by J. Bengtsson
“Actually, I wasn’t suggesting dinner out. I thought maybe we could go back to my place and order something in.”
She glanced my way. “Ah…”
“Hear me out,” I interrupted before she could turn me down, which was where this looked like it was headed. “Just dinner and…”
“And what?” she asked as I hesitated.
“The East Coast feed of my performance should be coming up in an hour.”
Her mouth dropped. “You want to watch it with me?”
“Yes, with you… and a large quantity of alcohol.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“What? Watching the performance or getting shit-faced?”
“Both.”
I laid my head back on the seat. “Tomorrow I’m going to wake up to a clusterfuck of my own doing. I have to know how the show is spinning it so I can tackle the problem in the morning.”
“…with a raging hangover,” Jess added.
“Exactly.”
“Uh-huh. Solid plan.”
“So, you in?”
She looked me in the eye. “I’m in. I’ll have dinner with you. Maybe even one drink. We’ll watch the show together, and I’ll hold you while you cry. But I can’t stay over.”
“Jess, I’ll take whatever charity you’re handing out.”
“Oh, trust me, Quinn. You’re no charity case. If I stay, I might never leave.”
“You said I could pick anything, right?” Jess called from my room.
When we’d arrived at my place, I’d offered her dry clothes of her choosing, and she’d been more than happy to go shopping in my drawers.
“Anything,” I confirmed, fine-tuning the satellite connection.
Jess emerged a minute later in the vintage Van Halen t-shirt I’d taken from my father’s drawer and a pair of my boxers.
“Wow. When I said make yourself comfortable, you took it to heart.”
“All your pants are too long for me.” She shrugged. “Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I put my clothes in your dryer.”
Again, wow. Jess didn’t wait for things to happen, she just forged ahead. That was a characteristic most of my uncomplicated girls did not possess.
“That’s my favorite shirt, by the way.”
“Mine too,” she said, doing a model pose for me. “I gotta say, Quinn. This place surprises me.”
“What surprises you about it?”
“Just that your apartment is crappier than mine, no offense.”
“None taken.” I chuckled.
“I mean, you have a full-on freeway in your backyard.”
“I know. Cool, huh? You wouldn’t believe the accidents I’ve seen.”
“Oh, I can believe it. It’s just… I thought…”
“That I lived like a king?”
“Well, yes. Alan said…”
“Don’t listen to what Alan says. Listen to me. Yes, my family has money. I do not. As a musician, I travel around a lot. I got the cheapest place I could find so I’d have somewhere to lay my head down when I was back in town.”
“Gotcha,” she said, grabbing her white food bag and dropping down onto my sofa. “Yum.”
Dinner, such as it was, consisted of a Chick-fil-A drive-thru meal. I was a big spender like that. Actually, the choice had been Jess’s. Traffic had been fierce on the way back to my place, and we were pushing it if we were going to catch the last performance of the night… my performance.
The feed came up just in time. Suzette, the contestant who’d taken the stage just before, was singing. My heart raced. In a few minutes time, my life would change—in what direction I wasn’t sure.
“I’m up next,” I told Jess.
She sat up straighter, chicken nugget in hand. “Holy shit, I’m nervous.”
“How do you think I feel?”
Jess grabbed my cheek in her pinched fingers and cooed. “Does someone need a drop of liquid courage?”
I’d almost forgotten. Jumping from the sofa, I headed to the kitchen with Jess right on my heels.
“Where are you going?” I teased, boxing her out as we fought for position in my tiny kitchen.
“I’ve gotta see what my choir boy has in his liquor cabinet.”
“It’s not going to be impressive, but I know that I at least have a nice big bottle of Grey Goose the show gave me when I made the top ten.”
“That’ll do the job.”
I nodded, searching my cupboard for a shot glass.
“Is this your family?”
Jess was standing at the fridge, staring at the photo. The picture had been taken at Keith’s wedding. I braced for impact. She leaned in closer, then slowly turned to me, and the disbelief on her face told me she’d seen the main attraction—and me standing right beside him.
