by Portia Gray
Lightness and air, filling up his chest, making it fucking hurt. But in a good way. "Mandy told me that," he replied, not sure what was expected of him.
"I wanted you here to make sure we were okay. You were the first person I thought of."
Quentin swallowed hard. "I'm sorry,Arielle—"
"You made me feel like a fool," she said, closing her eyes. "I'm an adult. I don't need people deciding what's good for me and what's not."
"I know."
"I just think it might have been good. And I'll likely never know for sure."
Quentin was stuck. He had no idea what to do, what to say. "Hey," he cut in, trying for humor. "I thought you said you weren't good at saying what you were thinking."
She shook her head. "When you feel like crap, you just tend to say things bluntly. You stop caring what people think."
He hadn't been at the point where he cared what people thought for years. Until it came to her. Then the whole‘I'll likely never know for sure’ comment struck him on a major delay.
"What do you mean 'you'll never know if we could be good together'? What’s that mean?"
Arielle waved a hand to dismiss him. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Just…keep taking good care of Calvin."
Quentin caught her upper arm as gently as he could and made her face him. "Arielle? Babe? You're scaring me here."
She shook her head. "You picked a fight with three drug dealers at once. You punched Clark Davidson in his own home. You're not scared of anything."
"You're scaring me," he corrected her.
"No. Mandy scares you."
Quentin was reeling from confusion now. Safest to just play along. "Mandy would scare Genghis Khan."
She blinked. "You just pulled out a Genghis Khan reference?"
Quentin grinned. "I did go to school, occasionally, babe."
Arielle blinked a couple times, then swayed. "I don't feel well."
"You gonna be sick?"
She shook her head, touching her forehead. "I'm so lightheaded. And cold."
That was all she said before crumpling into him.
"Arielle? Arielle, can you open your eyes for me?" The voice was soft, light, and familiar. Arielle worked to swallow, her mouth so incredibly dry it hurt. She had to fight to get her eyelids apart, and when she did everything was fuzzy. "Here, I've got some water."
A cool large hand was under the back of her neck, propping her head up and a plastic cup was pressed to her lips. When she felt the water she opened her mouth, gulping eagerly, almost sighing from relief.
When she was done her head was lowered again, and now her eyes had time to focus. Quentin was kneeling next to her on the floor. Arielle herself appeared to be stretched out on her sofa. She fought to put together what just happened and how she got here, but she couldn't.
He tucked a lock of her brunette hair behind one ear and offered a friendly smile. "You fainted. You need to eat." Quentin perched on the edge of the sofa, pressing against her side and leaning over her, one hand on the back of the sofa and the other on his knee. "I can tell you aren't taking care of yourself, Arielle, you're wasting away."
She shook her head. "I can't. Throwing up is worse than this."
"Babe, look at me." When she didn't his hand left his knee to grasp her chin and force her face towards him. "Arielle. Cut the shit. You giving up?"
Her breath caught and her eyes stung. "No," she whimpered.
"Yeah, you fucking are. And that's so weak. I'm disappointed, Aunt Arielle." She squeezed her eyes shut, heart breaking. She knew she'd wanted him to tell her to straighten her shit out, but now that it was here, it hurt more than she thought. "You can't do this. I mean fuck, Arielle. What happens to Calvin?" She sobbed, and he let go of her chin. "I know you wanna make it through this. I know you're capable of being every bit the woman you were before all this went down. I want you to get better. For you."
She just shook her head, and didn't even fight as he sat on the sofa, gathered her up and pulled her into his lap. Actually she curled up in a ball and leaned into his sturdy chest. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck, leaning back into the couch and holding her tight.
"I'm sorry," she choked out through her tears, but she couldn't stop.
"Don't be sorry. I don't know what you're going through. I'm a selfish asshole and I don't like you being different from how you were."
Arielle closed her eyes. "I am, aren't I?"
"Yeah," he told her, his hand rubbing along the outside of her thigh. "I miss smart-ass Aunt Arielle."
