Give Me Strength

by Kate McCarthy

  His phone rang and he looked at the display before answering.

  “Casey?”

  He stood, and indicating he’d be back, left the office. It gave me an opportunity to compose myself. I tucked a wave of loose hair behind my ear and rolled my shoulders, expelling air from lungs that had my cheeks puffing out.

  When he didn’t reappear, I pulled together the final information of the security detail and compiled it neatly in a folder. Deciding to go in search of a drink while I waited, I pushed back my chair and made my way towards the kitchen.

  The quiet murmuring of voices became louder. Mac and Travis were talking. Peering around the corner, I saw Travis leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded, eyes on the floor. Mac was before him, talking, one arm splayed out wide as though making a point. With no intention to intrude on what appeared to be a private conversation, I took a soft step backwards, yet when I heard my name mentioned, I paused.

  “Why are you acting like Quinn’s just run over your cat?”

  “I’m not acting any way, Mac.” He sounded exasperated.

  “You are. The past few months you haven’t been yourself and now this unfriendly bullshit. Quinn is mine, Travis, and I won’t have your attitude crapping all over everything that’s bright and shiny and have you scaring her away.”

  “Not sure I’m liking what’s coming out of your mouth, Mac.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck,” she retorted. “At the moment I’m more concerned about what’s coming out of yours.”

  “Shit, Mac. I’m not sure if I can do this anymore.” His voice sounded hoarse and I bit down on my lip.

  “Do what?” came her softer tone.

  “The AFP contracted us on a bullshit assignment that’s got me twisted in knots, but it’s not just that, I…it’s this job. We had the worst fucking case today and I…”

  His voice trailed away because I fled, disappointed in myself for eavesdropping.

  After returning two phone calls, I glanced up when Travis strode back into the room, overwhelmed all over again at the sheer depth of his charisma. For one night he’d made me the centre of his universe, and since then he’d somehow been the centre of mine—hovering in my conscious during the days and stealing his way into my nights.

  “Sorry about that.”

  I shrugged as though I didn’t care, but when he sank his incredibly firm, wonderfully male body into the chair opposite me and tossed his phone towards the desk with irritation, I knew I did.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He frowned, dark clouds gathering in his eyes. “You heard me talking to Mac?”

  “No!” I sputtered. “It’s just…” I tilted my head “… you seem a bit worn out.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as though re-building his composure, and when they opened, the cold aloofness had me shivering.

  “If you’re worried about the security this weekend, Quinn, don’t be. We’ll have it covered.”

  “No, that’s not what I—”

  “Barbecue!” came the crooning yell from beyond the doorway, and we both turned as Mac sashayed into the room. “This Sunday, Quinn. Mum and Dad’s place so they can meet you and welcome you to the family.”

  Travis stood abruptly. He reached out for his phone and slid it in his back pocket before picking up the folder I’d pushed across the desk.

  His short, sharp movements had me hesitating. “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Rubbish to whatever you were going to say. Right, Travis?”

  Travis paused and looked at Mac, then he looked at me. “Right. Gotta go.”

  That was the last I saw of Travis until Saturday night rolled around when he turned up with Jared to form part of Jamieson’s security detail.

  It was my first weekend watching them play live. Mac and I stood off to the side of the stage watching Evie hold the crowd in the palm of her hand. With her flirty, outgoing nature she made it look easy, always managing to say just the right thing to incite their enthusiasm. The loud, thumping beat vibrated through my body, and every nerve ending tingled with the incredible sound Jamieson was pumping out. Henry hunched over his guitar, absorbed in the music. Frog and Cooper grinned as they played, making it look effortless as they flirted with the crowd, and Jake’s muscled arms thumped the drums like the beat was alive inside his body.

  “Set break coming up soon, Quinn. Got your list?” Mac shouted at me. “I can’t believe they misplaced the one we faxed the other day.”

  I shrugged. It just meant a quick trip to the bar to organise what drinks we wanted sent backstage. “I’ll sort it out,” I yelled back.