“Surprise.” I forced a smile. “Fun, right?”
“I… uh… good god, Quinn. Is Jake McKallister your brother?”
“I told you, Jess. I said one piece of the puzzle was all you’d need to have me all figured out. Was I right?”
Jess wasn’t really listening to me. She’d gone a shade lighter. “That’s why you looked so familiar but I couldn’t place you.”
“Because I look like him. My whole life people have been trying to place me.”
“So, Jake is the hero of your story,” she said, still working through the pieces in her head.
“And what a freakin’ stud hero he is, am I right? Imagine living up to”—I pointed to the picture—“that!”
“Quinn.” She gripped my face, sensing my rising panic. “Hey, easy, boy. It’s going to be okay. You’re up next, so we don’t have a lot of time. Hand me that bottle—stat.”
I passed her the bottle.
She snapped her fingers. “Glass.”
I handed her the shot glass. She poured the vodka, which I expected her to guzzle down herself, but instead, she handed it to me. “Throw it back. You’ll thank me later.”
I did as I was told, and I could feel its goodness flowing through me like a lava river. I slammed the glass down on the counter. “Hit me again.”
She raised a brow. “You sure? I get a sense you’re a bit of a lightweight.”
“Jess!” I said, warning her of a full nuclear meltdown if she didn’t oblige me.
“Fine, but one more and then you’re done. Got it?”
I nodded. She poured. I tossed it back and roared, everything in me burning. Now I was ready to face my fate.
We sat transfixed as I walked out to center stage. It was like an out-of-body experience. I remembered every second, but still, it all felt like such a blur. This had been my big moment, the one I’d been waiting for all my life, and what had I done? No really… what the hell had I done?
Jess sat fidgeting by my side. Even she was nervous for me.
“This is the video,” I narrated, wanting to look away but knowing I had to face this head-on if I wanted to give myself a fighting chance to salvage what I’d destroyed.
She gripped my arm, and together we watched the exploitation. It wasn’t as bad the second time around, but that was only because I was prepared for the assault.
“Is that you?” Jess asked as the camera panned to me clinging to Emma’s leg.
“Yes.”
“Oh, Quinn. That’s heartbreaking.”
She squeezed my arm a little tighter. The video ended. My face. My fucking face! You could see my anger. My frustration. My confusion. I was an open book up there, my pages splayed out for all to see.
The music started. Then stopped. Then started again when I stepped up to the microphone and sang.
Jess scooted to the edge of the sofa, leaning toward the television. I couldn’t see her face, but I assumed that was deliberate. She didn’t want me to register her reaction. Now that she knew I was Jake McKallister’s brother, she was comparing my voice to his. My song to his. My looks to his. I had no doubt who would come out the winner—the guy hanging on the fridge.
The song ended, and the crowd j
umped to their feet. But what I hadn’t seen after my hasty retreat was that they’d stayed there—on their feet—chanting for my return. How had I not heard that?
The scene was cut, and Alan was back on the stage with the other contestants. They’d obviously spliced things together to make up for the time lapse created while Alan was chasing me down the street. My absence was glossed over—an emergency that needed tending to, he’d said. Did anyone believe that? One by one, the show recapped each singer, flashing a number on the screen for the home audience to call in and vote. Unexpectedly, my picture popped up on the screen. My voting number to call. The show wasn’t through with me yet.
I was lucky number ten.
Rustling with the remote, I hastily clicked off the TV. I couldn’t see Jess’s face, but I assumed she was getting it ready to let me down easy—to tell me ‘It wasn’t so bad.’
“Jess,” I said, running my finger along her back.
She turned her head to me, and I could see the emotion in her eyes.
“Quinn,” she croaked out my name. “That was…”
I shook my head, frustrated in myself. “I know.”
“No. You don’t know. I could feel it down to my toes. Your pain…”
God, she was so beautiful. Watching her try to articulate her feelings about something I’d created from my heart—it was all that I’d ever wanted. To be heard.