She felt herself smile, just a bit. "I thought you liked mellow Aunt Arielle."
"Yeah, I like her, too. And laughing Aunt Arielle is pretty good. Giving-me-shit Aunt Arielle is pretty hot, actually."
She was chuckling. "That can't be true."
"You don't see the pattern here?"
"What pattern?"
"I like Aunt Arielle, babe. I've told you this before." He pushed her hair off her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to it. "And you like this isn't Aunt Arielle at all. It's this thing you've got getting the better of you."
"You're right," she whispered, playing with a button on his shirt. "I just get so tired."
"I know. But if you start taking better care of yourself, the rest should follow, right?"
She nodded, then stiffened. "Where's Calvin?"
"What?"
"What time is it? Where are Calvin and Aunt Thelma?"
"Relax, babe. Thelma took Calvin to the farm for the weekend. Give you a rest."
She frowned. "Really?"
"I told Thelma I'd take care of you."
She sat up straight. "What? No, you're busy, you can't—"
"I can and I am. So deal with it," he suggested with a grin.
"They were here? How long was I out for?"
"A while. I think you really needed the rest more than anything." She didn't know what to say. She had no way to thank him for what he was offering.
"Okay," he grunted, standing up while keeping her in his arms. "Let's get some air on the deck. And I think we should try something to help you eat."
Arielle was docile as Quentin carried her through the kitchen and out the back door. He set her in a chair, then straightened and reached into his pocket. "I got this from a friend, and I really recommend you try it."
He set a baggie on the patio table, and she frowned. "Are those joints?"
"Yep."
"No, Quentin I can't—"
"How much do you weigh right now?"
She stopped. "I…I don't know."
"When I picked you up just now I noticed the difference, Arielle. You're so fucking light now. I can see how knobby those knees are and it freaks me out. If this helps you get healthy, it's worth it."
"But Quentin—"
He crouched in front of her. "You will never be like your sister."
She blinked. "What?"
"Is that what you're worried about?" She had no answer. "You're too strong, not nearly selfish enough. You don't have it in you to be an addict, babe." He reached for the bag and opened it. "I don't wanna get you blitzed, just hungry."
"I've never smoked pot," she admitted, embarrassed for some strange reason.
"That's okay. I'll be here to make sure you're okay. But I only cook eggs, and I'm not sure pot-eggs are even worth the effort. So for now, we'll have to smoke it."
She licked her lips. "What's it feel like?"
He cocked his head to the side, pulling a hand-rolled joint out of the bag. "It'll make you feel light-headed. Maybe a little giggly, which might be fun." His eyes twinkled at that. "My face always feels a bit numb when I do it. And you'll get hungry, no nausea." He held the joint out.
She clasped her hands in her lap. "Show me what to do."
He dropped to his knees, sitting on his heels while digging a lighter out of his jeans pocket. "Okay. You breathe deep, and you have to really inhale. So you have to breathe it right down into your lungs, not just hold it at the b
ack of your throat. You get me?" She shook her head 'no' and he grinned again. "You really are that sweet, huh?"
Arielle bristled. "I'm not a child for God's sakes."
He was chuckling. "I know, believe me. I know."
That made her blush, but then she was watching him light the end of the joint which was pinched between his lips. He inhaled as the paper caught, and the end blazed. He pulled it away from his mouth and said, not breathing, "You hold it, then…" he exhaled, and the smell hit her.
She wrinkled her nose. "It stinks."
"Yeah, it does. Here. Breathe it when I exhale it." He drew on the joint again, the end flaring red, held it, and moved close to her.
Arielle leaned into him, and when he blew out the smoke she inhaled it like he had from the joint, catching it and feeling it flow back into her throat. She breathed deep, like she used to do back in band when she played the trumpet, the air filling her diaphragm. It burned, and she tried to hold it but she sputtered, coughing hoarsely, tears coming to her eyes.
He was smiling, hand on her shoulder. "You okay?"