  At least we had our new shirts now. Mac and I wore matching skinny black jeans and skin tight white T-shirts with short black sleeves. The Jamieson name and logo took centre stage on the front and huge black letters on the back read: Jamieson Crew.

  In honour of my first night working at a venue, Lucy had wound a braid along my fringe line before pinning the bulk of the tousled curls into a messy knot at the nape of my neck. Smokey, black eyes finished off the look, along with a pass card slung casually around my neck.

  “I’ll be right back,” I yelled.

  Mac nodded.

  I jumped off the stairs and eyed the thumping crowd. Drawing in a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders in preparation to push my tiny frame, heightened by the new four inch high black stiletto boots, through their jostling depths.

  My elbows helped gain momentum through the crowd until I hit a big, muscled body. The arms attached to said body wound around me and lifted me up until my eyes found the dark, black ones of a stranger.

  “Hey, pretty little thing. You’re with the band right? I saw it on your shirt.”

  I struggled, shoving against his chest. “Put me down.”

  One hand reached down and gripped my backside, and I winced as his fingers dug in painfully. “Oh, come on now. Don’t be like that.” His breath was filled with alcoholic fumes that had me turning my face away, pushing harder to break free. “Why don’t we go backstage and have a drink?”

  “Let me go,” I shouted over the heavy noise of music, grinding my teeth at the helpless feeling.

  A wall pressed against my back and a deep voice thundered angrily. “You heard her. Let her go.”

  “Fuck off,” was the strangers reply.

  A fist flew from behind my right shoulder, landing on the stranger’s jaw with a loud crack. I flinched as his head snapped back and he stumbled, his hands falling away from my body.

  I faltered as my feet sought purchase on the ground. Travis snaked his arm around my waist, his hand spreading across the width of my belly, and pulled me backwards until my entire body was plastered against the length of his. My heart kicked wildly at the touch, and instead of freaking out at the violent altercation, I felt warm and safe—relieved enough to rest my hand over the top of his.

  His arm tightened at the contact, turning us both sideways before jabbing a finger in the stranger’s face. “Hands off the Jamieson crew, asshole,” he growled. I shivered at the furious intent in his voice. “Make one more wrong move and your ass is out that door.” His jabbing finger changed direction, pointing angrily towards the exit.

  Hands were held up in surrender as the man backed away, and the swelling crowd swallowed him until he was lost to our view. Then Travis took hold of my hand, yanking me none too gently towards the backstage dressing room. Pushed into the room, Travis slammed the door behind us. I spun to face him, the two of us alone as the muffled beat thumped heavily enough to vibrate through the walls. His eyes were no longer cold; they were wild and possessive, and my breathing came in little pants from the scuffle. My eyes drank him in, from the dark jeans to the same tight shirt as me. His was the boy version and on the back, in big black letters read: Jamieson Security.

  “No more,” he ground out.

  “No more what?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Trips to the bar on your own while you’re working,” he informed me tig
htly. He pressed a button on his ear piece and informed Mac in short, terse words to send Jared to the bar when the band was offstage and secure in the dressing room.

  My eyebrows flew up. “Are you serious?”

  Travis nodded to me as he listened to Mac reply in his ear.

  My spine snapped straight. This was my job and not only did I need it, I was liking it. Damned if he was going to take that away from me.

  “You’re not my boss,” I told him and charged for the door.

  His body blocked it before I could reach for the handle.

  “Quinn.” He folded his arms and glared. “The crowd out there is too much.”

  “I’m not made of glass,” I replied, and the topaz in his eyes flashed at me from beneath the dressing room lights. “I have a job to do, same as you. I don’t tell you how to do yours.”

  His brows rose at the very idea of me telling him how to run a security operation. “My job is to keep you safe. As far as I’m concerned, my job is being done, but you’re making it difficult for me by putting yourself in situations like that. Make some changes.”

