by Portia Gray
Arielle's smile was sweet, and she looked away when he called her 'baby girl'. "Are you hungry?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"I'm still stuffed with pizza," he joked. "Aren't you?"
She shook her head. "No." Then she grinned and he noticed her eyes.
"Are you high again?"
"I slept so good last night, and I think it's because I finally ate a whole meal. I like…being full," she shared like it was a great epiphany she'd had. He had to laugh.
"You're high," he accused, sitting up. "I created a monster."
"Come on," she said, getting to her feet and pulling on his hands. "I made pancakes."
Quentin had to blink a few times, then rub his eyes. When that didn't help he stood and followed. The change from the day before to now was shocking. "You made pancakes?" Stupid question; he could smell them, and as soon as he did his stomach growled a bit. He stood next to the table, watching her pull a plate of pancakes from the stove where they'd been keeping warm. The table was set already, and she put hot plates at the two place settings as well. "You did all this and I slept through it?"
She grinned. "I think the noise was competing with your snoring."
"Shit, was I snoring? Sorry."
"Don't be. It's not like you woke me up or anything." She crossed to the coffee maker and was pulling two mugs out of the cupboard. Without thinking, he crossed the room to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. She set the mugs on the counter and stilled, head half-turning enough to bring her ear closer to him, not enough for her to see him.
He squeezed her shoulders, and she inhaled. He rested his head against the back of hers, closing his eyes and letting the smell and warmth of her seep into him. "Quentin?"
"Arielle…" he started, not sure what the hell he wanted to say here. "…Colton was right. You are my girl, babe." Her shoulders stiffened under his hands, and he rubbed them, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck and leaving his face there, her skin almost feeling as good as home. "I'm gonna do better, I swear. I'll do anything I can to deserve this."
She was frozen in place, and he could almost hear her mind whirling. He didn't know what to make of the silence. So he just waited, wrapping her up tight to his chest, linking his arms around her stomach. After a long, gut-rolling moment she put her hands over his and relaxed back into him. Something in his chest released, and he felt himself smile as he kissed her neck again.
"I must be crazy," she whispered.
He turned her around, backing her up to the counter and holding her face between his hands. "Yeah. But I really like crazy, Arielle."
She looked worried for a moment. "What if I don't get better?"
"And what if you do?" he replied. "I'm taking the chance of losing you either way. Because I can tell you…I don't wanna let you go. But I'll risk you leaving me."
Her hands gripped his wrists tightly. "Why do you want me? I don't see how—"
"Are you kidding me? We're going back to this?" he teased, and to his relief she smiled.
Her eyes rose to meet his, the color of the ocean, and it struck him how no matter what about her changed, those eyes stayed absolutely stunning. And right now they were warm, heated, and not because she was pissed off. He pressed his lips to her cheek, then turned her head so her lips lined up with his. He didn't have to do anything else. She kissed him, winding her arms around his shoulders and pressing her sweet little self into his embrace. His hands slid down to span her back, and it struck him again how thin she'd gotten. He could feel her ribs and spine.
His concern for her well-being dissolved a bit when her tongue lapped at his bottom lip, and on pure instinct he opened his mouth, pushing her tongue back with his, which caused her to rise up to her toes. Her hips pressed into his, and even without that he knew he was hard already. Having her rub against him was a fantastic although painful confirmation.
She ended the kiss, easing away from him, the heavy lip-lock ebbing away into soft touches. "We, uh…" she breathed, lowering her heels again,"…we should eat breakfast."
He certainly would have preferred her on the table, but he nodded. "Okay. Let's have pancakes, baby girl."
The water reached the perfect temperature. Arielle stepped into the shower, the stream hitting her in the chest, and she closed her eyes, moving up to let it run over her face. She was stuffed with pancakes, and she hadn't been this full in…it felt like years. The warm hazy effect of the pot was like a cozy brain-inhibitor. She was just…happy.
I'm gonna do better, I swear. I'll do anything I can to deserve this.
