by Piper Rayne
Once I don’t hear the squeak of her shoes on the linoleum floor, my head falls forward and I breathe for the first time. After a beat, I lift my head back up, to find Marisol’s eyes wide open. They’re bearing a yellowish tint and the fissure in my already fragile heart deepens a little. Her brother can’t come soon enough.
“Sweetie,” she softly says, her fingers stretched out for mine.
I go to her, taking her cold hand in both of mine, trying to warm it between them.
“How are you doing? I heard your brother will be here soon.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
“Always. You’re my mom.”
A small smile graces her lips. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m good. Your boy is good.” I pat her hand. “Never better.”
She slides up in the bed, and I help her position the pillow to make her more comfortable.
“I’m a dying woman,” she says.
“No, you’re not, because the transplant will work, and you’ll live a long, happy life of retirement after this.”
She shakes her head. “Listen to me for a second. Get all that wax and ego clogging your ears out and really listen.” She eyes the edge of the bed and slides over.
I take the hint, sitting down.
“You’ve loved her your entire life. You just got her back and now you’re going to lose her? All over a book? You seem to forget your part in this.”
I glance out the window, not really interested in hearing the same bullshit my friends flung at me the other night. “I apologized. I told her why I did it. It was for her own good.”
She lets out a deep breath. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her. Put yourself in her shoes, Jagger.”
I shake my head. “She wrote a book about me. She portrayed me as an asshole.”
One thing I haven’t and won’t tell a soul is how great a writer she is. How she really did nail me…or the hero. The only thing missing from her book was me breaking my own heart.
“Stop.” Her voice is firmer now. “Stop making it about you.”
“Hello? She attacked me. And if that’s what she really thinks of me, why the hell would she wanna be with me anyway?”
Marisol shakes her head. “You’re going to regret this. One day you’re going to be where I am now, and you’ll be wishing you put that ego aside, that you fought for her.”
“No. I won’t. I’ll have ten gorgeous women in my bed.”
She remains quiet, patting my hand. “I hope I taught you that it’s quality, not quantity when it comes to life.”
Her head falls back to the pillow and she closes her eyes, shutting all communication off.
Quality over quantity? Crock of shit. Always has been. Quality breaks you down, quantity keeps you going.
Positioning the blanket over her, I tuck it under her arms and make sure none of the wires are twisted, then get up from the bed.
“Too bad you can’t take care of Quinn like you do my mom.” Isa saunters in, a Diet Coke from the cafeteria and a cookie in her hands.
“So, you’re on her side?” I deadpan, not expecting anything less.
“No. I think she was wrong.” She sits down in the chair, taking a bite of her cookie and then sipping her drink.
“Yeah, this whole reverse psychology thing isn’t going to work.” I twirl my finger around in the air.
“I’m serious. She shouldn’t have written a book. She shouldn’t profit on your messed-up relationship. And she shouldn’t have kept it from you. I mean, you’re the most understanding guy I know.”
“Our relationship wasn’t messed up.”
“Can you imagine what book two will say? Whoa.” She pays no attention to me, eating her cookie and drinking her pop. “I mean, did she really think you guys would run off into the sunset? The worst thing that happened to you and her, is finding each other again. Isn’t karma a bitch? Throwing a wrench at you two right after you both healed.” Her eyes zero in on me.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Give it a rest, Isa.”
“You were clearly over her. I mean, with the number of girls you screwed. And she got over you by writing the book. Then bam!” she says loudly, and I look back at Marisol to make sure she doesn’t wake up. “There you two are again. That spark and false belief in a happily ever after. She should have written your story as what not to do. Or when to run, not chase.” She places her drink down to position her hands in the air like it’s a title of a movie. “Way to go though, bro, I really thought you guys were going to think it was fate and believe that crock of shit.”
She stops her lecture and I roll my eyes. “Thanks, sis, for that heart-to-heart.”
She takes a big bite of her cookie, smiling over her mouthful. Standing up, she pats me on the shoulder. “I expected nothing less from my brother than to give up on her, on the two of you.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
Isa raises her hand in the air, waving it. “Nothing. Didn’t I make myself clear a second ago?” She flips around, her eyes serious and furious. “I bet there’s a cute single nurse to take home tonight. You know, work Quinn out of your system.”
I inhale a deep breath before venom unleashes from my mouth. “You don’t understand,” I bite out.
“I don’t?” A hollow laugh echoes in the quiet room. “You’re going to throw away a woman you were lucky enough to get a second chance with because you’re too prideful to accept the fact there’s truth in that story. You were so set on hating that book and seeing the bad, you missed the good. You want to know why that book was a bestseller?”
“Because everyone likes it when the torch lands on the rich kid?”
She huffs, shaking her head. “Because they believed you were the guy you are. The reader got fooled just like Quinn. The book made them fall in love with you before it made them hate you, but they still believe in the good. They want a book two because readers all over the world believe that deep down, you really are a good guy. Do you really think Quinn would risk her heart again if she didn’t believe you were the hero she wrote about at the beginning of that book? That’s what I find so funny.”
