“Ari, huh? Isn’t she the underclassman who was always trying to break us up in high school? So cute that she finally got you to date her.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Hmm, that’s not what she seems to think. If you hurry, you can catch up to her.”
“That’s not what I want, and you damn well know it.” His lips were set in a firm line, betraying his irritation.
“See you around, Quentin. Or is it ‘Q-Q’?” She grabbed what’s-his-name’s arm and started to move away.
“Really, Savannah? This is the game you’re playing?” His voice was calm, tense. Deadly. Not at all the laid back, gentle, encouraging guy he had been since she crashed into him several days ago.
“No game. Just living my life.” She leaned into her guy-prop. She could nearly smell the fear on him.
“What you’re doing isn’t living.” Quentin stepped forward and put his hand on the guy’s shoulder. Stupid guy tensed. “Good luck with this one, Nick.”
And then he walked away.
Nick shrugged his shoulder where Quentin’s hand had just been. He looked around, almost as if trying to figure out what strange thing would happen next. He turned back to her, a quizzical look on his face.
“You used to date him? In high school?”
Disgusted, Savannah grabbed the brown bag encased bottle out of his hands. “Go to hell.”
She stormed off, wanting to guzzle the contents in one giant sip, but knowing she’d need to get herself home first. Since she had allowed herself too many drinks to drive, she’d have to huff her way back to the studio. All ten miles.
She suddenly hated her new heels.
She heard Nick calling out to her, exasperation lending an edge to his voice, but she didn’t give two sticks about his deflated ego or unfulfilled expectations.
To hell with men. To hell with this town. To hell with dealing with problems the way she saw fit. To hell with herself.
She didn’t know what she’d do with the rest of her night, but she was grateful to see Nick had splurged for the good stuff.
***
Quentin stormed around town for a full thirty minutes before being able to remember where he had parked his car. His focus was too wrapped up in his heart-stopping encounter with Savannah.
He had sworn just last night that he wouldn’t even think about her anymore, yet when he had run into her in town, he had allowed himself to imagine that she’d be happy to see him; that they could put aside the spat they had and move forward. He could never stay angry with her. This time, though…
Quentin wasn’t a violent man, but he had to resist the urge to pummel Nick. Not that the guy did anything knowingly wrong. But that didn’t stop the ire from running through Quentin’s veins at the thought of anyone touching his Savannah. His Peach. His love.
Some love. Obviously she had no problem getting over Quentin.
He had been able to smell the alcohol on Savannah, but he knew she was fully in charge of herself. She wasn’t being taken advantage of—she was taking advantage.
That poor fool had no idea that he was going to be chewed up and spit out.
What the hell was she thinking?
He cursed as he punched the brick wall. Stupidly, he had allowed himself to think she had feelings for him still. That he could help her heal from the pain of the past and they could pick up where they had left off ten years ago.
Clearly he was an idiot.
He clenched his fists, ignoring the pain of his rapidly swelling knuckles.
She did the worst things to him. And the greatest things, too.
The look in her eyes when that other guy came out of the liquor store betrayed her outer confidence. She was ashamed to be caught in the act. When Quentin had hinted about her missing ice cream night with Joey, she had flinched before hardening her expression.
That must mean something, right?
As his red rage faded to a calmer orange, and a light, cleansing rain began misting around him, he realized he was even more of an idiot than he had thought.
He couldn’t simply discount the fact that coming back to Healing Springs was more than likely triggering pain she had buried years ago. She had fled immediately after the death of her brother—before she even accepted her high school diploma. She had isolated herself from everyone, and had only agreed to come back here because her mother’s life was on the line and she hoped to be a match for the bone marrow donation.
Even still, she had kept her distance from everyone in town, including her family.
And then he had forced her to watch his kid. Before she was ready. When she still hadn’t forgiven herself for what had happened when she was a teenager.
Damn it all to hell!
He screwed up. Big time.
She was doing what she had to do to chase away the pain. Hadn’t he been in that position, too? Isn’t that how he got involved with Joey’s mother in the first place?
When Quentin had tracked Savannah down in her new town, he had foolishly thought he’d be able to convince her that she should return home. All through high school and college, he had worked his ass off and invested all of his earnings—every penny that he didn’t need to support himself. His intention had always been to make a good life for them, and that didn’t change just because she had disappeared. Once he had a good nest egg, he bought the house she always wanted. He worked tirelessly to fix it up, to make it a place she could feel safe and secure and loved.
When he went to her town, he hadn’t been able to get close to her. He saw her from a distance, reorganizing a shelf. He could feel her pain all the way across the store. It crippled him. It made him realize he had no business trying to save someone else when he had failed her brother so miserably.
That’s when he made the decision to toss aside his business degree and pursue a career as a paramedic. He couldn’t change the past, but he could commit to saving as many people as possible.
He had convinced himself that as soon as he had redeemed himself, he’d come back for her.