Arielle covered her mouth as Quentin's words came back to her, her heart clenching tight. She had no idea why in the world he would think he didn't deserve her, but that oath had given her the first moment of true peace she'd had in a very long time.
She was his girl. Something about that felt so…right. And somehow, it gave her a new zest of life, no longer a ghost on a wayward path but a soul with purpose.
They'd eaten pancakes until they were too full to handle another bite then washed the dishes together quietly and comfortably like it happened every day. She said she was going for a shower, he said he'd go out and mow the lawn for her.
She reached for the shampoo but found herself glaring at the bottle. She knew what would happen once she started lathering up her hair. It would come out in clumps, sticking to her hands and running down the tub to get stuck in the drain. She put the bottle back, washed the rest of her body quickly, then turned the water off, toweled dry and did her standard stare-at-herself-in-the-mirror routine. She ignored the scars on her chest, instead focusing on what was left of her hair. There were no visible bald spots yet, but…it was going to happen. Who knew how long she stood there, memorizing this last glimpse. She hadn't done this when they chopped her hair at the salon. She never got to say goodbye to a lot of parts of her.
She choked on that, hands covering her face as tears sprung to her eyes. Don't, she commanded herself. Don't do this again. Don't go back into that self-pitying spiral.
Arielle wrapped a towel around her chest, left the bathroom and went to the kitchen to get her scissors. As she was heading down the hallway the front door open and she turned, startled.
It was Quentin, and he looked a bit surprised to see her, too.
"I was, uh, getting a drink of water," he stuttered, eyes trailing up and then down her body. It was like she wasn't even wearing a towel. "What—what are you doing?"
"I'm cutting off all my hair," she answered hollowly, holding the towel closed and hopefully camouflaging the missing breast.
"Really?" He didn't sound as surprised by that as she was.
"It started falling out."
He inhaled, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry, Arielle."
"No need to be sorry. It was going to happen."
"You're sure you're okay?" He didn't sound convinced and she couldn't blame him.
"Yeah." She started to the bathroom, then turned back. "Actually, could you help me?"
"Me?" He pointed at his own chest.
"I can't reach the back. I can't see it."
"Are you cutting it short?"
She shook her head. "No, I want it all gone."
He rubbed his chin. "Okay. Let me run next door for a second."
She nodded, then headed for the bathroom again. She spread an older towel on the floor, a second one over the sink and vanity. Without hesitation she grabbed a hunk at the front of her head and cut it, about a half inch from her scalp. She grabbed another chunk and did the same. She was halfway back over her head by the time Quentin found her, and he set a straight razor and can of shaving foam on the vanity. Arielle wanted to cry. He wasn't talking her out of it, he was helping. And she appreciated it.
Arielle paid close attention to his face, but he gave nothing away. He just said, "You got clippers?"
"Main bathroom, under the sink."
He vanished again and she kept butchering away as much as she could. Quentin appe
ared with the clippers, set them down, and took the scissors from her. With a light touch he cut away everything she couldn't see, then plugged in the clippers. "Sit on the tub," he offered.
They moved the towel from the floor closer to the bath, and she stepped into the tub and sat on the edge facing the tiled wall. The clippers buzzed and she closed her eyes as his hand rested on top of her head. After a pause the clippers scraped over her scalp. She could feel the hair as it fell, tickling her shoulders, and she made herself breathe.
"How you doing?" Quentin suddenly asked, and she opened her eyes.
"I'm fine," she assured him.
He squeezed her shoulder and she closed her eyes again. When he turned the clippers off she ran her hands over her head, feeling the fuzz.
"Oh my God," she whispered, breath hitching. But not from panic, oddly enough.
"You sure you want it all gone?"
"Yes," she replied immediately. "This way it's my choice."
Quentin's big, warm hand closed around the back of her neck and pulled her back a bit. She titled her head backward and he kissed her softly, his eyes so warm she had to catch her breath. He smiled. "You're so beautiful, Arielle."
