by Joss Wood
Quinn nodded. “Let me know if that changes.”
“Will do, boss man.”
Galen passed Quinn a beer and he wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle and the other hand around her wrist. She tugged at his hold and he bent his head toward hers. She was sure that anyone watching him would think he was whispering something sexy in her ear, but his words were anything but. “You. Stay.”
“I am not a dog! You don’t get to tell me to sit and stay!” Cal shot back, wondering how she could be so annoyed with someone who smelled so good and turned her insides to mush.
“Callahan, I am on the edge of losing my temper with you and you won’t like it when I do. Do not push me.”
Cal bit her lip and looked up at him, suddenly, inexplicably, scared. Toby always used the same words—do not push me—before his hand shot out, sometimes stopping and sometimes connecting. Sometimes the slap turned into a punch, sometimes a tap; once or twice his palm left finger marks on her cheek. Even worse was when the slap morphed into a caress, into foreplay, into sex she didn’t want to have.
Cal bit her bottom lip and tried to get her racing heart under control. Quinn wasn’t Toby; he would never, ever hurt her. So then why did she feel like she was being controlled by a bigger, stronger personality than herself?
Oh, God, this had little to do with Toby and everything to do with Quinn and the fact that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable again. Once again she’d handed over her love, her most precious gift, and once again it had been rejected. Everything she’d worked for—her independence, her sense of self—was slipping away... It felt like she was fading away.
She couldn’t control the sudden surge of overwhelming anxiety. Feeling like she couldn’t get any air, she lifted her hand to her throat and patted her skin, trying to tell herself to breathe. But it was too hot in the club, too noisy and her heart was pounding so hard she felt like it was going to jump out of her chest.
Panic attack. She hadn’t had many—she’d started having them in the month before Toby died—but she instantly knew what was happening. Dizziness, a tingling body and ice running through her veins. She wanted to run away from Quinn, this place, her life, but she couldn’t. She held onto Quinn’s arm, hoping his heat and warmth would pull her back from that dark, horrible place.
“What the—” she heard Quinn’s words from a place far away and felt her knees buckling. Then Quinn’s arm was around her waist and he pulled her into his embrace, his hand holding her head to his neck, his voice in her ear.
“I’ve got you, Red. Just breathe. C’mon, baby, just breathe, in and out.”
Cal concentrated on his soothing voice, on his strength, on the warmth of his body, his smell. His heat. She pulled in air, slowly, as he suggested, and the ice in her blood melted and the world stopped whirling. She managed to move her arms so she held his hard waist, her hand clutching the fabric of his black button-down shirt. His fingers in her hair massaged her scalp.
“C’mon, Red, get it together. I’m here and you are fine. You just need to breathe, suck in the disgusting air.”
His words caused her to let out a snort of laughter and Quinn’s arm around her hips tightened a fraction. “There we go. You’re getting there.”
Cal pulled in a deep breath, felt her head clearing and nodded, her nose bumping into his jaw.
“If I put you down, will you be able to stand?” Quinn demanded, his lips on her cheek.
“Yeah.”
Cal wobbled when her heels hit the floor, but Quinn stabilized her. She stared at the open patch of tanned skin revealed by the collar of his shirt and struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Oh, God, if this wasn’t another sign that she had to put some emotional distance between her and Quinn, then she didn’t know what was. She couldn’t be in a relationship with him, with anybody. If just a couple of words could send her into a tailspin, and his touch could bring her back from the edge, then she needed to get out.
He made her want what she couldn’t have, what she wasn’t prepared to give. She didn’t want to cede that much control over her heart, her thoughts, her life. A relationship meant sacrifice; it meant losing control. It meant bouncing between love and trepidation, between hope and despair.
Love meant being vulnerable.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Quinn cradled her head between his hands and rested his forehead on hers. She felt his breath, minty fresh, on her cheeks, her nose, whispering across her forehead. “God, Red, what’s happening to us?”
* * *
Back on the Red Delicious, Quinn watched Cal as she carefully sat down on the edge of the sofa’s square cushions and stared at the maple floor beneath her feet. They needed to talk, but was she up to it?
He’d always prided himself on being forthright and honest, but this week he’d been anything but. He knew, better than most, how under-the-surface emotions could fester. He’d seen the looks Cal had sent him, the confusion on her face when he made love to her and then emotionally retreated. He was being unfair, but he wasn’t sure how to resolve their stalemate.
“I’m going up onto the deck. I need some air.”
Quinn nodded and went into the kitchen to pull two wineglasses from the cabinet. He dropped to his haunches and quickly scanned his wine collection before deciding on a robust red. As he reached for the corkscrew, he noticed the thick envelope he’d tossed onto the counter earlier. He’d been so angry with Cal that he hadn’t bothered to look inside, but now he was curious. Putting the corkscrew down, he opened the flap and spread the papers on the counter. He sucked in his breath at the photographic documentation of the past few months with Cal.
God, they looked happy, in love, crazy about each other.