Lost in his own pain, he had allowed himself to get dragged into a pseudo-relationship with Merry, who turned out to be anything but merry when she realized he’d never love her the way he loved Savannah. He tried to do right by her when they found out she was pregnant with Joey—he even tried his best to be happy with this unexpected path—but she never bought his act and decided this life wasn’t the right one for her, anyway.
He had no regrets, because he loved his boy more than anything in the world.
He just wished he could fix the future.
With his new insight, he wanted to kick himself in the ass for storming away from her. He should have done something. He shouldn’t have left her with her pain. He shouldn’t have let her down.
On his way to his car, Quentin noticed that Ari and her group were still going strong in the common. He was surprised the police hadn’t asked them to move along, but since tourist season wasn’t in full swing yet, they only had one or two officers on duty at any given moment. And the light rain that had fallen eased up immediately, almost like he had imagined it.
He averted his eyes from the group, not wanting Ari to notice him. A male voice rose about the giggles, and he couldn’t help but recognize the voice of Nick, the guy who had been with Savannah.
He moved away from the street light and studied the crowd, searching for a sign that Savannah was okay. He didn’t see her as the party-crowd type—she was too much of a loner—but maybe he was wrong. Or maybe she made an exception tonight.
Nick had three women draped on him and a can of whipped cream being emptied onto his laughing face. Savannah was not one of the participants.
He scanned the street and immediately found her car parked a few spaces away from his.
He jogged toward her car. She wasn’t in it.
“Hey,” Quentin called over the fence to Nick. The gals started squealing when they noticed Quentin. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood his gro
und. The fence would keep them away. Nick’s smile faded when he met Quentin’s eyes.
“Haven’t you done enough to ruin my night?”
“Where is she?” Quentin didn’t recognize the lethality in his own voice. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt more protective.
Nick ignored him, turning back to the women.
Quentin walked around to the entrance of the common. One scathing look at Ari and her friends and they backed away as fast as they swarmed him. Nick huffed himself up, getting braver with his alcohol consumption, apparently.
“Jesus, what do you want?” Nick spouted.
“Where is she?” Quentin moved closer, his hands curling into tight fists.
“Calm yourself, dude. That dick tease is long gone. Took my whiskey and ran off before even coming close to sealing the deal.” Nick draped his arms over the shoulders of two women. They laughed and joked with one another as they sucked down red Jell-o shots from a plastic cup. “But it’s all good. Her replacements are far more interesting to me.”
He itched to punch the cocky SOB in the mouth to shut him up. He managed to restrain himself, though he did step closer. The women wiggled their way out of Nick’s grasp, probably sensing the threat of aggression.
“If I hear one more negative word about her, you’d better pray for mercy.”
Nick looked around, nervously licking his lips and twitching his head.
Quentin glared at him for a good long while before heading back to his car. Though hitting Nick may have offered temporary relief, it was far more important for him to find Savannah.
Most businesses were closed, but he searched the few that were still open. No sign of Savannah.
Driving to her studio, his heart accelerated nearly as fast as his car. Would she have walked home? She had been under the influence, so maybe she didn’t want to take any risks. Smart girl.
Except now the off and on, misting rain was erupting into a downpour. He hoped someone had picked her up and given her a ride. Though the air temperature was warm, the rain would quickly cool things down.
Rocco greeted him when he opened the door. The animal paced back and forth on the porch, and Quentin knew the dog was as worried about Savannah as he was. He hadn’t passed her on the way here. He was sure of it. He couldn’t imagine she’d have drifted off into the woods in the shoes she had been wearing.
He didn’t know why, but his gut told him where he could find her.
Rocco ran alongside him as Quentin booked it down to the lake. Quite honestly, he wasn’t sure who was leading whom.
He slowed to catch his breath as soon as he saw her. She was huddled in the sand, curled up in a ball. Rain soaked her, but she remained still. Rocco ran to her, licking her cheek and causing her to roll over, shielding her face from his giant tongue. Quentin released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. She was okay.
As soon as he was within fifteen feet, he noticed the whiskey bottle on the ground beside her. He kicked it, surprised to see it empty.
She mumbled something, but was slurring too badly for him to make any sense of what she was saying.
Without a second thought, he swung her into his arms and carried her back to the studio. He considered bringing her to his house, but figured he was already on her shit list for everything else.
Once he got her settled in dry clothes and the warm bed, Quentin sent a message to Nana Robby letting her know he’d be staying out for the night.
No way was he leaving her in this condition. He didn’t care what battle would ensue in the morning—he would remain by her side until he knew she was safe.
Chapter Nine
Savannah stretched her limbs, rotating her feet to ease the soreness in her ankles. As soon as she opened her eyes, she regretted the decision. Her hands immediately covered her face to protect her from the blasted sunlight streaming in. Her mouth was dry, gritty.
Wait a minute.
How did she get to her bed?
She sat upright, struggling to make sense of last night.
