by Maisey Yates
And he would be pissed at himself. So drinking in the middle of the day was out of the question. Dammit.
“Quinn . . .”
Quinn turned around and saw Jake standing by the fence, his hand gripping the top rail like it was his support system.
“Yeah?”
He wasn’t in the mood to deal with teenage issues. Even the admittedly real issues these guys were dealing with. He had his own issues, and they were eclipsing everything and everyone at the moment.
He couldn’t say that, but it was true.
“I need to talk to you.”
Great. “Sure. What’s up?”
“You said that stuff about rock bottom. And I talked to Sam for a while . . . and . . . and I have something to tell you.”
“Okay,” he said, privately wishing he could just tune out whatever talk the kid thought was so important.
“I told you that I used to help at the rodeo. And I did. That day, the day of Cade Mitchell’s accident, I got approached by a guy. I didn’t know his name. He wasn’t one of the riders, and he sure as hell wasn’t you. He asked me if I would do something for him. He offered me a lot of money. Like . . . it was a lot. To me, anyway. He said if, when I was inspecting the gear on Cade’s horse, I would put a spike under the saddle, I’d get paid. So I did it.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean for him to get hurt. He was just . . . I guess he was just supposed to lose, and I thought, it sucks for him to lose, but I needed the money. But if I could take anything back . . . any of the dumb shit I’ve done. That would be the one thing.” He shook his head. “I need to put it right. That’s . . . that’s why I chose to come here. There were a few options open to me and I saw this one and . . . I knew I had to see you because . . . I have to fix this.”
Quinn felt like he’d been punched in the head again. “You did it?” he asked, his heart pounding, his palms slick with sweat.
He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that his ticket back was here. That it had just been handed to him.
“Yes,” Jake said. “And I’ll testify before the board or . . . court. Whatever you need. I don’t really want to get arrested, but I understand that . . . whether I meant to hurt him or not, I did.”
“If he presses charges, you could go to jail,” Quinn said, reiterating the point.
“I know.”
“And you’re still ready to confess?”
“You made all this happen,” Jake said, “because you got it together and worked hard. Because you hit rock bottom and took a hand up. And I’m taking something from you by not doing the same. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
And right then, Quinn realized something. He hadn’t hit rock bottom before. Not truly. Not before today.
Because when a hand had been reached down to him, when help and salvation was within his grasp, he’d turned away.
He looked down at the boy. So young. So much braver than he was. “You’ll really confess?”
“Yes. I have dreams about it. About how it looked when he fell. When his boot got caught and . . . and how he got dragged around like a rag doll. That was my fault. I did that. I’ve done . . . things. Stolen stuff and vandalized . . . stuff. But I never did anything to people. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
The things that hit Quinn surprised him. Concern for Jake. Because the kid could get in major trouble. Because this was something he had to live with. A consequence Quinn had been spared. He’d never hurt anyone seriously, even when he’d been at his worst.
“And I’ll be reinstated.” He said that last part out loud. To try and make himself feel that. To make himself feel elation, excitement. Some sense of accomplishment. Vindication. It was here. He had it. Right in his hands.
And he didn’t feel anything. Nothing but this strange, hollow ache that permeated everything. All of him.
He didn’t feel a drive to punish Jake. To pursue the man who’d put Jake up to it. He didn’t feel a damn thing.
It didn’t change when he called his lawyer. Didn’t change when he got his notice of appointment to stand before the board. For Jake to go and confess.
It didn’t change, four days later, when he got the call telling him he was absolved. That he was cleared to compete in the circuit again, since he was innocent of any wrongdoing in the incident involving Cade Mitchell.
He walked into the barn and sat down in front of the stall. Why couldn’t he feel anything? Why didn’t he care?
The words of the chairman still echoed in his head.
You’re cleared to begin competition at the beginning of next season . . .
No apology. But he hadn’t expected that. Never in a million years. But the speed at which they’d disbarred him had been amazing. Still, with Jake’s confession, his knowledge of details Quinn certainly hadn’t been privy to, plus a deposit slip showing the money he’d been paid going into a personal account the day of the accident, they’d had enough reasonable doubt that they’d felt obligated to allow him back.
***
And he was waiting now. Waiting to feel like everything in his life was back the way it should be. Waiting to feel . . .
He didn’t even know. He didn’t know what he’d thought he would feel. Satisfied. Whole. Like he was someone. Someone more than a bastard forced on a man too dignified to turn him out onto the streets. A bastard who put an irrevocable crack in a marriage.
A bastard who had never fit. Who had never been wanted.
He knew what he’d been expecting. He’d been expecting to get reinstated and find the kind of satisfaction he’d felt when he’d first started riding. Purpose, a sense of focus that had pulled him out of the fog he’d been living in.
But it wasn’t working now.
And he didn’t know why. It had been enough. It had been enough before Lark.
He closed his eyes and put his head down. Yeah. It had been enough because he’d been so used to the emptiness inside of him that it had made him feel full.
