Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
QUINN
August looks ill as he talks to the caller.
The sight has me itching to snatch the phone away and chuck it across the parking lot.
Or maybe scorch it to a useless pile of ashes.
Then I’d have him to myself again with no disconcerting conversations to take away the fragile times of happiness we find in our new relationship.
However, I doubt the best move as a girlfriend is to destroy his property. I’ve already done enough of that.
“What happened?” His voice—which, only a minute ago, was full of growly pleasure—now sounds winded, as if the phone call is physically demanding.
The speaker on the other end doesn’t talk loud enough for me to hear, despite the fact that August still stands relatively close.
If he decides to walk away from me for more privacy, I won’t fault him for the move.
Just because we agreed to try the relationship thing doesn’t mean he’s going to be ready to dive into the harder, more intimate topics a few weeks after we went official.
For a moment, I imagine that our relationship isn’t a handful of days old.
What if it was months or years?
The idea of stepping up to August, wrapping my arms around his waist, and holding him steady through this torment of a phone call makes my bones ache.
Goddess, I want that.
To be someone’s steady force rather than their fire-hazard responsibility.
But the control to get myself where I need to be so I can be here for someone else takes time.
So, instead of engulfing him with my body in a strange display of solidarity, I put my best effort into waiting patiently. Into being here for him if he needs me when this call is over.
It’s the least I can do when I just asked him for the same exact thing. Patience.
This is what relationships are really about. It’s not all hot sex.
Hopefully, it’s a little bit of hot sex.
Guilt spikes through me as I realize the direction my thoughts have trailed down. August is getting some kind of bad news, and I’m sitting here thinking about the next time I can get him out of his clothes.
I chastise myself and refocus on him. He’s still listening to whatever is being said on the other end of the line, so I do my best to read the situation through his body.
Every one of his ample muscles is tense. I bet his jaw would feel like granite if I poked it, judging from the way he’s clenched it shut. The blue of his eyes has seeped into a stormy, dark color, reminding me of thunderclouds over an ocean.
Damn, this must be bad.
The urge to jump him fades away, again replaced by the need to push off of my Jeep and wrap my arms around him. Solely for the purpose of comforting.
August almost looks scared.
What could frighten a six-foot-something supernatural being?
“What do you need me to do?”
His question startles me, and I realize he went so rigid that I began to imagine him as an immobile statue carved from ice.
The thought of his frostiness—and the fact that he said my warmth was such a welcome sensation to him—gives me an idea.
I can embrace him without invading his space. Support him while keeping distance. He wants me as his girlfriend? Well, here’s my best effort.
When the world gets cold, I’ll keep him warm.
Normally, lust supercharges my powers, forcing the fire past whatever feeble barriers I’ve constructed. But when I’m not turned on, I still have access to my magic. I can tug at the fire, ignite the spark of it in my veins.
I do that now, directing the warmth outward, mentally forming it into a pliable material that I can wrap around something. Or someone.
My invisible blanket of heat settles over August’s shoulders. Just as I envision it touching his skin, the thunderstorm gaze flicks to meet mine, holding me still. Not that I had any plans to move.
August’s eyes widen as the phone remains pressed to his ear.
I can see the moment he realizes what I’ve done because the tension in him eases.
Not completely. Not even fifty percent. But there’s the barest centimeter his shoulders drop, and I’m proud of myself for succeeding that much in an attempt to master this good-girlfriend responsibility.
August steps forward, laying his hand on my bare arm in a silent thank-you.
“I’m coming.”
For a second, I think he’s talking to me, and I’m on the verge of telling him there’s no hurry. That he can talk to whoever is on the phone as long as he needs to.
Then I realize he is talking to the person on the phone.
“I’ll call you when I have my flight booked. Okay. I love you. Bye, Dad.”
Flight?
My brain works through the few facts I have as August disconnects the call.
His parents live in Alaska. August is leaving.
Don’t panic. There’s nothing to panic about.
Even as I try to reassure myself, I can feel my blood pressure creeping upward.
We just agreed to try things, and now he’s leaving.
August slides the phone into his back pocket, and he simply stares at the ground, his hand still resting on my arm.
I should be patient. I could let him tell me what is going on in his own time. But I can’t seem to breathe without also asking my question.
“Is something wrong?”
August’s head jerks up, and in his eyes, I see a lost look. “My mom is hurt.”
“Hurt? How? What happened?”
He heaves a heavy sigh, his eyes closing as his forehead drops to rest on the edge of the car behind me. “Apparently, she was climbing a ladder to hang a bird feeder, and she fell off. She’s in the hospital.”
“Oh goddess. I’m so sorry. How bad is it?”
“She has a few broken bones. And she hit her head. She’s awake but disoriented. So, I don’t know.”
I push more of my heat toward him, not sure if it’s helping, but I need something to do. Some way to comfort him.
“You’re flying up to be with her?”
“That, and if she’s in the hospital, there’s no way my father is going to leave her side. Which means there’s no one to look after the bakery. Even if this all ends up being short-term, I don’t want them to go into debt because they lost their means of income.”
The plan is completely selfless. And maybe that’s why I feel the need to be selfish for him.
“What about your shop?” His new business. Leaving now could set him back in the same way he’s worried for his parents.
“I’ll … figure something out.” Almost absent-mindedly, he leans down to press his lips to my forehead.
Then he turns to walk away. Leaving.
Shit. It’s way too conceited to stop him and ask where this leaves us. He’s as rattled as a man plowed into by a bus. I’d be surprised if he could pair two coherent thoughts next to each other.
His mother is in the hospital with a head injury. He doesn’t need me harping on him about labels and parameters.
I can do one of two things for him right now.
I can back off, keep my mouth shut, and push the drama of us away from him so he has room to breathe and think.
Or I can squash the drama completely by doing what we agreed; I can be his girlfriend.
Only what exactly would a girlfriend do?
I’ve never been one before, so my frame of reference is limited. This relationship is so new; I have no firm ground to stand on.
A girlfriend would probably tell him she hopes his mom is okay and offer to give him a ride to the airport, right?
The idea sounds reasonable. But also surprisingly cold. And not in the good way, like August’s version of cold. Maybe it’s the Fire Elemental in me, but I want to burn that version of a girlfriend to the ground.
How can I send him off on his own when he looks like an abandoned Saint Bernard, alone at the dog shelter?
No. No way. I cannot be that kind of girlfriend.
Which means I have to be another version. A girlfriend persona that fits me.
A plan forms in my mind, and I love it because for once, I finally don’t feel the need to worry about myself. I can worry about someone else for a change.
I shove away from my Jeep and forget about my pristine, painted toenails as I jog across the parking lot after August. He’s so lost in his thoughts that I have to grab the back of his shirt to get him to stop.
“Quinn?”
“I’ll come with you.”