“I missed you,” she tells him softly with a kiss on his cheek.
When they release each other, she turns to me with a soft, shy smile. Verity is such a quiet, reserved girl, but she is all warmth and brightness despite everything she endured growing up. She’s a fucking warrior as far as I’m concerned. “Maddox, I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I wish I could say the same, Verity,” I whisper into her hair. “But I’m glad to see you under any circumstances. You get sexier every time I see you.” I say that last part for Bastian’s benefit. I get my desired result when he growls low, glaring daggers at me.
Verity shakes her head, her cheeks splotching red. She still can’t take a compliment.
She grabs my hand, earning another growl from Bastian, and pulls me toward the kitchen. “I want you to meet my cousin. Quinn, this is our fr—I mean Bastian’s brother, Maddox.”
“You had it right the first time, Goldilocks,” I tell her a little more sharply than I intend, but I’m antsy and irritated. Another blush rises, this time from embarrassment. I wrap my arm around her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to be so harsh.” I kiss the side of her head as she bobs her head in acceptance.
The girl turns around to face us, and I’m stunned by how much she looks like Verity. There are differences too, but they’re subtle. Like her hair is a shade or so lighter, her nose a little less upturned, her cheekbones a smidge higher. The most significant difference is that Verity has always made me think of Goldilocks and Shirley Temple, and this girl makes me think of Hannah van der Westhuysen, who I’ve secretly had a thing for since Dane and I accidentally watched a show we thought was for Lyra. Turns out it wasn’t Lyra appropriate, but he and I binged the entire show then vowednever to tell a soul.
My eyes trace every bit of her, from those loose curls falling to her waist down to sexy legs covered by tight leggings. Her petite frame makes her look childlike and innocent, though I know she has to be over eighteen. Bastian did say something about a husband, after all.
It’s been a long time since I felt an instant attraction to anyone. But what I feel when I see her slams me like hurricane-force winds.
Good thing she’s Verity’s cousin. And apparently married as well. It will save us both in the end.
“Maddox, this is my cousin, Quinn Toussaint.”
She looks at me with surprised, wide eyes the color of whiskey. Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of red as she bites the inside of her cheek. “Nice to meet you.”
If my jeans weren’t getting tight just at the sight of her tight body and the face of an angel before, they damn sure are now. Her voice is low, sultry, with a slight rasp. It sounds like pure, unadulterated sex, and my dick is pressing my zipper, praising the heavens.
“Very nice to meet you, Quinn,” I tell her with a wink.
Her flushed cheeks spread to her hairline, and her eyes drop to the floor. Her discomfort slides over me, digging deep into my spirit. Her sadness is a palpable thing, and I wonder how similar hers and Verity’s situation may have been.
Her eyes depict a defeated sadness that speaks to me. I understand that look, and I want to take it away. No one should have that look.
“I’m going to wash up,” she tells Verity without looking up. Then, without another word, she rushes down one of the house's hallways.
“She okay?” I ask, watching as she disappears from sight.
“She will be,” Verity says softly. “It’s hard getting over a broken heart.”
I nod with understanding, but more than that, I want to heal her broken heart. The question is, how do you heal someone else’s broken heart when yours has never recovered.
I only fear
Present Day
My head, still leaning on the bike’s handlebars, begins to pound as more memories pour in. It was never supposed to be like that. I wanted to help her, not cause her more pain. But it’s my MO. I break and destroy all the good around me. I’m a wrecking ball, shattering everything I touch.
Even though she’s the last person I wanted to hurt.
Finally, I can’t take another second of the noise in my head. I can’t stop the spinning of my mind. I can’t handle the taunting coming from my backpack. It’s not my method of choice, but out in the open for the world to see, I sort lines of the smack and blow on the seat of the bike then inhale each of them. Finally, clarity comes. Or my version of it.
Another hour passes in a blink. I’m pushing the bike and my luck beyond what’s advisable, but the sun will be coming up soon. Once it’s up, the bike will be too conspicuous to drive with the plates more than visible for tracking. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bastian and Rory didn’t have satellites in the sky tracking everything, but I have no doubt they have law enforcement in their back pockets. Knowing them, they have their own version of an APB out for me right now.
I lost time at that gas station. Then even more while I was parked on the side of the highway having a panic attack. Listening to the damn noise that screeches in my head with its nonsensical ramblings.
I spot a rundown hotel as I exit another small town. Realizing that I might not see another for a while, I decide to stop. It’s a single-level building with a few rooms in front and back. The white paint is faded and peeling. The canopy over the entrance looks like it could collapse at any second. Potholes riddle practically every inch of the nearly vacant parking lot.
I walk into the dingy lobby, hood pulled up, glasses on, and ring the bell. A stringy-haired, pudgy man comes to the desk looking three sheets to the wind. I can sympathize.
“I need a room,” I tell him, not bothering with pleasantries.
