Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2)

by Monica James

“I agree,” I reply, nodding.

  Quinn sighs, brushing a hand down his stubbled face before he reaches into his pocket, pulling out Tabitha’s phone.

  “I got this earlier,” he says, passing me the phone.

  My eyes skim over the message.

  Where are you?? Tabitha

  I read it twice and panic, as the number is different than the one Abi has been texting us from.

  “That’s not like Tabitha to be so direct,” I comment, while Quinn exhales loudly.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Why is she being so vague? This isn’t like her. Then my brain catches up, and I gasp, shaking my head.

  “That’s not Abi. What if—” But I can’t finish my sentence as I toss the phone to the floor, thoughts plaguing my mind.

  Quinn sucks on his lip ring, deep in thought. “I was thinking the same thing,” he admits. “But if it’s not her, then who is it?”

  We both look at one another, not voicing what we both know to be true.

  “It’s either the police, or my dad and Phil,” I whisper sadly.

  Quinn nods coolly as he reaches for the phone I threw in haste. I watch with interest as he slips out the SIM, snapping it between his fingers.

  “Well, that solves that problem,” I say with half a smile.

  Quinn shrugs, tossing the broken SIM onto the table. “We’ll just call her house from now on, and Tristan should be released soon,” Quinn says calmly.

  “You think the police have the landlines tapped?” I ask nervously.

  Quinn shakes his head, his messy hair sliding into his eyes. “I doubt it. We’re only wanted for questioning. We haven’t been charged or convicted.”

  “Not yet,” I mumble, lowering my eyes.

  “Hey, none of that,” Quinn says. “We will work this out.”

  “Do you think Tabitha is okay?” I ask quietly, hoping whoever texted us guessed we had her phone, and not actually confronted her about it.

  Quinn nods. “Yes. Abi’s family is way too well known for anything to happen to her. Your dad isn’t that stupid to draw any attention to himself by hurting her.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief and nod, because he’s right. My dad and Phil will want to lay low and slip under the radar, because South Boston is a small town, and people like my dad and Phil stand out.

  “So, what now?” I ask, frowning.

  “Firstly, you’re going to stop frowning.” My lips form a straight line instantly. “And secondly, we’re going on a road trip.”

  “What?” I ask, taken aback. “Road trip?”

  “Yup,” Quinn nods, smirking at me, while I gape at him like he’s gone insane.

  “Red, you’ve never been outside of L.A. And South Boston doesn’t count.”

  I frown once again. Surely he’s not serious.

  “This is your chance to do so. And I’m still keen to just go wherever the road takes us,” he says, placing his fingers to the corner of my mouth and pushing my frown into a smile.

  I instantly smile at his stupidity.

  “Tristan should be out of the hospital in a week or so, and until then, we’ll just keep low and move from state to state. Once we’re able to make contact back home, we’ll suss out what’s going on, and then make a decision what to do next.” He pauses, and then adds, “and if you still want to go see your mom, then we head to Canada.”

  My mom. Isn’t it funny, I just don’t care anymore.

  He’s so organized, so efficient, and it makes me think he’s done this before. I’m determined to get to the bottom of Quinn’s past, because he has set me free from my demons. I intend to do the same for him.

  “Okay, so it’s settled. We keep moving,” he says, rubbing my cheek when I hesitate.

  “Okay,” I nod, leaning into his hand. “But first things first,” I mumble into his palm.

  Quinn looks at me, waiting for me to continue.

  “I need to steal us a hot ass car.”

  ***

  After dropping off our keys at the reception desk, we slip into the night, hoods donned, skulking the streets to find a mode of transportation for our infamous road trip.

  I huddle close to Quinn, my hands bundled into my sweater pockets with my head bowed, hair covering my face.

  “You okay?” Quinn whispers, shielding my body with his from the early morning chill.

  “Yeah,” I reply, shivering from the cold, but also from the situation we find ourselves in.

  I’ve stolen heaps of cars before. My first offense was when I was eleven, and it was for grand theft auto, but doing it now, here, seems so criminal. In a town where it’s clear its inhabitants work hard for a living, it feel so wrong stealing someone’s car, but we’re desperate.