  “Your job is not to keep me safe. It’s to keep Jamieson safe.”

  Travis widened his eyes as though I’d lost all sense. “You are Jamieson.”

  My mouth opened but nothing came out because it was quite possible he was right. I snapped it shut, biting my lip to stop a sharp retort bursting through in the face of his logic.

  His eyes fell to my lips, and my lungs seized at seeing the heat in them return full force. He took two steps forward. I counted them as I held my breath.

  “Quinn,” he whispered. His arm reached for me hesitantly when the dressing room door opened with a resounding bang. The moment lost, he took a step back, his arm falling by his side as Mac strode through followed by the rest of the band.

  “High five, dude,” Frog yelled at Travis. Travis slapped his palm and said something that made Frog shout with laughter.

  “Fucking hell, Trav,” Cooper shouted and slung an arm over my shoulder. “We saw you punch that massive dude out there.”

  My eyes were glued to Travis as Cooper spoke, watching carefully as his eyes changed—cool replacing the heat.

  “What a douchebag! Our little Quinn needs the security more than we do.” Cooper jostled my shoulder and I tore my eyes away and mustered a smile for Cooper. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “You still smell like strawberries.” Then he winked at me before Mac pulled him away.

  In that moment—watching everyone chatter loudly and laugh around me—I struggled not to feel alone. I’d been that way for so long it had overtaken my life, yet remembering those eerie shivers down my spine, like I was being watched, made it more prominent. Something fierce was bearing down, leaving me more uneasy than I’d felt in years.

  ***

  Sunday lunchtime rolled around entirely too quickly. My appearance was required at the Valentine family barbecue. I would be seeing Travis there. In a social capacity. Nothing work related. Alcohol could possibly be involved. The very idea was making me late because everything in my wardrobe was utter rubbish—nothing that said “outfit to meet and socialise with the parents of the man you slept with once in a drunken moment of folly” jumped out at me. I shouldn’t have cared so much. I didn’t want to want Travis. I just did.

  Juggling my handbag, keys, and the container of peanut butter and white chocolate chip biscuits I was up early baking, I locked the door of the townhouse. It was windy outside and strands of hair were ripped from their bobby pins, instantly ruining the hairstyle I’d taken great pains to put together. They whipped into my eyes, and growling irritably, I flicked my head to dislodge them. No doubt my neighbours, not including Lucy because she wasn’t home, would think I was having a wild stroke.

  Flicking my head a second time, my eye caught a man striding towards me. Panic seized my body and the keys slipped from my hand and fell to the ground.

  Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I chanted silently as I dropped to the ground, grabbing them with trembling hands. I stood up and jammed them back in the door to unlock the townhouse.

  “Quinn!” David yelled.

  I glanced his way to see he’d picked up his pace to a jog.

  Six months. I was supposed to have six more months! Why hadn’t someone done their job and notified me of his release?

  “Dammit,” I muttered when the door stuck. I shoved at it, kicking the bottom corner hard with my foot. It flew open and I whirled around and slammed it shut behind me, the deadbolt sliding into place with a satisfying thunk. Heart in my throat, I scrambled for my phone and punched buttons frantically. When it started dialling I realised that panic had made me stupid because I’d rung Lucy.

  “Shit.”

  I quickly ended the call before she could answer and dialled emergency.

  “Come on, come on,” I muttered, impatient for someone to answer.

  “Quinn!” David yelled and oh God, the sound was right at my door. Loud banging accompanied the noise. “I know you’re in there. I saw you. Open the fucking door!”

  The phone was answered and the operator told me to state my emergency. I explained in short, stuttered sentences, fumbling my words as she tried to make sense of their jumble.

  “Police are on their way, David!” I shouted as I slid down the wall of the living room into a huddle. Rufus scratched at the back door wanting in, but I couldn’t bear him getting hurt if David managed to get inside. He whined at me, sensing something was wrong.

  “You owe me over three years of my life in that shithole,” was his response.

