Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2)

by Monica James

  Quinn nods, and we go our separate ways.

  I head over to the cosmetics section and throw some foundation into my basket, as I bet I look like shit. As I pass a mirror, my fears have been confirmed. My face is covered in yellowish-blue bruising, and my hair is sitting in dreadlocked clumps. I won’t even touch on the topic of my attire.

  As I am throwing in some other face products to make me appear a little more human, I pass an elderly shopper, who suddenly stops and stares, her face paling to an ashen white.

  From her reaction alone, I decide to throw in some toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, and some extra toiletries, and decide some warmer clothes are definitely in order.

  While I’m blindly tossing items into my basket, I notice a mother ushering her children away from me with a horrified look on her concerned face.

  What the fuck is going on? Surely I don’t look that bad, do I?

  Just as I’m about to go in search for Quinn, a hand clutches onto my arm, startling me, and I yelp in surprise.

  “We have to leave. Now.”

  I don’t understand what’s going on until I look around the store and notice that everyone is looking at us.

  “Quinn?” I ask, my eyes taking in everything around me.

  “Just walk,” he demands, ushering me toward the door.

  I nod, lowering my basket onto the floor and latch onto Quinn’s hand as he leads the way toward the exit. A few shoppers turn away frightened, while others hide, the fear apparent in their wide eyes.

  I don’t understand what’s going on, and as a mother turns her child’s face away from me like I’m a monster, I trip over my feet, stunned. Quinn all but drags me toward the door, but halts when we see the shop front, lit up by red and blue flashing lights.

  In this moment, my heart drops to the floor.

  “Fuck!” Quinn snarls softly as he stops in his tracks when five police cars surround the front of the store.

  I see a dozen policemen armed and ready, some suited up with bulletproof vests, ready to take us down.

  “We called the police!” a pimpled clerk yells, hiding behind the register. “She’s worth $250, 000,” he says, pointing at me.

  His words resonate in my brain, reminding me of Justin. Is that all I am to people? A fucking reward?

  Quinn curses before whispering in my ear, “Forgive me.”

  Before I have time to react, he roughly seizes my bicep and spins me around, holding me prisoner as he wraps his arm around my neck, crushing my windpipe.

  “What the fuck? Quinn!” I choke out, but freeze when I feel the unmistakable metal of a gun barrel, pointed at my temple.

  The whole store gasps, and I watch them all duck for cover, or others raise their hands in surrender.

  “She’s not worth anything if she’s dead. Where’s the backdoor?” Quinn shouts to the not so confident clerk as he steers us out of sight of the police.

  “It’s-it’s—that way,” he stutters, pointing behind us before dropping to the ground.

  Quinn’s smart, as he’s ensured the police can’t see us, but he wants everyone inside this store to witness him holding a gun to my head. And he’s done this with intent. He wants the onlookers to believe that I’m his hostage, and he’s the guilty one. He’s just taken the blame—just like I was going to do for him.

  My hands clutch at my throat, desperately attempting to pry him off me, but as I struggle, Quinn’s hold only gets tighter and I know he won’t let me go.

  “Quinn!” I yell, but he hushes me by pressing harder on my windpipe.

  Tears roll down my cheeks, as Quinn is sacrificing himself for me. When the police question everyone in the store, they will recount seeing Quinn pull the gun on me, making it appear that I’m the innocent one, confusing the police.

  He’s going to be in so much trouble for this, as I know if we get caught, he’s going to confess that he forced me to do all the illegal things we’re accused of, including killing Hank.

  If anyone is going down, it’ll be him. His words take on a whole different meaning when I asked him, ‘how did he know I was going to the police?’ And he replied, ‘Because he would do the same for me.’

  He’s taking the blame—all of it. But I can’t let him.

  I try and reach down for the knife in my boot, which is near impossible, as the strong hold around my neck allows no movement.

  “Don’t even try it,” he sneers, walking me backward toward the backdoor slowly, no doubt taking in everything around him.