Lark had brought him something bigger than purpose. Something richer than drive. She’d brought something into his life no one else in his life ever had.
I love you.
No one else had ever said that. No one else had ever felt it. No one else had ever given him love. And Lark had done it regardless of his actions. When he’d been too angry to let go of revenge, too afraid to give her the words in return. Even though he wasn’t some famous bronco rider. She’d loved him regardless of his position.
She’d loved him even with all the broken pieces inside of him. She hadn’t waited for him to change before offering it. Hadn’t held it up out of reach.
She’d held out her hand, her love, to him where he was at, at the bottom of that pit. That rock bottom hole he’d been living in for so long.
And he’d turned her down. A dying man in the desert refusing water.
He was a fool. And he was a coward.
It had been easier to want the rodeo, because at the end, even if he didn’t have the circuit, it wouldn’t destroy him. But acknowledging his love for Lark . . . and damn, but he loved her . . . if he lost it, it would destroy him. Utterly. Completely.
Except he was a dumbass. He’d thought he could stop it. That if he sent her away, if he didn’t let himself think it, if he didn’t acknowledge that the feeling of peace, of being full, was love, that he would be protected from it.
Even now, with his heart cracked open and bleeding, with the loss of Lark so real and painful, he was afraid of what it would mean to say the words. To want a future with her.
From the time he was a kid, he’d been made to feel like he wasn’t good enough. And the biggest lie he’d ever told himself was that he didn’t care. That he didn’t need to fit. That he didn’t want to fit.
That he didn’t want the love that had been denied him.
Well, he didn’t want his mother’s
love. He didn’t want love from either of the men he could call father. Not now.
But he wanted Lark’s love. And he was sure that he wasn’t worthy of it. That was his real fear. That he would reach his hand out, and find she was still out of his reach. That no amount of wanting her, of wanting to be the man she deserved, would make him good enough.
Not even with the rodeo. Not even if he gave her every bit of his bruised and damaged heart.
But he would ask for it anyway. Because his pride could go to hell.
He had lived afraid, and he had lived angry. But as he sat there with the ground hard under his butt and his chest feeling empty, he realized that until Lark, he’d never actually lived.
Chapter Eighteen
Lark didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to. Especially when everyone was talking in hushed and grave tones like they didn’t want to be listened to. That made it all the more interesting.
Jill and Sam were there, and so was Jake. They were all talking to Cade.
“Lark!”
She took the last step off the stairs and into the living room. “Yeah?”
“Do you do that a lot?” Cade asked.
“No.” She hesitated. “More lately than normal.”
“Come here.”
She did. She looked from Jill, to Jake, to Sam and back to Cade. They all looked like they’d just buried a family pet.
“Jake came because he had something to tell me,” Cade said.
“Oh?”
Jake stood up and took a deep breath. “I was the one who put the spike under his saddle. I was the one who caused . . . everything.”
Lark felt like she’d been hit in the stomach. All the air was knocked out of her, all the thoughts wiped her from her head. “What? Jake . . . why?”
“Not because I had anything against him,” Jake said, looking back at Cade. “I got offered a lot of money to do it. Which is . . . I’m not excusing it. Or justifying it. I just . . . I’m sorry.” Jake’s face crumpled, and so did Lark’s heart.
Jill got up from the couch and put her arm around him, and Sam stood too, just near him, offering support.
Jake composed himself and turned back to Cade. “If you wanna press charges, I understand.”
Cade stood up, his movements labored, possible a little more than normal. Possibly on purpose.
She got it now. They weren’t burying a pet, but Cade was having to a bury a hatchet she knew he hadn’t wanted to let go of. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Cade said. “From my point of view, you were a kid. A dumbass kid, but a kid. And I used to be one of those too . . . so. If you know who asked you to do it though . . . if you could remember . . .”
“I didn’t get his name. He was a guy in jeans. Belt buckle. Expensive hat and boots. He wasn’t a rider.”
“All right. But if you ever do remember . . . he’s the one I’d press charges against. Not you.”
They all shook hands, and Jill and Sam led Jake from the house, leaving her and Cade alone.
“He did it,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Not Quinn,” she said.
Cade shook his head. “That’s how it looks.”
Lark’s heart splintered. Again. How did a heart break again in the space of a few days? This heartbreak business was balls. “I knew it,” she said, nodding. “I did.”
“I know you did. Which just underlines the fact that he’s an idiot.”
She laughed, a nervous, sad, elated laugh. One borne from feeling too much emotion at one time. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. Really. Because you believed him. No one else did. And look what he did to you. I still think he’s an asshole. And I don’t take back the punch to the jaw. I would have done that no matter what.”
“Cuz he stole my virtue?”
Cade made a face. “Stop with that. I do not need details. Or any more reason to want to go after him with a branding iron.”
“After years of dealing with your innuendos, I think I’ve earned the right. It’s my turn, Cade. My turn to make you uncomfortable. My one solace in this moment.”