"That's awful," she said, feeling a weird, hot wetness in her chest. "I'm not sure I did it right."
"That was perfect," he assured her.
"It hurts."
"It can," he admitted, taking another hit, leaning into her and his lips just skimming hers as he exhaled. She remembered to inhale just in the nick of time, and while she held it, not choking this time, he kissed her very softly.
Arielle pulled away and exhaled smoothly. Quentin's eyes were locked on hers, and warmth was spreading through her chest. It wasn't the pot. It was him.
"What should I feel now?" she croaked, throat still rough from her hacking cough.
"Just wait. It'll come." He stood up. "I'll go take care of supper, okay?"
"You making me eggs?"
He laughed. "No, but I also order a mean pizza. Trust me, you'll be thanking me."
Quentin disappeared inside, and Arielle rested her head on the back of the chair. She didn't feel anything, but it was likely having an effect. How the hell would she know?
"Arielle?" She started, realizing she'd fallen asleep. Quentin was handing her a glass of water. "Here, for your throat. Did you fall asleep?"
She nodded, taking the water. "I guess I'm…relaxed."
He studied her face, then he broke into a grin. "Yeah, you're high."
"What?"
"Your eyes are glazed."
"But I don't feel anything!"
He leaned over her, running a finger along her jawline. Normally it would feel nice. But right then it tingled, and it may as well have been a nipple for all the reaction she had to it. Her eyes closed and she had to breathe through her mouth. "Yeah," he whispered. "You're high."
Her cheeks warmed, and she pulled away from his hand. She blinked, her view of the yard seeming to focus slower than she was used to. The she scrunched up her face and realized she couldn't feel her nose.
"Holy shit," she mumbled, touching the bridge of her nose and looking up at him. "I can't feel my nose."
He laughed, dropping into the chair across the table from her. "High Aunt Arielle might be fun, too."
She took another gulp of water, and when her stomach grumbled it startled her. She put a hand to her gut, surprised. It had been loud, even Quentin heard it and gave her a told you so look. Rather than be embarrassed it made her giggle. And then her giggle made her laugh, and laughing felt pretty damn good so she didn't stop, until she got herself under control. Then she had one question.
"Where's the pizza?"
When Arielle couldn't keep her eyes open any more Quentin picked her up off the sofa, carried her down the hallway to the bedroom and tucked her in for the night. She barely woke, just long enough to murmur "Night" before nestling into her pillows. He pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead without a thought. He left the bedroom door open and returned to the living room to flick the TV off.
Quentin was in trouble here. So much fucking trouble it felt like he might suffocate. He sat on the sofa, dead centre, running his hands up and down his thighs, trying to calm his shit down.
This couldn't be happening, not to him. He never felt this strongly, this deep. But the panic of Arielle fainting after basically telling him she was into him…well, it stirred shit up. He knew he didn't want to just fuck her, he wanted her around for a good long time. His brain didn't clue him into what that was called until that moment.
No, uh... Fuck that. He was not in love. He wasn't programmed for this shit. He could care about people, have a platonic love like he had for Mandy and his brothers. That was one thing. This…felt stronger, yet more fragile all at the same time.
That woman in the other room was fucking kryptonite.
He let his head fall back, eyes sliding closed. When he'd watched her almost inhale half of an extra-large pepperoni and mushroom pizza the word first came to him. I could love this one, he found himself thinking. Then when they'd settled into the sofa to numb their brains further on primetime television she curled up under his arm, resting against his chest and it felt…perfect. Beyond amazing. Comfortable. Something he wanted in his life every damn day.
In a word: sweet.
So sweet it took everything he had not to crawl into bed with her and sleep next to her. Not so he could nail her when she woke up, either. Just to be near her. How the hell had she done that to him?