  “What’s the matter, Red?” Quinn asks, tightening his hold around my waist.

  His fragrance overpowers me, and I have to stop myself from nuzzling into him and taking a big whiff, seeing as I was the one, only an hour prior, telling him sniffing me was inappropriate.

  “I feel guilty,” I confess. “I really don’t want to steal some hard working citizen’s car.”

  “I know,” Quinn sighs, kissing my head. “But what other choice do we have?”

  He’s right.

  “Maybe we could leave them an IOU note,” I suggest stupidly. Where would we leave the note?

  Quinn chuckles, planting another kiss on my head. “Or, we could just steal that,” he says, his lips stilling.

  I see it as soon as he does, and we both stop dead in our tracks, eyeing the big, obnoxious, black GMC 4X4 pickup truck with the license plate number, I LV VAG.

  This jerk is lucky I’m not slashing his tires and defacing his entire vehicle from top to bottom.

  Quinn takes a hold of my hand and we cross the desolate road, ready to do some breaking and entering. Thankfully, the truck is parked in a darkened patch, away from prying eyes, not that anyone is awake so early on a Sunday morning.

  Quinn looks the professional, peering from left to right before approaching the vehicle, while I lag close behind. As I peer over his shoulder and into the truck, I bless the irony of life as I see a varsity jacket thrown onto the backseat.

  But it’s not just a varsity jacket, it’s the varsity jacket, the one that belonged to the jerk in the bar. Quinn also sees it, and turns to me with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  “Oh, this just got a whole lot more fun.” Quinn cracks his knuckles, and takes one more look around, ensuring the coast is clear.

  It is.

  He drops into a crouch, unthreads his bootlace, and pulls the lace out through the eyelets quickly. With the long lace in his hands, he adeptly ties a slipknot in the middle of it and stands, swiftly placing the string at the top right corner of the car door. I watch in awe as he begins working the string, sliding it back and forth until the slipknot is inside the car. He uses an expert side to side pulling motion to loop the slipknot around the lock, pulling it tight. As he pulls up on the string, the lock pops up and he’s in.

  He’s done this in less than fifteen seconds.

  As I peer around, keeping a look out while Quinn proficiently hotwires the truck in under a minute, I know he’s done this before.

  As the engine roars to life, I run to the passenger side, and as Quinn unlocks my door, I leap into the cab with Lucky jumping onto my lap. I hold onto the grab handle as Quinn puts the truck into drive and tears down the street, the black truck blending into the shadowy night.

  What is it about a man who can handle a truck that I find so attractive?

  However, as I look at Quinn focusing on the road, his jade eyes studying the scenery before him with his silken hair catching in the wind, I know it’s all Quinn.

  “Where to now, Captain… Sparrow?” I ask, finally coming up with a nickname for Quinn.

  Quinn’s mouth pulls into a small smile. “Sparrow?”

  “Yeah. You’ve got a nickname for me, it’s only fair,” I reply. “And besides, Captain Jack Sparrow is hot.” I imme
diately blush when I realize I just called Quinn hot in a roundabout way.

  Quinn laughs, stepping on the accelerator. “You do realize Captain Jack Sparrow is a bumbling drunk, who has no idea where he’s sailing to half the time.”

  “I beg to differ,” I retort, raising my finger in the air to make a point. “He is perceptive, calculating, and quick.”

  “And hot,” Quinn adds, laughing when I blush profusely.

  He’s never going to let me live that down.

  I ignore him as I continue, “The whole drunken thing is just a ruse to fool his enemies.”

  Quinn seems to like the comparison and grins. “Red and Sparrow on the road to—”

  He pauses, thinking of the right word.

  But I finish it for him.

  “On the road to freedom,” I say with conviction.

  Quinn nods, stepping on the gas, speeding toward our emancipation.

  Chapter 8

  Sweet Home Alabama

  I wake to “Sweet Home Alabama” blasting beside my unfortunate eardrum, which has just split into two.

  But it’s not the tune over the radio which has awoken me up in a fright. It’s Quinn, who is happily butchering the chorus, his hands slapping the steering wheel in time with the beat.