“Please enlighten me.” I grip the edge of Marisol’s bed.
“That people who don’t even know you believe something about you that you don’t even believe. See, big brother, you are that man. You are the prince on the white horse to Quinn. You just need to lower your sword and take off all that armor you hide under. It’s okay to be vulnerable because as much as you love her, she loves you, too. She’ll protect you just as fiercely as you protect her. But you have to give her the chance to do that.”
I hate when Isa’s right. Hate. It.
But her words worm themselves into my head and I can’t help but wonder…is that what I’m doing? Am I pushing Quinn away not because she wrote a book about us, not because the ending painted an unfavourable picture of me, not because she kept the book a secret, but because I’m afraid that all the bad things she wrote in there about me are true? Because deep down it crushes me to know how badly I hurt the woman I love?
My head falls forward and my shoulders sag. I swallow hard.
“What do I do now?” I ask, my underlying thought silent—that I once again didn’t fight for Quinn and prove what she means to me and I need to fix us.
“Why, the big finale, of course.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “The one where you win over the girl and ride off into the future.”
I smile at her and pull her into my arms. “Thanks.” I swing her around and place her back on her feet. “Shit, I gotta do something huge.”
“One last piece of advice?” She holds her fingers a tiny bit apart.
“What?”
“Don’t mix up spending huge amounts of money with doing something huge from the heart.” She places her hand over my heart. “Let this speak, not your wallet.”
I nod. “I gotta go.” I jog out of the room, then grab the doorway and run back in. My feet freeze when I see Mariso
l and Isa high-fiving each other. I wiggle my finger between the two of them.
“What would you do without us?” Isa asks, and I walk over and kiss Marisol on the cheek.
Marisol’s hand lands on my cheek. “Go get your girl, sweetie.”
“I intend to.”
Nothing will stop me from fighting for us this time.
27
Quinn
The minute I get back to my house after the hospital, I strip down and get into my pajamas. They seem to be my go-to attire lately.
Clicking on the television, I unwrap the fast food tacos I grabbed on the way home, ready to settle in for a night of reality TV binging.
I’m halfway into my second taco when my back door opens. Grabbing my phone, I race up the stairs, shutting my bedroom door as quietly as I can and flicking the lock. I slide my dresser in front of my door, then dial 911 while mentally berating myself for not running out the front door. Apparently, I am not good in a crisis.
My foot is tapping, and I keep my ear glued to the door, hearing nothing.
“911, what is your emergency?” a man answers.
“There’s someone in my house,” I whisper, staring out my window but seeing nothing but the alley.
“Okay, give me your address.” I hear the typing as I rattle off my address, my heart thumping and my body perspiring. “Where in the house are they?”
“Downstairs. I heard them come in the back door.”
“Was your door locked or did they force their way in?” He’s all business and how does he expect me to know? Did he expect me to investigate before I called?
“I might have left it open—they didn’t bang it open or break the glass.”
“And where are you now?”
“My bedroom. I put my dresser in front of the door.”
“Smart. Why don’t you get under your bed just to be on the safe side? Keep me on the line. I’ve already dispatched officers to you.”
I slide under my bed, fighting the dust bunnies for space. “Okay, I’m under.” I press my ear to the ground, but hear nothing on the floor beneath me. “I think they left, I don’t hear anything,” I tell the dispatcher.
“Stay where you are, ma’am, the officers are on your street. They’re approaching your house.”
“Okay.” I stay silent, waiting for a gunshot or a scream to echo out. Something to make sure I really did hear my back door open. I mean it did, right?
“Ma’am, one officer is at the front door and the other one is at the back. They see a man.”
“Oh, my God.”
“It’s okay, he’s in their sights through the window. He’s downstairs. Hold on.”
I take a few deep breaths, my heart pounding in my chest so loud it’s competing with the sound of the 911 operator’s voice through my phone.
“Ma’am, a man doesn’t live there, correct?” he asks, and there’s an amusement in his tone that wasn’t there before.
“No. I live by myself. Why?”
“The man appears to be moping.” The dispatcher’s gruff voice loses its seriousness for a second and a laugh slips out. “In a suit.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I crawl out from under my bed. Pushing the dresser back in place, I inhale a breath and unlock my bedroom door.
“They have the man in custody. Would like you to come downstairs?” the dispatcher says.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” I tip my head down like a scorned child even though he can’t see me.
“It’s quite okay. I don’t get many laughs on this job. Thank you.”
“Good night.” I roll my eyes.
Seriously, only me.
I open the door, a police officer putting his gun back in his holster at the bottom of my stairs. He’s also fighting a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rounding the bottom of the stairs and heading to the kitchen.