"Really?" she whispered, searching his face for the punch line.
"Baby girl, you have no idea, do you?"
"About what?"
He kissed her again, then tilted her head upright. She sat still while he lathered up her head, then concentrated extra hard on staying still as he set a towel on her shoulder and said, "Here goes." His hands were quick and light, and if she hadn't known what he was doing she'd likely find it incredibly relaxing. Not a single nick or cut, and a mere ten minutes later he was done, wiping her off with a warm, damp towel. "Ready to see?" he asked.
She stood up and he held her hand, helping her step out of the bath. Her eyes were on the ground until she stood in front of the mirror. With a deep breath Arielle braced her hands and stared down into the sink, steeling her nerves.
Quentin's thumb came under her chin and he titled her head up, and when Arielle saw herself she stopped breathing, staring at herself.
She was silent, stunned. Quentin seemed worried. "Arielle, say something."
She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how round her head was. She had no idea her eyes were that big. Suddenly she could really see her cheekbones. On their own her hands were up and running over her head, hooking on the back of her neck.
"That's what I really look like," she said, absently.
"Yeah," he agreed. "That's how beautiful you are, Arielle."
Her eyes skipped over to his reflection, and his face was soft, open, honest.
Arielle's hands clutched where the towel was tucked closed. She felt the tears, noticed her lip quiver. "I am?"
"How many times I gotta say it, babe?" The humor was back in his voice, and it made her smile. "I'm starting to think you just like hearing it." She shook her head, hand to her cheek. He closed a hand around her neck and pulled her to him to kiss her head. "You want me to clean this up?"
"No, I can. Thanks."
He kissed her cheek next, gave her a squeeze around the waist, then left her there with her reflection and the last of her armor on the floor. She was pulling the vacuum out of the closet when the phone rang. Arielle snagged the extension in the bedroom. "Hello?"
"Arielle Taylor?"
"Yes?"
"This is Doctor Sarin. I'm calling with good news."
Her grip tightened on the receiver. "You are?"
"Jolene's woken up. She's alert, responsive, and it appears her brain function has not been affected." Arielle couldn't say anything. "Miss Taylor?"
"Sorry, I'm just…I'm relieved."
"We're moving her to a regular observation room for a few days, but I think she'll be ready to go home very soon."
"Really?"
"She's malnourished, detoxing as we speak. But I think the worst of it passed while she was in her coma. She's…she's quite desperate to see you."
Arielle's guilt returned, her big-sister-throwing-little-sister-out guilt. "Uh…can I come today?"
"Absolutely. Visiting hours are until five."
She took a deep breath. "Thank you so much."
"My pleasure, Miss Taylor. She'll be so excited to see you."
Quentin tilted his head. "Listen, Arielle. I told you. You're my girl." She scratched her scalp under the scarf she'd tied around her head. It was blue, like her eyes, and he still couldn't believe she was this gorgeous without her hair.
"Quentin, I'm…scared."
"You think I'm gonna let you get hurt?"
She shook her head. "Quentin—"
He slid his hand around her waist,pulling her against him. "C’mon. Take a ride with me."
"I've never been on a motorcycle."
He couldn't help himself. "Let me be your first, babe," he said low, kissing the side of her neck, loving the sound of her giggling, embarrassed.
"You have to go slow."
"Slow and gentle, I promise."
She rolled her eyes. "Cut it out."
He gave her a look of shock. "I'm talking about the bike, what're you thinking about, dirty girl?"
She closed her eyes then covered her face. "Fine," she relented. "Just don't get me hurt."
He plopped a helmet on her head and fastened the chin strap. He knew he was grinning but he didn't care. "Hold onto me, and don't fight me. If you think you're capable of that."
She gave him a coquettish look and he had to check himself from going complete sap on her. Fun Arielle likely was his favourite.
