Fragile

by Shiloh Walker

  “Can’t stay,” Quinn said, turning to face them. He glanced at Devon but focused his attention on Luke. “Have you heard from the detectives investigating what happened? They called?”

  “We just got home,” Devon said. “I haven’t checked . . .” Her voice trailed off and she walked past them. As she drew near to Quinn, she sensed a tension in his body, watched from the corner of her eye as he moved back a little, giving her a wide berth.

  Smiling a little, she went into the kitchen and checked the machine. The little digital readout read three. “There are a few messages.”

  “Probably them. But I wanted to tell you.” A harsh smile appeared on Quinn’s face. He started to say something and then he stopped, looking back at Devon. “Ah . . .”

  Luke shook his head. “Whatever it is, just say it. She won’t break.”

  Devon smiled and went to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and hugging him before looking back at Quinn. The other man shrugged. He stood in the hallway between the kitchen and living room, wearing a beat-up leather jacket, worn jeans, and leather boots that had probably seen better years. He didn’t much look like anybody’s idea of a savior, she knew. Then again, sexy as he was, sweet as he was, Luke didn’t much look like a savior, either.

  But they were.

  And she suspected if she voiced that opinion to either of them, she’d be met with utter resistance, outright laughter—or on Quinn’s part, that icy silence. It seemed to be a part of him. “What is it, Quinn?”

  When he spoke this time, his voice seemed a little softer, almost gentle. “It’s about Tony Malone.”

  A shiver went down her spine, and she tensed, unable to stop it. “What about him?”

  Behind her, she felt Luke’s reaction, a reaction that spoke of hot fury; fury so hot, she could feel it without even looking at him.

  “He’s dead. Cops found him in his cell a couple hours ago. Used a handmade shiv and cut his wrists. Bled out.” He eyed Devon’s face warily, as though he wasn’t sure how she’d react.

  She was uneasy, but Devon couldn’t tell if it was because of what Tony had done, or because Quinn didn’t seem the type who related with others well—and not the type to care. She swallowed the bile rushing up her throat and tried to think. “Dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  He turned on his heel, headed for the door. But before he could open it, Devon went after him and grabbed his sleeve. Quinn went still, and automatically, Devon let go. The guy had Don’t Touch written all over him. In blinding blue neon.

  He turned to look at her, and she forced a smile. “Luke had planned on inviting you over Christmas before things got . . . complicated . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as Quinn stared at her with hard, cold eyes. The ice she saw there softened a little, and he said quietly, “You don’t need to explain that, Devon. I get why he didn’t. Hell, what person would want to have some stranger dumped on her lap after what happened?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “You’re not a stranger. You’re his brother.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am, and I know what the bastard’s thinking better than he does sometimes,” Quinn said, shooting Luke a smirk. Then, watching Devon’s face, he took a step forward and held out a hand.

  She knew if she so much as breathed wrong, he’d jerk away. Slowly, she reached out and laid her hand in his. When she did, he turned her arm. Instinctively, she tensed, would have jerked away, but Quinn’s firm hold, while gentle, didn’t let her. He reached up and touched the faint, faded scars on her inner forearm. “At some point, Luke, man . . . you need to tell her about our mother.”

  When he let go, Devon instinctively backed away, settling in against Luke and leaning into him.

  Quinn slanted a look at Luke and then met Devon’s gaze again. “Luke’s probably already warned you I’m not the easiest person to deal with. I can be an ass, and trying not to be is something I have to work at—and I rarely see the point. I don’t like many people; they don’t like me. I’m cool with that. Luke’s real good about protecting people. He’s kind of a Boy Scout.”

  Unable to help herself, she smiled and glanced up at Luke. “Yeah. He can be that.” Looking back at Quinn, she wondered where he was going with this.

  “I kept wondering why in the hell he didn’t introduce the two of us early on,” Quinn said, shaking his head. “I knew this was coming for him, got it the first time he mentioned you. Kept waiting to meet you . . . but now I know why he waited.”