I walk into the kitchen and there’s Jagger laughing with the other officer. His pants are rolled up at the bottom, his bare feet on display while his shoes and socks are tucked in the corner of the room. The exact position I found him in the first time.
“Glad to see you smartened up and called the police this time.” He winks, and my stomach flips.
I place my hand over my stomach, non-verbally reprimanding it for still being affected by this man.
“What are you doing here?” I snip.
The one officer walks by me. “You know this man, I presume?” he asks.
“I do.”
“Do you need us to stick around?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. Thank you and I apologize for the waste of tax dollars.”
He smiles. “No reason for apologies. Glad this turned out to be nothing.”
The officers walk out the back door and Jagger stands on the other side of the counter, quiet.
“Again, why are you here?”
“I was hired by Clean Queen to clean your house.”
I shake my head. “Go home, Jagger.” I turn to leave the room.
“Quinn.” He rounds the corner and reaches for my wrist, circling me to face him. “I’m sorry. I’m a dick. You know this.” His forehead scrunches and he looks uncertain for a minute before he continues. “It’s your fault. You scare the shit out of me.”
What the hell is he talking about?
28
Jagger
She rolls her eyes, her arms crossing over her chest. “Excuse me?”
Why is it that in business I know exactly the right thing to say, but somehow with the most important person in my life, I always fuck it up?
“I was pissed off that you lied to me, yes. But that’s something I can get over because I once lied to you, too. What kept me away for the past week was reading how much I hurt you because it forced me to take a long, hard look at myself and I didn’t love everything I saw. I know I have work to do, but you bring out the best in me…you always have.”
I run my hand through my hair and blow out a frustrated breath. I’m blowing it again with my rambling. I need to make her understand.
“From the time I was little, I was brought up to love things, not people. In my family, people are disposable. You though…” My head falls back until my chin is pointing to the ceiling, remembering the first time I saw her. “You took a piece of me immediately. Just as friends at first, but still, I’d watch the clock in the morning until I could knock on your door. You held a power over me and I suppose I fought that for a long time.”
“Still do.”
I nod. “Yeah, I do. I like control, we both know that. What I’m trying to say is…” I touch her arm until she loses the fight and drops her arms so her hands are free for me to hold on to. “You have the power to strip me. Subconsciously, I think I thought that if I lost you because I chose not to have you, I’d survive—just barely, mind you—but if you chose to not want me, I’m not sure I could. That’s why you scare me so much, but I don’t want to be without you. You trusted me with your heart and I’ve failed you twice. I promise you, I won’t fail a third time. Give me one more shot?”
A soft smile graces her lips but vanishes too fast for good news to be coming out of her mouth. “How do I know we’ll make it this time?”
“Because I’m not going to give up this time.” I pull out my phone, flipping through my emails. “Here.” I hold it out to her.
Her forehead wrinkles and she stands in front of me, reading the email I sent over to her agent in the hospital waiting room.
“Jag.” She hands me back the phone, her head shaking.
“The book is good. Our story deserves to be on the big screen. Even the ugly parts.”
“No. It will only cause problems between us.”
I tuck my phone back into my pants. “It won’t because it’s our story. The story we’ll tell our grandchildren.”
“Children?” She cocks her eyebrow.
“Grandchildren,” I clarify, and she giggles.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I whisper, silently will
ing her to see the sincerity inside me. I place my finger over her lips, not wanting any excuses. She did nothing wrong but tell the truth. “Promise me, no more secrets.”
She takes my finger and crosses her heart with it.
“No voodoo dolls of me hidden in boxes somewhere?”
She shakes her head.
“Then I say we start over for a third time.” I glide my hand along her cheek to the back of her head, tipping her head and bending down to kiss the last woman I ever will.
I pull back, closing the kiss, and she whines. “Hey, but in book two, can I be the good hero? The one people say is their favorite book boyfriend—the repentant womanizer who changed his ways for the woman he loves?”
“You’ve been doing your research.”
“I have.”
She reaches up, each hand landing on my cheeks. “Already done, Prince Charming.”
“I like the sound of that.”
She twirls her finger in front of my face and points to her lips. “This is the part where you kiss the princess and live happily ever after.”
“Oh, right, I’m still a newbie on this whole thing.”
I place my lips on hers and I picture the camera zooming in on our lips and the screen fading to black.
Epilogue
Jagger
“Maybe the girls and I should go over the whole swooning thing again,” Quinn says next to me, sipping her champagne with a smile. “Though the few times I’ve seen you cleaning my place that was sort of like foreplay for me.”
I lean back in my seat, peeking through one eye. “I call it chore play, babe.”
Everyone around us laughs.
“You’re not swooning over the private jet flying you to the Winter Classic Games where you’ll meet all the athletes? Man, I better step up my game.”
She faces me. “To Korea. We’re going to Korea. Hello? You can’t protect me from a nuclear bomb.”
I laugh, grabbing her hand and bringing it to my mouth. “I think I’m strong enough.”