  Some onlookers appear utterly confused, while others are staring at me with nothing but sadness in their eyes.

  “It’s okay, Sweetie,” the old grandma says, who eyed me earlier.

  I want to scream that Quinn is no monster! I am! But I only sob, not able to speak, which only makes me look all the more the victim.

  “You won’t shoot me,” I cry when I make another fruitless attempt for my blade.

  “No, but I have no qualms shooting any of these fuckers,” he says with a sneer as he tightens his hold around me.

  I hope he’s not serious, but I don’t test him.

  We arrive at the back of the store, and I watch in horror as shoppers stare at me, hands raised in surrender. My tears continue to stream down my cheeks when someone records a video on their cell, which will no doubt be up on YouTube before we leave the store.

  “Let me go!” I weep in vain.

  “No. You’re mine. And I protect what’s mine,” he whispers, inches from my ear.

  As Quinn fumbles blindly for the door handle, I make a quick attempt to set myself free by throwing my head backward and connecting with his nose, knocking him off balance. I frantically reach for my knife, but am stopped, dead in my tracks, as I hear a gun being cocked.

  “You take another step, and I will blow your fucking head off,” Quinn spits.

  I look up, mid-crouch, to see a middle-aged man stepping forward, in an attempt to help me. The guy freezes, hands in air.

  “Let her go, son,” he says softly, taking a step toward me.

  “No!” I shout, but Quinn slaps his hand over my mouth.

  “Move, Red,” he snarls, picking me up around the waist as he shoulders the emergency door open, an alarm blaring as soon as it’s triggered.

  The moment the night breeze slaps my cheeks, I desperately try to break free, but Quinn holds on tighter as he tears Lucky’s collar off and he breaks into a dead run, away from his undoing.

  After a few blocks, Quinn sprints down a deserted alley, as he can no longer contain my frantic flailing. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I slap him across the face with an ear-splitting whack. And then I do the same with the other cheek.

  “Why?” I scream, incensed, as I push with all my might into his chest. “Why would you do that? Why?” I shove against his chest again and again, but my laughable strikes are not even making a dent.

  Quinn allows me to hit him, my tears blurring my vision until I’m bundled up, sobbing into his chest. I hold on tight as I can’t let go because I’m afraid he’ll leave me.

  His lips caress my temple as he coos, “Because now you’re free.”

  “No! I won’t allow you to take the blame for this!” I sob, slapping my hands against his cheeks and resting our foreheads together. “The plan was to go to Canada!”

  “And then what?” he whispers, regret clear in his emerald eyes. “We wait it out till your dad kills you. No fucking way! You’re not running anymore. This way, you turn yourself over to the police, and say it was my fault. I’ll head to Canada and wait until Abi’s dad can clear my name. I’ll probably do some jail time, but if it means you’re free, then I would happily serve a life sentence.”

  “No!” I pull out of our embrace. “The only people doing time are those motherfuckers!”

  “And what if they catch us before we can clear our names?”

  Staring him straight in the eye, my voice never wavers as I reply, “Then I will fucking kill them myself.”

>   Quinn shakes his head, his long bangs covering his brow, but he’s done enough talking.

  “I will fight for your survival, Quinn. Whatever I have to do, I will do.” And I mean every word of it. “We’re doing this together,” I say with finality, as this is no longer up for discussion.

  “I’ve just given you a, ‘get out of jail for free’ card, and you’re going to throw it away?” he says, gnawing on his lip ring.

  “I’m done cheating,” I reply, wiping away my tears.

  “Then what do you suggest?” Quinn asks.

  “I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure it out. Together,” I press, emphasizing the word ‘together.’

  “We’re a stone’s throw away from Canada. When we get there, we cross the international border and the police can’t touch us,” I push, latching onto Quinn’s hand, begging him to listen.

  “Abi will come through for us. I know she will. When we get to Canada, we won’t be running. We can stay put and lay low until we figure out what to do next. But I can’t let you turn yourself in for me. Please, Quinn, don’t fight me on this. I would rather die than have you take the blame.”