  I’ve fallen asleep with my head twisted at an awful angle into Quinn’s shoulder, and no doubt, I have drool slobbering out the side of my mouth.

  After a moment of clearing the sleep from my foggy brain, I open my heavy eyes, taking a moment to adjust to where we are. Lush greenery and tall, willowy trees is before me, and I wonder how far we’ve driven since I crashed.

  “Mornin’,” Quinn happily says, while I stifle a yawn behind my palm.

  “How long have I been asleep?” I ask, lifting my head and wiping my mouth, because I was drooling.

  Quinn shrugs, eyes still glued to the highway while toying with the barbell in his mouth. I can’t help myself as I watch with interest the way he twirls the end of his tongue, the silver piercing reflecting the radiant sunbeams.

  “A while,” he yawns, interrupting my ogling. I stretch my arms above my head, pretending I wasn’t just mentally molesting him five seconds prior.

  “You should have woken me up,” I say, feeling terrible for falling asleep on him.

  “No way.” He smirks. “I’d miss out on you telling me how much you love my piercings,” he says seriously, indicating to make a right hand turn.

  “What?” I ask, turning around so quickly I whip myself in the face with my loose ponytail.

  Quinn laughs deeply and meets my eyes, sucking on his lip ring.

  “Oh yeah, you went into great detail. You’re one dirty girl, Red,” he teases while giving me a quick wink, before returning his gaze to the road.

  Feeling my cheeks blush a beet red, I cover my face with both hands, mortified. I turn away from him.

  “Red, I’m kidding. Although, now I wish I wasn’t,” he adds with a chuckle.

  I quickly reach out and slap him on the arm, his biceps feeling like muscled heaven under my hand. “You jerk!” I cry, but I can’t contain my laughter. It feels nice to laugh after three days of sadness.

  Quinn chuckles and indicates to park in a lone strip of parking spaces. “I’m starving,” he says, cutting the engine. “I was thinking, instead of calling Abi’s house, maybe we could call the diner? What do you think?” he asks, turning to look at me.

  I smile. “That’s a great idea. But it’s Sunday today, and I’m pretty sure she’s not rostered on, but she is tomorrow.”

  Quinn nods. “Well, there isn’t much we can do today other than have fun,” he says cheekily. His dimple makes an appearance, which is never a good sign.

  I raise my eyebrow suspiciously. “Why am I afraid of your idea of fun?”

  Quinn chuckles. “Go on, Red. Live a little.”

  This isn’t the first time he’s said this to me.

  “Fine,” I reply smugly, crossing my arms over my chest. “Bring on the fun!” I cheer like a cheerleader on crack.

  ***

  After Quinn and I devoured our burgers, we both decided we’re in desperate need of some new clothes and supplies.

  Thankfully, a small town in Alabama has a department store big enough to cater for all we need. Our cart is stocked with personal hygiene items, as motel shampoos are quickly turning my hair into straw.

  Quinn tosses a razor and a can of shaving cream into the cart, as he has quite a heavy growth lining his face, but I like it. It gives him a harder edge, and with his long hair, which he’s almost able to tie back, he looks like a total bad ass.

  He sees me eyeballing his items. “You like the caveman look, do you?” He chuckles as I feel myself frowning.

  I meet his playful, emerald eyes and smile. “Makes no difference to me,” I reply, attempting to appear nonchalant as I grab us a couple of toothbrushes and a tube of toothpaste.

  “Oh, you just want me anyway you can get me.” He chuckles as I roll my eyes, but little does he know the truth behind his words.

  We may have worked out what’s going on while we’re waiting to make contact back home, but we haven’t worked out what’s going on between us.

  Before all this happened, we were ‘seeing’ each other, but we were taking it slow. Tabitha was the only one who knew, and Quinn was going to tell Tristan the night everything turned to shit.

  But now, now it feels different. Quinn left his home and put his life in danger to protect me. That’s got to mean something, right?

  “Whatcha thinking that’s got you gnawing your lip off?” he asks, steering the cart into the clothes section of the store as I blindly follow.

