Chapter Twenty-One
Bram
A fter stumbling out of Quinn’s room like an idiot, I shut myself in my bedroom to get ready for bed. But first, I need to respond to my idiot brothers. Irritation bubbles up inside of me as I sink onto the bed to reread the texts they sent.
Cy
Bram, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Ty
That’s a pretty broad statement. Is there anything you wouldn’t do? Maybe you should enlighten us.
Cy
Why is it you never say more than two words when we’re together, but won’t shut up on a text?
Ty
You didn’t answer the question, Cy. Besides, Bram is going to be a perfect gentleman. Aren’t you, big brother?
Cy
He’s not answering. I don’t like it. Maybe we should go make sure he’s not being an idiot.
Stop texting me.
Cy
Oh. He’s defensive. Ty, why is he defensive? What did you do, Bram?
Nothing
Ty
What we’re trying to say is . . . if you hurt her, we will kill you.
Cy
Yeah. That’s good.
Just don’t use her, Bram. It’s Quinn.
I’m perfectly aware of who my wife is, Cy.
Ty
Are you though?
Groaning, I toss my phone onto the bed. I’m done going back and forth with my brothers. I can’t figure out if my frustration is coming from their accusations or because I almost did exactly what they were cautioning me against.
Okay, I’m almost positive I wouldn’t have slept with Quinn. I don’t think either one of us would have gone that far so quickly. But I most definitely was about to kiss her. Except, for a brief micro-second when I glanced down into her face and saw Lois instead.
Rubbing my hand down my face, I groan again. This isn’t good. I can’t start my marriage with thoughts—however fleeting—of another woman. Guilt and shame cling to me, bringing frustrated tears to my eyes.
God, please help me.
This is not me. It isn’t how I was raised, and it isn’t who I want to be. I refuse to be the type of husband whose mind is constantly filled with thoughts of someone who isn’t my wife. There has to be something—anything—I can do to remove these unwanted thoughts and feelings. They may have been innocent only a few weeks ago, but now that Lois and I are both married—to other people—I need to kill them. Rip them apart. Burn them. And toss the ashes into the wind.
I force my mind to picture Quinn. To think about every tiny detail of her face and how she looked at me.
True, Lois’s face flashed in my mind for the briefest moment, but it was Quinn who’d captivated me enough to draw her close. Her bright turquoise eyes enraptured me until we were merely an inch away.
What would have happened if my phone hadn’t gone off?
The thought terrifies me in some ways, yet there’s a sliver of excitement in my bones.
This is going to work. It will take time, but I will choose each day to love and care for Quinn. Like I vowed a few short hours ago.
She’s my future.
The next morning when I wake up, I feel anything but rested. My legs and arms are so heavy I can hardly move them. I didn’t sleep well last night. I spent time praying—a lot of time—and by the time I was finally ready to wind down, I could hear Quinn’s soft snoring floating from the other room.
It reminded me—not that I’d actually forgotten—my wife was sleeping across the hallway from me. With that thought in the back of my mind, I tossed and turned for quite a while before finally drifting into a restless sleep.
A tantalizing scent wafts through the air, and my stomach rumbles. Bacon. I glance at the clock. It’s already past eight. Slipping a T-shirt over my plaid pajama pants, I run a hand through my wayward hair, brush my teeth, and leave my room.
The lights are off and everything is quiet. Quinn’s door stands open, and I peek in to find her bed made. Is she cooking in a dark kitchen? But there’s no stirring or sounds of pots and pans. It’s too quiet.
When I reach the kitchen, I find it empty as well. Clean dishes are stacked in the dish drainer, and my stomach continues to rumble at the smell of fresh bacon and coffee. Curious, I open the microwave where a plate is waiting for me. Eggs, bacon, and pancakes. A man could get used to waking up to this every morning.
Except . . . where on earth is my wife?
Ignoring my stomach, I walk through the house. “Quinn,” I call hesitantly. Has she decided how horrible of an idea this is and already returned home?
I glance out the window, but her car is still sitting in the driveway. Okay. She hasn’t left me. Or if she did, she didn’t take her car. Which is unlikely. The only taxi service in our small town is Hubert, and you don’t ride with him unless you’re dying.
My heart stops.
She hasn’t gone to the hospital, has she? Surely she would have woken me up instead of calling Hubert? I shake my head, trying to rid my brain of the morning fog.
I need coffee. STAT. But I also need to figure out where my wife is.
A protective urgency rushes over me as my gaze darts around the room for any clue as to where she could have gone.
The beach.
I want to slap myself for not thinking of that first. She has to be on the beach. Rushing over to the French doors leading toward the beach, I slide them open and am met with a sweaty body slamming into me.
Quinn yelps in surprise but continues to press herself closer to me, pushing me farther into the house and slamming the door closed behind her. We both stumble backward, my arm coming instinctively around her waist, but somehow, I manage to keep us from falling. She glances up at me, panic swirling in her eyes before she turns around in my arms, peering out the glass door.
“Is it gone?” Her voice is winded, and I can feel her gulping deep breaths, which is when I realize that I haven’t stepped back yet, and she’s still pressed against me—her back to my chest and my arm still wrapped tightly around her middle.
The scent of coconut drifts from Quinn’s hair to my nostrils. She’s still breathing heavily, and my brain fog hasn’t fully lifted yet. Without thinking, I place a hand against the door and lean over her shoulder. I inhale subtly to get another whiff of her coconut scent. This is not part of my plan, but my brain is malfunctioning and giving my body full control.
“Is what gone?” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, and her head snaps around, headbutting me in the process.