Her hair felt heavy, slightly damp underneath and full of… sand. She was in her pajamas, but still wearing her bra. Usually the bra was the first thing off, so why did she leave it on? And usually she didn’t even bother with PJs when she was as rip-roaring drunk as she had been last night.
She stumbled out of the bed, tripping over Rocco. He lifted his head and groaned, annoyed at the disruption. She stuck her tongue out at him and continued to the bathroom.
She passed the strange man on the futon, closed the bathroom door, then whipped it open again.
Strange man on the futon?
She doubled back, trying to be stealthy, but sounding more like a hippo ballerina on crack as she struggled to maintain her balance. She leaned down and peered over the wide male shoulders, steadying herself on the wooden arm of the futon.
Okay, not so strange. Quentin.
But what was he doing here?
She squinted as she played back the previous night in her head. The encounter with Nick and Quentin. Her walking halfway home before accepting a ride from an old teacher she could recognize but not recall. Stumbling down to the beach, determined to face her fears. Falling into the bottle of whiskey and playing Mind Eraser. Alone.
So where did Quentin fit into the latter part of this equation?
How did he find her? And why did he stay?
She hurried into the bathroom. Her dry mouth appreciated the brushing and the mouthwash. She tried to comb through her hair with her fingers, but the combination of sleeping on it while it was wet and apparently bringing half the beach home in it made brushing impossible.
She’d have to take a quick shower. No way did she want Quentin to see her like this.
The hot shower (thanks to her stepdad sending Quentin to fix it days ago) helped ease away the hangover she thought she might struggle with. She didn’t normally suffer the day after a night out, but she also usually stopped well before she did last night.
She wrapped herself in a towel and hummed as she selected her clothes. Quentin remained asleep. Rocco, too.
Since she couldn’t recall what happened last night, she had to assume that Quentin had found her—passed out—on the beach, brought her home, and stayed to watch out for her.
She supposed that meant he earned a cup of coffee when he awoke. Hell, she needed one, too.
She started the coffee pot and whipped up a batch of “microwave muffins in a mug.” She’d be extra kind and make him breakfast before kicking him to the curb.
When the coffee was done, she carried her mug over to the chair near the futon where she had watched over Joey a short time ago. Rocco stood within reach of her extended foot, waiting expectantly for a rubbing. She obliged, inhaling the coffee aroma and staring at Quentin.
Even sleeping, the man looked amazing. He had matured as he aged, but he hadn’t really changed. He rolled over, flinging one arm over his eyes and placing the other one low on his belly. His jaw had grown scruffy, and even in rest, his biceps could have made the cover of any fitness magazine.
Shamelessly drinking in the length of him, she gulped when she noticed the bulge straining against his jeans. If he had been wearing those PJs he had on the other day, she would have had a better view.
She slowly sipped her coffee, but didn’t stop ogling. Not like he could see her—he was sound asleep. Staying angry at him was impossible when he looked so cozy and sexy and irresistible. Daydreams taunted her. Oh, how she could release that squished up bulge. She could climb on top of him, allow him to awaken to sweet release. He had granted her a delicious orgasm the other day. She owed him.
“See something you like?”
His husky voice made her jump, causing a good splash of coffee to spill over the top of her mug.
When had he woken up?
He swung his legs to the floor, but didn’t stop staring back at her, even as she licked the dripping coffee off the side of her mug.
“I take it y
ou’re feeling better this morning.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes pierced through her embarrassed fog and lit up her damaged soul.
“I feel great, thanks for asking,” she squeaked. She cleared her throat and stood. “I made you breakfast.”
“You did?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be, considering you make your dog’s food.” He smiled. She couldn’t see it with her back turned to him, but gosh darn it, she could hear it. She could feel it.
Savannah handed him the mug-of-muffin, along with a spoon. He raised his brow as he looked back and forth between the muffin and the mug.
“It’s a microwaved muffin in a mug.” Why was her voice so weak today?
“Ahh. I was wondering how you managed to bake in here.” He poked the chocolate confection with the spoon before digging in. Oops, maybe she should have cut it up into pieces.
Savannah watched him as he took a bite. His expression was one of good humor, but not pleasure. She waited for his feedback while he chewed. And chewed. And chewed.
Okay, she wasn’t a baker. She wasn’t much of a cook, either. She was a single woman who enjoyed take-out and prepared food that simply required an oven for reheating.
But how bad could it be?
He smiled.
Phew. That was a good sign.
He took another bite.
She released her pent up breath.
“Here, I’ll get you some coffee.”
“Mmm, thanks,” he mumbled around his mouthful of muffin.
She poured the coffee, then whipped around to ask him if he wanted cream or sugar.
He was making the most godawful face! And spitting into a napkin!
“You don’t like it?” Savannah nearly dropped the mug and the coffee pot. His tongue had been hanging out as if he were airing it. He looked like he wanted to feed the muffin to Rocco.
Not Over You (Healing Springs, Book 1) Page 9