  “Nothing,” I reply shyly, hiding under my long hair. “I’m going to grab a few things. Want to meet me here in like, twenty minutes?” I say, not wanting Quinn following me while I shop for underwear.

  “Cool,” he replies with a mischievous smile, before he zips off into the menswear.

  Making sure he’s gone, I finger the racks of lacy bras and matching panties, and I wonder if it would be wicked of me if I purchased a pair. I know Tabitha would have me buying the whole rack, but I won’t do that. I must admit, though, I do feel good in them. And after the shitty few days I’ve had, I wouldn’t mind feeling good again.

  So on that note, I snatch a few styles off the rack, and grab some essential cotton briefs and t-shirt bras. I see some cute jeans on sale and take two pairs, one black, the other blue, and reach for a few t- shirts and sweaters, as it’s getting quite cold now that we’re nearly into December.

  In the end, I try on about ten different garments, and decide to buy them all. As I exit the change room, I see a bulk pack of socks on sale, and add them to my pile of goods.

  It’s been longer than twenty minutes, and Quinn looks down at his imaginary watch.

  “I should have known twenty minutes is an hour in woman time.”

  I roll my eyes, ignoring his sexist comment. Dumping my armful of clothes into the shopping cart, I notice Quinn has grabbed similar items. Two pairs of jeans, a pair of black skater shorts, a few t- shirts and a zip up hoodie.

  I can’t help but notice no underwear and Quinn sees me, looking confused.

  “See something you like?” he asks, rearranging my stuff as I just dunked it all into the cart.

  Or don’t see, I adlib. But I don’t reply, as I would be mortified if he knew what I was thinking.

  We throw in a few snacks, food, and a leash for Lucky, and we’re done.

  While waiting in line, I notice a bunch of preppy girls checking Quinn out. Not that I can blame them, as he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen. And the way he holds himself so arrogantly and confidently, just adds to his appeal.

  Whichever room Quinn is in, he owns it.

  “You’re doing that thing with your lip again,” Quinn whispers into my ear, wisps of his hair brushing over my cheeks.

  “Am I?” I reply, knowing all too well that I’m gnawing it off.
<
br />   “Yes,” he replies, releasing it with his thumb, it slipping free.

  Turning to meet his eyes, which are inches away from my face, I suddenly forget how to breathe.

  “Next!” the snappy voice calls out, shattering my Quinn coma.

  Shaking my head and fumbling with the items in the cart, I place them onto the counter for the snarky checkout chick to scan.

  As my hands pass over my inky blue bra and matching underwater set, I blush, and hide them under my sweater. I know Quinn has seen them, but being the gentleman that he is (sometimes), he doesn’t say a word.

  As the lady, who is no older than twenty-five, brings up the total and accepts the cash from Quinn, she makes it more than obvious that she’s openly staring at him. Her eyes drop down to his broad chest and they linger there as she licks her glossy lips.

  I’m just about to clear my throat, or stab her in the eye with her pen, when she thankfully raises her eyes, snapping them up to meet Quinn’s amused, emerald jewels. No doubt he’s seen the jealousy radiating off of me, and by the stupid smile he’s wearing, he likes it.

  “You like The Doors?” she asks, her eyes dropping to Quinn’s chest once again, eyeing his t-shirt of Jim Morrison.

  “Yeah, they’re awesome,” he replies nonchalantly, accepting the change, and I notice she makes an effort to touch him when placing the money into his outstretched palm.

  I walk around them angrily and begin placing our shopping bags into the cart noisily.

  “Well, a tribute band is playing tonight at Captain Frank’s. You should come,” she purrs, making sure to emphasis the word ‘come.’

  The shopping bag I’m holding goes crashing into the cart forcefully, as I slam it down with a lot more force than I intended.

  Quinn reaches for me and takes a hold of my hand, which is turning white from holding onto the end of shopping cart heatedly.

  “Whatcha think, Red?” he asks, pulling me into his side and kissing my cheek softly.

  The checkout chick frowns as she enviously watches Quinn nuzzle my cheek with his nose. I try not to gloat, but find it near impossible not to, as I have this amazing man. I make it clear he only has eyes for me.