Quentin pulled his helmet on, then swung a leg over his Dyna. "Behind me, babe." When he sat she climbed on, holding onto his shoulders then settling into his back, wrapping her arms tight around him and linking her hands on his stomach. "You ready?"
"Sure," she replied, somewhat tense, and he was smirking as he kicked the bike alive. He walked them down the drive, then once they were on the street he gave her right knee a squeeze and took off, making sure the tires squealed. When they did, so did Arielle.
As fun as this was, he was nervous about her seeing her sister. Jolene had some bad stories, and he was going to let her tell Arielle what happened. And if she lied, God help her, he was going to make her tell the truth.
Broken Hill Hospital was a five minute ride from their neighborhood, and Quentin was wishing it was longer. There was something about riding with his woman holding onto him, trusting him. It was fucking fantastic. He never let any broad ride on his bike but with Arielle, it felt right. Everything felt right.
He parked and let her dismount first, watching as she unfastened the chin strap. He couldn't miss the color in her face and the brightness of her eyes.
"So, how was that?" Her grin was breathtaking.
"That was fun."
"See? I told you."
"I want to learn to ride."
Quentin's eyebrows went up. "No."
"What? Why not?"
He pulled his helmet off. "Same reason I'm not telling you how I make scrambled eggs. If you're on a bike, it's mine."
She handed over the helmet when he reached for it. "What? Why?"
"I told you. You're mine, Arielle."
She sighed. "That seems unfair."
"Baby, anytime you want to ride on this bike you just ask. That's the deal."
All that got him was another sassy look. He stowed the helmets away and found himself taking her hand with a grin as they crossed the parking lot. She let him, grasping his palm to hers as they found the visitor's desk and then rode the elevator to the third floor. The doctor he'd pestered for a full day when the sister was first admitted stood at the nurse's station, and when she turned and saw them she wasn't smooth enough to hide her surprise, looking right at their joined hands.
"Arielle," the doctor greeted her warmly. "You're looking fantastic, I have to say."
Arielle grinned as her cheeks turned pink. "Thank you."
"She's in room two-tw
elve. Go right on in."
They went down the hall the doc indicated, room two-twelve only a couple doors in. He stopped short, turning Arielle around. "I’m here for you. You know that, right?" he said, dropping her hand to take her by the shoulders.
"Yes. Thank you for coming," she whispered, biting her lip. "Why am I nervous to see her?" Quentin shrugged. "Okay," she breathed, blinking rapidly. "Here I go."
He kissed her forehead and stepped away, hands dropping to his sides. She headed for the door, squared her shoulders and passed through. Quentin parked himself on a vinyl-covered bench in the hall to wait. Just as he found a comfortable position his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his back pocket, flipped it open and brought it to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Where are you?" It was Bishop.
"The hospital. Arielle's sister woke up." Silence ensued for a few seconds.“Bishop, you there? Did you hear me? She’s awake.”
"Yeah, uh, that's good. We… might be able to use her." Quentin frowned. "Reuben is sort of a traveling salesman, as it turns out. He's all over South California, and he's headed this way to enforce his distribution in Portus Felix."
Quentin rubbed his forehead. "I've been waiting for that. I was wondering how long it would take before we pissed him off."
"Flynn told you about the dealer Joel found in Ramsfield?"
"Yeah, he filled me in last night."
"Joel's got him answering calls from Reuben."
"How's he doing that?"
"I expect it's under physical duress. But the guy's cooperating for now. Reuben's scheduled to be here tomorrow, asked Joel's dealer to meet him. We're showing up instead."
Quentin's hand tightened on the phone so hard he heard the plastic crack. "Flynn told me how the girl ended up here. I hate that kind of shit, Bishop."
"I know, Quentin. But remember; we took care of the dealer that brought her here. If I remember correctly, you and Flynn made your feelings known."
Somehow remembering the feel of nose cartilage snapping under his fist wasn't enough to quell the sick anger in his gut. "Don't get me wrong," Quentin said carefully. "The girl wasn't anything special to me, you know that."