There was a photo of him watching her at that art exhibition and he saw love and lust, pride and affection written all over his face. In every photo, the world could see their crazy chemistry, knew their thoughts weren’t far away from the bedroom. Some of the photos managed to capture their genuine liking for each other, their trust in each other. He could easily see why the city assumed they were in love.
A camera had flashed in the club earlier, capturing him holding Cal’s face in his hands. When that photo appeared online or in tomorrow’s social column, they would see a man looking at his woman, adoration on his face.
Because he did adore her—he loved her—but did he love her like that? Did he love her enough to walk away from the safety of his lone-wolf lifestyle, enough to give her what she deserved, what she craved? A home, a family—through surrogacy, through adoption, through some nontraditional way—and the love and commitment and fidelity she deserved? Could he put her first, forever and always? Could he build the family he now knew he wanted with her? Could he trust her to put him first, to be the rock he wanted to lean on?
It would be easier to walk away from her right now, tonight, to let whatever they had die a natural death. But if they ended it now, it would take months or years for their friendship to recover, if it ever did. Could he risk that? Could he risk losing her to keep his heart safe?
He didn’t know...
Quinn picked up the wine bottle and glasses and took them up to the deck. Cal stood at the railing looking up at the skyscrapers of downtown Vancouver. He loved the deck at night, dark and quiet despite the hectic light show above and behind them.
Cal kicked off her shoes and his eyes traveled along her legs in those tight jeans to her tiny waist, displayed by her snug coat. He put the glasses and wine down and walked toward her, placing his front to her back, pulling aside her hair to place a hot kiss on her elegant neck.
He knew they needed to talk, but he wanted this first, the magic and wonder of her under him. He wasn’t sure where they were going, but he needed to love her one more time before words got in the way.
Because words always did.
Early the next morning Cal felt Quinn’s kiss on her neck, heard him pull in a deep breath as if he were trying to inhale her. His arm was tight around her; his thigh was flung over hers as if he were trying to hold her in place. It meant nothing, Cal reminded herself; him holding her was a conditioned response.
Cal opened her eyes as Quinn rolled away from her, leaving the bed without speaking to visit the bathroom. She hoped he’d come back to bed, but she didn’t really expect him to. Her instinct was proven correct when he walked over to the large window and placed his arm on the glass above his head, his expression disconsolate.
“What caused your panic attack last night?” Quinn asked, without turning around.
Cal didn’t bother to pretend that she was asleep. Neither of them had slept and, instead of talking, they’d reached for each other time and time again, as if they knew this conversation would change everything between them. Well, dawn was breaking and the night was over...
Cal pushed back the covers and stood up. She pulled a T-shirt from the pile of laundry on his chair and pulled it over her head. She walked over to the large porthole to stand next to Quinn. He’d pulled on a pair of sleeping shorts and a T-shirt while he was in the bathroom and Cal was grateful. She didn’t think they could have this conversation naked.
“You told me you were on the edge of losing your temper,” Cal replied, placing her hand on the glass.
She felt Quinn’s penetrating look. “And you took that to mean...what? That I would hurt you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Intellectually, no. Emotionally, I rolled back in time. I have issues about being controlled.”
“Because of Carter.” Quinn rubbed his hand over his jaw. “But you do know I would never, ever lay a finger on you?”
“I know that, Quinn, I do.” Cal looked at him, so big and bold and so very pissed off. “I don’t respond well to orders anymore and I didn’t like you telling me what to do.”
Quinn linked his hands behind his neck, his biceps bulging. “And I had a damn good reason for that. You didn’t know what you were walking into last night,” Quinn snapped. “FOMO’s is, on the surface, a pretty normal club.”
“Then why did you have a problem with me going there?” Cal demanded, sitting on the side of the bed, surprised when Quinn sat down next to her, his thigh pressing into hers.
“I said that it’s normal on the surface. Girls looking for rich guys, guys looking for pretty girls. I’m on good terms with the bartender, as I am with at least ten others throughout the city, because I pay them to keep an eye on my players, especially the younger ones.”
Cal frowned at him. “What? You pay them to spy on your players?”
“I pay them to keep me informed. There are lots of temptations out there for young kids with too much talent and money. Those bartenders and bouncers tell me when they think a player might be in danger of going over the edge. I try to stop it before it gets that far.”
“How?”
Quinn looked grim. “Suspension, random drug tests, threats, bribery, coercion. I’m not scared to use what works. I will not let them throw their talent away, throw their future away because they are young and dumb.”
“Oh.” Cal turned his words over. That was so like Quinn, deeply honorable and innately protective. “Your players were upstairs...so what’s upstairs?”
“Strip joint, men and women. Lap dances. Men on men, women on women and any combination thereof. It’s a cool place to hang out, to show that you have no issue with your sexuality. I don’t care who does what to whom, but the drugs flow through there like water through taps,” Quinn stated in a flat voice. “If you had gone up there, on your own, without me, and you were photographed, it would’ve gone viral.”
“I was on my way up there,” Cal admitted.
“Yeah, I know. We ducked a bullet. It would’ve been pretty hard to explain why you were in a strip joint when we are so happily married,” Quinn said.
“Except that we are not happily married. Or even properly married.”
