She shrugs her shoulders with a smile. “I can play instruments in front of people. I just can’t sing.”
She climbs off the bed, I assume, to leave. Good deed done and all.
But she surprises me when she grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. She leads me into the bathroom connected to my room. “Sit,” she commands firmly as she points to the side of the tub. I raise my brows in surprise at her assertiveness. She rolls her eyes as she begins to rummage through the cabinets. “I know you don’t like being told what to do, but do it anyway.”
I press my lips together tightly to stop a grin because bossy Quinn is cute as hell. Then I do as she asked—told—me. When she turns to see me sitting, she gives a serious but satisfied nod. I hide my looming chuckle behind my hand when she sets the first aid kit next to me, digging through until she finds what she wants.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her, gripping behind her knees when she steps between my legs. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of it myself.”
Her eyes meet mine, hard at first but softening with each second that passes. My stomach flips when she gently cups my bruised cheek. “It’s okay to let people help you, Maddox. You don’t have to be the one to take care of everyone all the time.”
My fingers flex against her skin. The urge to push her away is strong, but strangely, the urge to lean on her—let her take care of me—is stronger. The desire to keep her close.
Always a conflict of emotions raging inside of me, never just one thing I can grab hold of. Even though I know I can’t keep her, I won’t push her away. Not yet. I’m not ready to let her go. But that doesn’t mean I won’t give her the option to run away. “Did you not just hear me out there? Did that sound like someone who cares about other people? You heard Jax. I’m a selfish asshole.”
“Jax was wrong,” she tells me with conviction, once again surprising me. “I saw someone trying to push everyone away. You think it’s for their own good, right?”
“I’m not that altruistic,” I mutter.
“Aren’t you?” This girl is blowing my mind. I’m not used to people reading me so easily. Only two people have ever seen beyond the bullshit. But she’s also wrong. I’m not protecting them. I’m protectingmyselffrom their pity and worry. “You pretend a lot, Maddox, but I can see how much it bothered you when Jax told you Zoey was upset.”
“Which should prove that I’m a selfish bastard. I know it’s hurting her, but I still won’t talk to her.” She needs to see that I’m not a good person. I steal, kill, and destroy everything good.
“It proves that you think cutting the people who care about you off is what’s best for them. I don’t know why you would think that, but I know that much. Now be still; this might sting.”
I chuckle at her warning. “Darlin’,you’ve seen me naked. Do I look like a little alcohol will bother me?”
Her nose curls up,and she pokes her tongue out. “I get it, tough guy. You like pain.”
“It’s a good distraction,” I nod as she cleans the cut beneath my eye.
“This needs stitches,” she mumbles softly, “but I already know you won’t go to a doctor, right?”
“Nope.”
She nods with a huff. “I’ll use this glue stuff.”
I sit quietly as she continues to play nurse. I stroke the skin behind her knees,waiting on her to finish. A strange feeling of not quite peace—contentment maybe—washes over me.
“So, what you said out there? Was it true? You slept with his wife?”
“She wasn’t his wife at the time,” I grunt with a hard eye roll.
“Well, I would hope you wouldn’t sleep with a married wo—” Her sentence drops. Her face has turned ashen as she chews on her cheek.
Her face is always so expressive. It’s never hard to tell what she’s thinking or feeling. But even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t be hard to guess where her head just went.
I pull her to my lap, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. I grip her chin firmly, making her look at me when her eyes drop to her hands. A sure tell that she’s embarrassed. “No,cher, I do not make a habit to fuck married women. I won’t say it hasn’t happened, but I didn’t know it at the time.”
“But you are—I mean we—” She stammers over her words, and I can see her embarrassment growing.
I get it. Guilt is a filthy monster that consumes every inch of your mind until you can’t breathe. But this girl has nothing to feel guilty about. “Where is he? Your husband?”
“Back in Springfield with his new girlfriend,” she says quietly as a tear falls down her cheek.
I brush it away with a thumb, then lean my forehead to hers. “You may be married, but only on paper. He is an idiot to have tossed you aside.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe his new girlfriend is everything I never could be for him. I mean,she’s already—” she trails off, leaving me curious about what she was going to say. But I don’t ask. If she wanted me to know, she would tell me.