Dropping my arm from around her, I press a hand to my head and take a giant step back just as Quinn moans. Blinking a couple of times, I try to will the pain away. Quinn is rubbing her head.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t realize you were . . . umm . . . right there.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Yeah, real smooth there, Bram.
“I think maybe you just like hitting me in the head,” I quip, hoping it will save me from having to explain why I had her trapped against the door. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway because I have no idea what I was thinking.
A strained chuckle escapes her lips as she turns to glance back out the French doors.
“What were you running from?” I strain my neck, trying to see what has her so scared.
Turning back to me, her eyes are wide with fear. “I don’t think it followed me.” I arch a brow. “There was an alligator,” she hisses quietly as if saying it too loudly will summon it.
I scratch my head. We typically don’t get many alligators in this area. Then it hits me. “Crap.” I grab my shoes, slipping them on.
“What?”
“I think it’s King Arthur. He must have gotten out somehow.”
“Oh. I didn’t think about it being Arthur.”
Grunting, I pick up my phone and dial Jett’s number. After one ring, Jett answers. “Jett’s Animal Control.”
“Is Arthur loose?” I ask in a clipped tone. Quinn bites her lip, glancing nervously out the window again.
“Of course he’s not loose. What kind of place do you think I’m—” He pauses and then curses. “I’ll be right over.”
Hanging up the phone, I make my way to Quinn and touch her shoulder, drawing her attention to me. “Hey. It’s okay. Jett’s coming to pick him up now.”
“Okay,” she replies in a weak voice, her arms shaking slightly.
A wave of tenderness hits me, and I tug her toward me, wrapping my arms around her. “It’s okay, Q. You’re safe,” I whisper into her ear, the scent of coconut surrounding me. She’s stiff in my arms, but finally, she lets out a shuddering breath. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she buries her head in my chest. The simple act sends something surging through my veins. We’ve been married less than twenty-four hours and already this woman is proving to be more than I bargained for.
Drawing back slightly, I tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “Have you eaten and taken your insulin?”
Her brow wrinkles. “I took it before eating and my run. But I probably need to check my sugar.”
Reluctantly, I loosen my grip and move away from her warmth. “What do you need me to do?”
“Make sure Jett gets his pet before I go running on the beach again. I thought I was going to die.” She shudders dramatically.
“Aww . . . come on,” I tease. “King Arthur wouldn’t hurt you. Jett feeds that thing enough to keep him satisfied. Besides, he has no teeth.”
Quinn crosses her arms and arches her brow. “Teeth would only make the job quicker. He can still crush me with his jaws.”
I shrug. “I think Jett has him so spoiled he’s too lazy to go after anything.”
“Well, you just tell Jett to keep him more secure from now on,” she replies as she walks down the hallway. “I don’t like being scared to death by a thousand-pound lizard. And what would happen if he came up to our back yard? Or heaven forbid, Mrs. Graham’s?”
“She’d probably feed him and bring him in the house.” I chuckle. Mrs. Graham is crazy enough to do it. I follow Quinn, stopping at the doorway to her room. I don’t want to overstep any more boundaries this morning.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she replies, glancing at her phone. “I’m just looking at my sugars.”
Leaning against the doorway my heart twists. “I hate that you have to do this, Q.”
She glances back at me and shrugs. “I do too, but the CGM helps. Thank you for paying for it.”
My lips tug up. “You're my wife.”
She arches a brow. “I wasn’t then, though.”
Removing my phone from my pocket, I step inside and hand it to her. “Can you put the app on my phone, too?”
Tentatively, she takes my phone, her brow wrinkling. “Really?”
“It’ll help me take care of you. Won’t it?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but a knock at the door alerts us to Jett’s arrival.
“Just add it to the phone and you can show me how to use it later. Okay?”
She nods, and I leave her to let Jett in, trying to rein in my frustration over his dangerous pet getting loose.
“Sorry, man,” Jett says when I greet him. “One of the dogs must have dug under the fence where Arthur was and he slipped out on me.”
“Must have been one huge hole.”
Jett gives me a sheepish look and rubs the back of his neck. “Merlin is a big dog.”
Glaring, I cross my arms. “Well, he shook Quinn up pretty bad this morning.” My irritation slips through my tone as I motion him toward the back yard.
Jett stops in his tracks, a broad grin forming on his face. “Ah . . . that’s right. You went and got yourself hitched. Congratulations, man.”
Rolling my eyes, I smack him on the back of the head. “You were there, dimwit.”
Shrugging, he glances around and lowers his voice. “I hope King Arthur didn’t ruin any . . . umm . . . honeymoon activities.” He waggles his eyebrows at me and heat rises in my chest.
“Just get your gator and go, Jett.” I don’t have the patience to deal with him today. Even if he is my cousin. I push him toward the door, but not before I hear him cackle. “All right, all right. But I’m gonna need your help.”
Sighing, I rub a hand over my face. “Of course, you are.”
“Of course, what?” Quinn asks. Now that things have calmed down, I take note of the form-fitting bike shorts and green athletic tank top she wears. I can’t stop my eyes from raking over her from head-to-toe no matter how hard I try. She’s just as beautiful in workout clothes as she is in a wedding dress.
“Bram’s going to help me get Arthur secure and out of your way, Quinn,” Jett says, coming up behind me. I notice the appreciative look he gives Quinn as he takes in her clothes. I almost growl at him, startling myself at the surge of jealousy curling in my stomach at the moment.
“I’m coming, Jett.” I practically push him out the door and turn back to find Quinn right in front of me, her eyes wide with fear.
“Bram, are you seriously going to help him?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I reply casually.
She grips my forearm, her eyes pleading. “Please, be careful, Bram.”
I smile. “Always.”