I ran my thumb along her parted lips, aching for this woman. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to me. The same hungry stare that had held me captive in the rain was back. Jess licked my thumb, and that was enough. I grazed her cheek with my lips, then moved along her delicate skin, laying tiny kisses along the way. Jess drew in a breath, and I felt her shudder. My hungry lips hovered over hers, demanding she be the one to take what she needed.
And she did. Kissing me, sucking my lips gently, her tongue circling around mine. I gave in to her completely. Jess’s fingers slid up my neck and through my hair, our lips still locked, our tongues still turning. As she lowered her back to the sofa, she pulled me down on top of her. I drew back, everything throbbing. I took her in, lying on my couch, her bare knees tilted to the side, wearing my favorite Van Halen shirt. I noticed then that she’d thrown her bra into the dryer and her pinpoint nipples were poking through the thin fabric. If I hadn’t already been pulsing, that right there would have sealed the deal.
I slid my fingers along her thigh, over my boxers—the ones that looked sinful on her now—and up to her nipples. I grasped one with my palm, both of us groaning as I bent down and flicked it with my tongue through the fabric. Jess arched her back, thrusting her breasts at me, demanding more. Oh, god. I almost didn’t feel worthy. She was too much. More than I deserved. My complicated woman. Give me more.
Greedily, I kissed her hard and deep while sliding my hands on the underside of her shirt, that silken skin of hers setting my throbbing shaft into a fury and nearly sending me to an early grave of shame.
“Jess…” I pulled back, panting. There was so much I wanted to say, but my brain could no longer articulate the words.
Her breath was shallow, her body twisting below me. She squeezed her thighs together, emitting tiny whisper-thin gasps, and then they parted and she grabbed my hand and pressed my fingers into her. As she writhed below me, I unbuttoned my fly.
Jess didn’t wait, her fingers reaching into the opening and drawing me out, her encircled fingers sliding the length of me. I arched my back, dragging in what breath I had left. My oxygen level dropped. I thought I was going to fucking die. Lowering my weight onto her, my fingers probed deeper. She couldn’t stay still, her hips thrusting back at me with every press.
“Don’t stop,” she cried, grabbing my hand maybe to direct me, but I required no instruction. I knew just what she needed.
“No, baby,” I panted into her neck. “I promise to take you all the way.”
Our bodies set into a rhythm then, both of us writhing to the beat of each other’s drum.
Jess arched, her body shuddering and her legs pressing together in a scissor-lock that trapped my hand between her trembling thighs. The feel of her body, the quaking of her desire. Jess could have released her grip on me and I still would have detonated.
We quaked on the sofa, both of us lost in ourselves. In each other. I slid my hand around the back of her, gripped her bum, and yanked her into me as we caught our breaths. Nibbling her neck, I took advantage of her heaving breasts by sliding back under the shirt and teasing them. Jess grabbed my face, her eyes still awash with passion, and she pressed the purest kiss to my lips. I’d been with my share of women, but never anyone like her. She was premium quality.
We lay there in each other’s arms, no words spoken between us as our fingers lazily explored. It felt right. Perfect. It was in that moment of quiet contentment that we heard the phone buzzing.
“Is that me or you?” Jess asked, not seeming the least bit interested in leaving the nest that we’d built.
“Who cares?” I answered, tipping her chin up and kissing her.
But I could feel her uncertainty, and as the phone continued to buzz, she unfolded herself from my arms and walked to her backpack.
“Come back to me,” I called to her.
Jess pulled her phone out, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Her shapely tanned legs crossed at the ankles as she stood there looking like my every teenage dream in a rock tee that barely covered her mound. I stiffened, ready for more.
“I just got a call from this number,” she spoke into the phone, her brows furrowing. “Yes, this is her.”
I watched her expression change from one of triviality to horror. “Is he okay? What happened exactly? Oh, god. Where are they taking him? Okay. Okay. I’m coming.”