“No, we’re not.” Quinn rested his forearms on his thighs, his hands linked. “I looked at the photos, the articles. It seems as if we’ve done a great job of convincing the public that we are in love.”
“But we’re not, are we?” Cal asked, her heart in her throat. Well, she might be, but he wasn’t.
Quinn pushed an agitated hand through his hair. “It’s become complicated, exactly what we didn’t want it to be.”
He was looking at her as if he expected her to drop another conversational atomic bomb. She could see the trepidation in his eyes, the tension in his hard jaw. He was bracing himself for begging and tears.
She wouldn’t do that, Cal decided. She wasn’t going to beg him to love her. She’d rolled that die already and lost. She wasn’t going to do it again.
But, God, it hurt. Cal sucked some much needed air and looked for a little bit of courage.
For the first time she made the conscious decision to lie to him. It was, she rationalized, for their greater good.
“I love you. I always have. But I won’t let myself be in love with anybody, Quinn, not even you.” She couldn’t keep sleeping with him, couldn’t keep up the pretense. Because she knew with every day she spent with him, every night she slept in his arms, she would fall deeper in love with him and leaving him would become impossible. She needed to save herself and to do that she had to leave. Now.
“Maybe we should—” Cal stopped. She didn’t want to say the words because once they were said, she couldn’t take them back. Nothing would ever be the same between them again. If she said what she needed to, she’d lose him, lose what little of his love she had. God, she’d had no clue this conversation would be so difficult.
Quinn moved so he sat on his haunches in front of her, his arm on his knee, his fingers encircling her ankle. “Maybe we should stop, Cal. We absolutely should play it safe, be sensible. Sleeping together complicated what was supposed to be a simple arrangement.”
And so it starts...
No, don’t think about how much it hurts. You can fall apart later. When you are alone. You’ve been through worse than this, Callahan. You can cope with a little heartbreak.
Focus on the practicalities. They still had a role to play, a marriage to act out.
“And the press? How do we handle them?”
“We don’t do so many public appearances together and when we do, we make sure that we aren’t acting so affectionate,” Quinn suggested, his voice rough with an emotion she couldn’t identify.
Cal tucked her legs under her bottom and pulled his shirt over her knees. “It might be easier if I left...the city, the country.”
Besides, being away from him would give her the distance she needed to patch her heart back together.
Shock and denial flashed across his face and Cal lifted a shoulder. “That would be the best option, Quinn. The easiest way to do this.”
Quinn muttered a curse and drummed his fingers on his thigh, obviously upset. “Okay, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“My dad is bored with being idle. He’s itching to come back to work and if I give him the smallest excuse, he’ll be home in a flash.”
“Is he well enough to work?”
“It’s been three months so I think so.” Cal raked her hair back with her fingers and twisted it into a loose knot at the back of her neck. “And I should get back to my own work. There are problems everywhere that I need to sort out, some I can only fix by being on the ground.” Cal nodded as a plan started to form in her head. “I suggest we issue a press statement, saying that I need to return to work, that we’re going to do the long-distance marriage thing until I wrap up some projects. Except that the projects take longer than expected and, as a result, we start drifting apart.”
Quinn’s face gave nothing away and Cal had no idea what he was thinking. Damn, she’d always been able to read him, had always known what he was thinking until recently, when he kept his thoughts hidden from her. She hated it. Despite their best efforts, the last three months had changed their friendship.
They’d chosen the situation; they’d known the risk. Now they had to deal with the fallout.
“That could work,” Quinn agreed. “When will you—”
“Go?” Cal finished his sentence. She didn’t think she could live with Quinn and not touch him, not make love to him. If she moved anywhere else, then a lot of questions would be asked. The best solution was to leave, as soon as possible.
She just needed to find the courage to walk away, to do what was necessary. For both their sakes.
“ASAP, Quinn. I don’t want to draw this out, make it harder than it needs to be.” Cal dropped her gaze so he couldn’t see how close she was to losing it.
Quinn’s arm around her shoulders, him hauling her into his side, told her he’d already noticed. He kissed her temple and rested his head on hers. “We really should’ve kept this simple, Red.”
Cal placed her arm around his neck and closed her eyes, feeling his heat, his hard body and ignoring the throb between her legs, her blood roaring through her veins. “Yeah, we really should’ve. We weren’t very smart, Quinn.”
* * *
It was the second game of the season and Quinn stood in their newly acquired owners’ box in the Mavericks arena looking down at the rink. The seats were starting to fill and there was a buzz in the air.
The fans were excited and he could understand why. Yesterday he, Mac and Kade had signed the final papers giving them a majority ownership of the Mavericks and fulfilling their biggest dream.
Kade and Quinn stood next to him and he saw, and ignored, the long look they exchanged. He took a sip from his coffee cup. He grimaced. The coffee, like everything else over the past month, tasted like crap.
“We are now the official majority owners of the Mavericks,” Kade said, a goofy-looking grin on his face. He bumped fists with Mac, who was also wearing a stupid-ass grin. They were still on a high from yesterday, still assimilating the knowledge that the deal was, finally, done.