  I hold his hand over my beating heart, squeezing his fingers, hoping he has seen reason.

  “Okay?” I ask, waiting for his response.

  Quinn nods, drawing me close so I’m flush against his chest.

  “Okay,” he replies.

  “You’re crazy,” I whisper, shaking my head, our breaths mingling into one exhalation.

  Quinn smirks. “I stick to my word, Red. I would kill for you.”

  And I know he means every word.

  Chapter 33

  Ask me Tomorrow

  I’ve never felt so many raw emotions as I do now.

  You’d think crossing the border would make me feel free. But it doesn’t. In a way, I’m caged in another manner. I’m trapped in my past, and now that past is about to become my present.

  “Are you okay?” Quinn asks as we drive our stolen pickup into Alberta. Somehow something worked in our favor and we were able to sneak across the border undetected. We’ve been driving for miles—sorry, kilometers—to get here. Right now I’m not sure how I feel.

  “Ask me tomorrow,” I reply honestly, my eyes focused on the minivan in front of us as I blindly pat Lucky.

  Quinn looks over and nods, and thankfully, he doesn’t push.

  As we wait for the light to turn green, my eyes never waver from the bumper sticker in front of me.

  It reads:

  “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”-William Shakespeare.

  I’ve never heard this quote before, but now it sings to me like a tune especially orchestrated for me. My quest for redemption has taken on so many different meanings, but now I realize that after all this is over with, I need redemption for myself. I want to redeem myself from all the awful things I have done in the past, and I’m the only one who can deliver that salvation. It isn’t in the stars to find that new beginning, but within me. And that redemption starts now.

  My heart begins beating frantically as we pull into the street I’ve memorized by heart.

  “I once heard this story,” Quinn says randomly, as I twist my hands in my lap.

  I look at him, waiting.

  “About a little boy, who just wanted to belong,” he continues as he chews on his lip ring.

  “His whole life, he just wanted to be part of something humble, something good. And he couldn’t understand why his life wasn’t like everybody else’s. But the older he got, he realized that life isn’t anyone else’s to own, but his alone. Life is what you make it. Family is what you make it,” he concludes, his eyes never leaving the road.

  I know the little boy is Quinn, and I listen intently, as this is the first bit of insight he has given me. Vague or not, I give him my full attention.

  “What happened to the little boy?” I ask, realizing we’ve stopped in front of the place I’ve been dreading.

  Quinn turns to me as he shuts off the engine. “He grew up and realized that it’s okay to make mistakes, because you’ve always got tomorrow to try and make amends.”

  I swipe the tears from my eyes as I crawl over to him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “Thank you.”

  Whatever Quinn’s story, we will deal with it together, just like we always do. We’re both scarred souls drawn together by tragedy, but we’re trying damn hard to break the binds of our past.

  “You ready?” Quinn asks, as we both stare at the mansion in front of us.

  “Ask me tomorrow,” I reply again.

  Quinn kisses my temple and I take that as my cue.

  “Will you come with me?”

  “Try and keep me away,” he replies.

  As I set my feet on Canadian soil, I feel like I’ve just taken a step in quicksand. And if it weren’t for Quinn’s warm hand in mine, leading me toward my future, I’d crumble to the ground.

  This is another crossroad in my life, which will shape me into who I become. This moment will either make or break the connection I’m so afraid to make.

  As we walk up the stairs of the extravagant home, I feel underdressed and unprepared for what I’m about to face. I try to smooth out my sleep-ruffled locks, but my fingers snag and I give up. Quinn presses the doorbell for me, as my shaky fingers are fiddling with my frayed sweater.

  As the sound resonates inside, I jerk and turn on my heel. “I can’t do this,” I cry, descending the first step faster than the wind.

  But the door opening stops my retreat and I turn slowly, seeing a sight I was so not expecting to see.

  A girl with eyes just like mine looks at me with an arched, sculptured brow. “Can I help you?” asks the bored teenager, looking at me with obvious distaste, but as her eyes fall to Quinn, they pipe up in interest.