She hung up in a panic. “I have to go.”
“What happened?” I asked, springing to my feet. “Is everything all right?”
Fear flooded her eyes. “I don’t know. I have to…”
“Here—let me come with you.”
“No,” she blurted out, her eyes widening. “You can’t.”
“I can’t? Why?”
Jess sprinted into the hall and grabbed her clothes out of the dryer, but she didn’t even take the time to put them on. Instead, she sprinted toward the door in my t-shirt and boxers.
“Wait, Jess!”
“I’m sorry, Quinn. It’s an emergency. I have to go.”
“Give me your number. I’ll text you in the morning.”
Jess called it out to me as she opened the door. And before she disappeared, my perfect, complicated woman swung around and said, “You’re a star, Quinn. And now everybody knows it.”
8
Jess: What if…?
It was the call no one wanted to get. The kind that turned the blood cold and sent shivers down the spine. It was an accident, I’d been told. Hit his head. I heard blood. I heard broken bones. I heard concussion. And then I heard nothing because the person who’d called to report the news was no longer answering his phone.
Scenes of revenge played out through my head. Someone was going to pay for this. I’d trusted them with his life, and they had failed—miserably. I tried the number again, and it rang and rang. Panic began to creep up on me inch by inch, wrapping itself around my neck and squeezing tightly.
What if…
I sped up, daring a cop to pull me over so I could explain my dire situation. Surely, instead of a ticket, they’d give this woman in need a police escort. Yes, I was in need. I needed him to be all right, because if he didn’t make it…
No! Stop with the negativity! The man who’d called hadn’t mentioned what-ifs. He’d said everything would be okay. And I had to believe that. I had to get into a positive mindset. Quinn. Yes—I could focus on my rock star golden boy. If anyone could keep my mind from wandering too far down a dangerous path, it would be him and his magic hand.
So much for keeping things friendly. I didn’t know what had come over me. I heard him sing and knew what was
sitting next to me. A bright and shining star. Quinn wasn’t just going to be something someday; he was going to be the thing. The man I’d spent the day with was on the cusp of greatness, and I couldn’t, in good conscience, not get a taste of his splendor. But immediately following our encounter on the couch, I understood Quinn McKallister was not a sampler at Costco. No, he was that nummy tester you gobbled up then circled back around seconds later, making some excuse for why you were such a needy little piglet.
Wait, what was I even thinking? What if I was his sampler? Maybe Quinn was just dipping his toes into the shark-infested groupie waters and I was his very first horny nibble. No doubt after that song hit the airwaves—he’d be swimming in the deep end.
I couldn’t get Quinn’s lyrics out of my mind. Or his voice with its soft, forgiving lilts shifting into something so wrought with emotion and power you thought you might not survive his pain. He’d suffered. There was no mistaking that. And after that performance, he’d be hard-pressed to find anyone not moved by his perseverance.
I was sold. But then, I had been ever since I’d rolled my window down back there on Hollywood Boulevard. My exit had been so abrupt. I wished I’d had time to say goodbye, to make him see how special he was. Because somehow he didn’t know. How was that even possible? How had someone with his talent matured into a man who didn’t think he had any? It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. Quinn deserved every good thing that was coming his way. And I had no doubt it was coming—in crashing waves.
Quinn would be a star—like his brother. Oh god. I’d almost forgotten about the brother. How did you wrap your brain around that one? I mean, Quinn wasn’t just the gallant hero who’d carried me through the rain or the sweet man who’d written his initials into my spray-painted heart. Quinn was also the younger brother of a superstar.
I knew the story. Everyone did. Jake had lived a nightmare. But I’d never really given much thought to what the other family members had lived through until I saw the look on young Quinn’s face in that video. He’d been visibly traumatized, making me wonder what impact an experience like that might have had on the development of one so young. Certainly if the song he’d sung up on that stage had been autobiographical, which I suspected it was, then Quinn had lived a heartbreaking tale of loss and fear—and had struggled mightily to put his fractured life back together.