His lip curled. “Find a new solace, please. This one is going to ruin my life.”
There was a knock on the front door, and Cade went to answer it. Then he froze when he swung it open.
“What the hell do you want?”
Lark froze too, because she knew, without even looking, that it could only be one person. Because only one person could earn such a frosty reception from her brother. The only person she wanted desperately to hide from, from here to eternity.
And, perversely, the only person she wanted more than her next breath.
“You know what I want.”
Quinn. It was Quinn, and he was here. And he wanted . . .
He wanted to make sure he was reinstated. That he was no longer barred from competition. She was such a stupid girl. For a half second, she’d been convinced that what he wanted was her. But that wasn’t true.
She’d never been what he wanted, not really. Not deep down. She’d been a nice diversion, but she wasn’t enough for him. Wasn’t enough to bring him out of the pit he seemed determined to live in.
“Jake’s been here already, and I don’t see what I have to do with you and the board at this point,” Cade said, barring the way.
“I got reinstated two days ago,” Quinn said. “Jake’s confession made it pretty immediate. But you know what? I don’t give a damn. Not about any of it. That’s not why I’m here.”
Lark looked up, all the way, and past Cade, her eyes locking with Quinn’s.
Quinn pushed his way into the house, apparently no longer caring about manners, decorum or her brother’s mean right hook.
“Lark.”
“What do you want?” she asked, breathless, hurting.
“You,” he said, his voice thin, strained. “Always you.” He advanced on her, tugged her into his arms and kissed her lips, pouring emotion, pain and longing into it. And she felt it, answered it with all of the emotion, the love, inside of her.
When they parted, they were both breathing hard, Quinn’s eyes intent on hers, dark and glittering with emotion.
“Well.” They both looked back at Cade, who was standing there, staring. He put his hands in his pockets. “Uh . . . well . . . this is awkward.”
“Go away, Cade,” she said, her voice cracking.
He assessed them both, then nodded slowly. “My pleasure.” He walked out the front door, closing it behind him.
“Was it really that easy?” Quinn asked.
“No,” Lark said. “He’s going to give you hell later, then Cole’s going to give it to you twice. And first, I’m going to give it to you. What are you doing here? Why are you kissing me? Like you have a right to put your mouth on mine when you told me that you didn’t want me to love you? When you told me that you didn’t want me.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have the right,” his voice was rough, shredded. “I don’t have the right to touch you. To want you. To love you. You deserve someone so much better than me, Lark. And you could find him, easily. But the one thing you won’t find is a man who wants you more than I do. Is a man who will love you more than I do. I have nothing to give you. Nothing but my baggage, nothing but my heart, such as it is. But I will do everything, everything in my power, everything out of it, to make myself worthy of you. To make you happy. If you would have me . . . Lark, I feel like I shouldn’t even ask. But I want to ask. I need to ask. I need you to be with me. Forever.”
“Quinn . . . I don’t . . . I don’t even know . . . what the hell am I supposed to say?”
“Say you love me still.” He held her hands in his, tight, against his chest. “That I didn’t shake it out of you with my stupidity.”
“Of course I love you, you moron.”
He pulled her in and kissed her hard, kissed her until she was dizzy. “I’m so glad to hear you say that.”
“But hang on,” she said. “You have a story to tell me, Quinn Parker, because when last I left you, you told me you didn’t want this.”
“And you told me I was scared. Guess who was right.”
“Well, me, obviously.”
He kissed her nose. “Obviously.” Then he pulled her in close, and just held her, held her so tight she could feel his heart beating. “Lark, it’s so much easier to pretend you know you’re unworthy of love, than to ask for it again, to want it again, and have it denied you. It’s easier to want something like the rodeo, than to want a person, a woman, so much it consumes you inside. I was terrified to love you, and in some ways I still am. But you’re all my missing pieces. Parts of me I’ve been searching for all of my life.”
She pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You are my bravery. Without you, I’ve always been afraid. You are my hope. Without you, I was just sitting in darkness. You are my peace, Lark, without you, I was never at rest. You are the piece of my soul I thought I was simply born without. When the fact of the matter is, you were just there, waiting for me find you. And I was looking in the wrong places.”
She tried to blink back the tears that were blurring her view of his face. His perfect, wonderful face. “Quinn . . . you were always complete. Even without me. You’ve always been enough.”
“I’ve been angry,” he said. “So angry, for most of my life. Angry at my parents for making me feel so ashamed of who I was and how I was born. Angry at your brother. Angry at the world. And I blamed other things, other people, for the parts of me that felt wrong. But it was me. It was my anger. It was my fear. It drove out everything good. I used my anger, for most of my life. I let it drive me, let it push me, and that worked in competition. But when I didn’t have the circuit anymore, it felt a lot more like what it was. Unhappiness. Rage.”
“But you can go back to riding now,” she said. “You can compete again.”