  Luke went stiff. Easing away, she studied his tense face for a moment and then looked at Quinn. “And that would be . . . ?”

  Quinn’s lips curved upward in another faint smile. “Ask him.”

  Devon shot Luke a puzzled look, watched as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and averted his gaze. His face had flushed a dull, ruddy shade of red. Lifting a brow, she simply stared at him and waited.

  Luke blew out a breath. “Mom was a drug addict, Devon. I don’t think about it much, because I never knew her. Never once met her. But she wasn’t a nice woman.”

  Quinn snorted and muttered something under his breath that Devon couldn’t quite make out. Ignoring him, Luke shrugged his shoulders in a stiff, jerky motion. “I was worried about introducing you to Quinn because of that . . . Sometimes he . . .”

  Luke’s voice faded away, and Quinn finished up, a weird, unrehearsed sort of rhythm that made her wonder how often the two finished each other’s thoughts. “I tend to recognize addicts on sight.” This time, when she looked at Quinn, she saw that he was now blushing red and looked damned uncomfortable under her gaze. “Even recovered ones. I don’t always give people the benefit of the doubt . . . and Luke wouldn’t want me to dislike you, so he was waiting to explain things.”

  Unsure how that open, honest response made her feel, she frowned. Slipping her hands into her back pockets, she shifted a little farther away so she could see both of them before her. She watched as Quinn looked from her face to Luke with that faint, sardonic smile on his lips. “I don’t give people the benefit of the doubt, Luke . . . but she isn’t just people. She’s yours . . . and you, I trust.”

  Luke sighed and ran a hand through his hair, nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I should have realized that. I’m—”

  Cutting him off, Quinn said in a flat voice, “I’m tired of the sorrys , Luke. They aren’t necessary.”

  Luke’s eyes narrowed. Recognizing the spike of tension in the air, even if she didn’t fully understand it, Devon once more moved between them, returning to her place beside Luke and slipping an arm around his waist. Automatically, he hugged her to him, glanced down at her face.

  She smiled, reached up, and touched a finger to his lips. Then she looked back at Quinn and said, “Since we never got around to having you over for Christmas, maybe you could come over in a few days.”

  Quinn looked at her, looked back over her shoulder to Luke, and then shook his head. “I’m heading out of town.”

  “Going back home?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Don’t really have one.” Then he scowled. “Well, yeah, I do. Where we lived with Dad. But I haven’t decided where I’m heading.”

  “You could stay in the condo.” Luke grinned a little. “I don’t need it. Hang around awhile, Quinn.”

  He didn’t agree one way or the other, just gave another one of those restless shrugs. He left without saying anything else, and as the door closed behind him, Devon turned to face Luke with a smile. “Well, it’s obvious which one of you was the social one.”

  Watching her, a little uneasily, she thought, Luke shrugged. In that moment, the resemblance to Quinn was even stronger: eyes icy and unreadable, face a mask. “Quinn’s not much for people.”

  Nodding, Devon replied, “Yeah, I figured that. I think there’s probably a story about why . . . and I imagine it has to do with your mom.”

  The ice in Luke’s gaze thawed a little. “Yeah. A long one. It’s . . .”

  “Complicated?” she offered.

 
; “Yeah.” He grinned sheepishly. “I was . . . I dunno.”

  “Yeah, you do. You were worried he’d freak me out or something.” Slipping her arms around him, she smiled up at him. “I keep telling you not to worry so much. I don’t break.”

  Luke draped his arms over her shoulders, lowering his head so he could press his brow to hers. “So you keep saying.” He paused, the silence heavy and tense. “About Tony . . .”

  Devon shook her head. “There is no about. He’s dead. He doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters anymore.” She emphasized it by rising on her toes and pressing her lips to his. “None.”

  Keeping her lips against his, she added, “And I’ve been thinking about complications . . . You know, they aren’t always a bad thing. You certainly weren’t.”