Quentin thought he’d found love once, a complete lifetime ago. Before the club, before his service. Young love that was torn right out of his arms when his girlfriend had been gang raped and left for dead, leaving him a weeping, screaming, cursing and self-destructive mess at fifteen. She'd mostly been the reason why people weren't allowed to get close to him. It hadn't been difficult to shut himself off from that part of his life. Fill the voids with violence, danger, anonymous sex and alcohol. All things that human nature thrived on and desired. He stopped thinking his reactions through, he just acted.
Now he was thinking. And remembering everything he'd already done that tied him to Arielle and Calvin. And he realized then even his base human instincts had been driving him towards her. He wanted to care for her, support her, protect her. His operating system had turned on him in the end.
Fuck. He was falling for Arielle.
The sound of Harley pipes grew louder outside, and he heard the bike pull into his driveway. He stood from the sofa and left through the front door, turning on the outside light.
Flynn was halfway up Quentin's walkway when Quentin called out to him. "Flynn!"
Flynn turned, switched directions and headed towards him. They met at the fence. Flynn was all business. "Okay. They grabbed your girl’s sister in Woodbourne. She was trying to get away with a grand in ice, stolen from, guess who?"
Quentin was really starting to hate this name. "Reuben?"
Flynn nodded. "Word went out that she not only stole a grand in product from the guy, she owes him almost forty grand. Loans, ice, crank. She's a mess and she sucks as a thief. Well, she sucks at getting away with it anyway."
"How'd she end up here?"
Flynn licked his lips and his face found a new level of stone-cold. "That dealer paid Reuben ten grand for her. He liked her."
Quentin felt his blood temperature rise. "Was she hooking?"
Flynn shook his head, expression unchanged. "Nah. Reuben got one of his minions to shoot her up with heroin and handed her over, easy as you please."
Quentin's whole face twitched. "Motherfucker."
"You can bet she was heavily sedated and used like a teenage boy's tube sock for at least a week before we found her. The dealer likely rented her out, too."
"Who told you this?"
"Joel found a dealer in Ramsfield selling next to Joel's niece's school. He didn't like that too much. Did a little questioning on who Reuben was, and this guy said he'd only seen Reuben once, back when this prick handed over ten large for an ice head bitch."
Quentin
felt the prickle of hope at that. "He actually saw Reuben?"
Flynn nodded, cold smile just starting to creep up. "Oh yeah. Gave a great description, too."
Quentin felt some relief at that. But damn..."Shit. This'll kill Arielle."
Flynn's face softened a bit. "How's she doing?"
Quentin waited for the jibe, but it didn't come. "She's lost a lot of weight. It's fucking terrifying."
Flynn was studying him, and Quentin couldn't remember seeing this expression on Flynn's face ever. It looked a lot like concern. "You know, you may not want her to know what you do during your days and nights, but you're doing right by her, man. And that counts for a lot." Quentin felt itchy just from that. "And you should bring her out to meet the guys," he added, turning back for his bike. "If you ever need one of us to look out for her, it'd help if she'd met us before trusting us to take care of her or that kid."
Quentin nodded. "Yeah, I know," he replied, running his hand over his head and down the back of his neck.
Without a word Flynn backed down the driveway and took off the way he'd come, his sage advice ringing in Quentin's dome.
He did need to make a claim on Arielle, it was only fair. She'd told him as much right before she fainted.
When he said I was your girl…I found myself wishing it was true.
Quentin took a deep breath and made himself choose right then and there.
Arielle as his, or Arielle not at all. He chose to make her his.
The other option seemed like a life not worth living.
Chapter Eighteen
"Quentin?" He heard the voice from far away, thinking he was dreaming again. He rolled away from where it was coming from, content to stay sleeping for the moment. "Quentin?" Now his name was combined with a soft, female laugh. "Come on. Don't make me eat all these pancakes by myself."
Frowning, he cracked one eye open, aware he was on a sofa. The fabric he didn't recognize right away, so he wasn't at his place or the clubhouse. He yawned and swiveled his head to look over his shoulder. Then he couldn't help it, he smiled. "Hey, baby girl."