  For fifteen minutes the operator stayed on the line while David shouted, banged the door, and rattled windows.

  “I’m here to collect,” he yelled. “And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it. When I’m done breaking you, you’re going to hand over the money you owe me.”

  Money? What the hell was he talking about?

  My body stopped rocking when the realisation that over five minutes of silence had slipped by. Another five minutes and the police were there doing a brief canvas of the area, asking questions, calling up prior assault records, and verifying the restraining order that should still be in place.

  I was told that if they managed to pick him up, he would do another ninety days for the violation, as if that was supposed to reassure me.

  My phone rang.

  “Excuse me,” I murmured and answered it.

  “Quinn? You’re late!” came Mac’s admonishment.

  My voice shook as I gave my apology.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I looked around my townhouse. It wasn’t safe to stay here. Not now. The younger officer met my eyes. I could see hopelessness in them, as though he saw this shit every day and it was beating him down. Was it hard to offer nothing more than empty words of encouragement and fill out paperwork?

  “Actually, nothing’s okay right now,” I admitted to Mac, too tired to pretend.

  “Quinn?” Her voice lost its familiar intensity in favour of apprehension. “What’s going on?”

  Rufus whined pitifully at the back door. “I don’t think I can make it today. I have to pack,” I told her.

  “Pack? For what? Where are you going?”

  “My place isn’t safe anymore. I have to find—”

  “You’re not safe?” she half yelled. “Who—”

  Mac was cut off this time, and after brief, muffled words, Travis came on the line.

  “Quinn, are you in danger?” His words were harsh and urgent, yet hearing them had calm washing through me, as though his voice alone had the power to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

  “No, I’m not. The police are here.”

  “The police? I’m on my way.”

  “No, Travis, everything’s under control—”

  “Stay on the phone,” he told me. “Give me the keys to your bike,” I heard him order someone. Mitch’s muffled voice replied and after a moment, the throaty purr of an engine growled to l
ife. “Hang on,” Travis yelled at me over the noise. The sound of a beep and clicking noise came through. “You there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Tell the police not to leave until we’re there, okay?”

  They promised they would stay, and after relaying that to Travis, I offered the officers a drink.

  “No thanks, ma’am,” said the older of the two.

  I picked up the container of biscuits still sitting by the front door and sat it on the kitchen counter. Prying off the lid, I held it towards them. “Biscuit?”

  The younger man looked at the older of the two. He shrugged and they both reached forward and took one each.

  “Quinn, you still with me?” Travis yelled in my ear over the noise of a horn blasting and someone shouting. “You’ll have to speak up, okay?”

  “Still here,” I replied loudly.

  “Holy shit,” the younger officer barked out. “These are f—ah, nice biscuits, ma’am.”

  His eyes were focused on the container, so I offered him another. He reached for one and when his responder crackled to life, he spoke into it around a mouthful of biscuit.

  “Keep talking to me, Quinn. Tell me what you like to do when you’re not working,” Travis ordered.

  “Oh…” Even with the fear and panic, my belly still fluttered just speaking to him on the phone. “Not much at all really. I like going to the beach or the movies, or just lazing around. Maybe that sounds boring to most people, but that’s my kind of thing.”

  The sound of an engine gunning roared in my ears, then I heard, “If that makes you boring, then you can bore me stiff any day, sweetheart.”

  The officers were focused on their paperwork, yet I still spun around to hide my flaming cheeks from their view. Oh my God the visions that his words evoked. Was he trying to distract me? If so, it worked. After a few more minutes of answering his random questions, my cheeks cooling, a loud throaty growl came thundering down the street and Travis said, “I’m here.”

  I flew to the window and my mouth fell open, the phone still glued to my ear despite the fact that Travis had already hung up. He was peeling himself off a shiny, black motorcycle. Wearing faded jeans, a soft grey shirt, and a worn brown leather jacket, his powerful body strode determinedly to my front door. The blood in my veins boiled as he got closer, and my cheeks heated all over again.