  “Hi, handsome,” she purrs, leaning against the doorjamb.

  I would rip out her eyes if I could speak, but I can’t. Nor can I move.

  The teenager licks her glossy lips as she concludes undressing Quinn. She then narrows her eyes at me, waiting for me to speak.

  However, when I remain mute, gaping at her familiar appearance, she barks, “Look, go bother someone else.” She flicks her long, black hair over her slender shoulder. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re definitely not interested,” she scoffs, and is about to slam the door shut when my legs finally move and I launch up the stairs, placing my boot in the doorway.

  “Gee, rude much?” she taunts, and this close to her, I can see why Quinn is staring, mouth agape.

  “Is… is Cynthia Lee home?” I finally get out without choking on my tongue.

  She tilts her head to the side in interest. “How do you know her?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “I just—is she home?” I look at this stranger, who can’t be who I think she is.

  “Fine. Whatever…Mom!” the teenager screams over her shoulder.

  Mom?

  Oh my God. Is she? But surely she can’t be. As I look at my expression mirrored on the face of this teenager, I know it’s true.

  “Who’s at the door, darling?” I hear a sweet voice ask before the door opens wide, and a middle-aged woman with black hair and icy blue eyes comes into view.

  In this moment, everything is heightened. The harsh sound of my breathing, the frantic beating of my heart, but most of all, my brain stuck on repeat, screaming, This can’t be her! This can’t be her!

  “Mia?” she chokes, her trembling hand covering her gaping mouth.

  I know with every fiber of my body that this is the woman who abandoned me—who left me alone with a monster. This is the woman who ruined my life.

  “Hi… Mom.”

  Acknowledgements

  Limitless Publishing—You guys are truly amazing. Thank you for believing in me.

  My brilliant editor, Toni Rakestraw—Thank you for ‘getting’ me and for making me laugh with your bubble comments. Editing has never been
so fun!

  Daniel, Thank you for being my muse. I love you.

  My amazing family—Mum, Dad, Daniel, Fran, Matt, Samantha, Amelia, Gayle, Peter, Luke, Leah, Shirley, Buckwheat, Dacca, Mitch and Jag- Thank you for your unconditional love and support.

  Louise—You’ve been with me from the very beginning and without you and your support, I would be a mess. My fellow cat lover furever!

  Gemma—I am so, so proud of you. Thank you for staying. P.L.L for life!

  Jaz- Thank you for showering me with Efron and Leto pics. These get me through the day!

  Ben and Logan, thanks for the booze! Ps. Ben, you’re the best laptop resuscitator.

  Ariana McWilliams—Without you, I would be a mess. Thanks for everything! Nothing is ever too much for you, and I appreciate your help so very much. Thank you for not laughing at my technology phobia. I’ll learn how to make a Google Document thingie...one day.

  My fellow authors and friends: Lisa Edward, Beth Michele, Kathy-Jo Reinhart, Ilsa Madden-Mills, Kendall Grey, Beverly Preston, Nina Levine, Justine Elvria, Hazel Robinson, Colleen Hoover and Lisa Swallow—Thank you for all the support and laughs. I love you ladies to bits!

  To all the bloggers who helped get Something like Normal and the I Surrender Trilogy off the ground, I thank you. A big cuddle to Ellie from Love N. Books for bringing me to Vegas!

  My readers—Your support means the world to me. Thank you for believing in me and my characters.

  I suck at these, so if I’ve left anyone out, I’m sorry!!

  Oh, and I want to thank: coffee, lip rings, tattoos, Chihuahuas, Lucy Hale, chucks, New York, glitter, lip gloss, pizza, Disney Princesses, Zac Efron, grilled cheese sandwiches, Phoebe, mermaid screams, cats on YouTube, and my purple pen- You kept me sane... well, semi sane.

  About the Author

  Monica James spent her youth devouring the works of Anne Rice, William Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson.

  When she is not writing, Monica is busy running her own business, but she always finds a balance between the two.