a silent, indescribable joy. When she’d said, “I have something to tell you,” I have no doubt this was her incredible news.
I start back across the parking lot to find Quinn and tell her how much it means to me, how grateful I am, and that I’ll stand by her; that I love her now more than ever.