Chapter 15 #2
“No!” August moved faster than Quinn was prepared for, shoving himself out of the car and onto wobbly legs. “No ambulance. I’m alright. I just need to go to sleep, and I’ll feel better in the morning.”
Quinn backed away, staying out of reach in case August tried to grab him. He didn’t know how anyone could say they were okay when they looked like they had walked away from an attempted murder, but August had always been stubborn to the marrow of his fucking bones.
August stumbled and bumped against his car, cursing as he was forced to use it as a crutch to keep his massive frame standing.
Quinn was left with no choice. He unlocked his phone and hit the call button, his foot fidgeting as he waited for the line to pick up.
“Quinn?”
“Is August going through some shit?” Quinn asked Eren, scowling when August narrowed his icy blue eyes on him. “He’s in rough shape, and I need to know if he does drugs, or if he’s a drunk, so I can decide if I’m driving him home or to the hospital.”
There was a pause on Eren’s end, and Quinn held his breath. There was so much noise in the background that he wasn’t sure Eren had heard what he said, but then the sounds faded, a door clicked, and Eren sighed.
“He’s going through something. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, but I think it’s bad. Gusty isn’t the kind of guy who likes drugs or alcohol, and the only pain meds I’ve seen him take are Tylenol and Advil.”
August made a gesture as if to say, “See?”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “I’m going to drive him to his house. If I go missing, you’ll know who killed me.”
“Quinn, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” Quinn insisted. “I’ll spare you the gory details and refrain from switching to video call. Don’t get all alpha male on me, Callahan. I’m doing this to get you that fucking cup.”
Eren didn’t finish his sentence before Quinn hung up. His patience gone, he turned to August, giving him a look that said everything he didn’t trust his voice to.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
August lifted his chin, as if he needed any help to show that he was bigger than Quinn, and remained silent.
“Get what you need, lock your small-penis car, and get in my fucking Civic.”
Quinn could tell that August wanted to argue so badly, but now that his captain had been brought into the mix, he was quick to obey Quinn’s command.
August grabbed his phone and jacket from his car and locked it, silently following Quinn to his vehicle.
The moment Quinn turned the engine over, he blasted the heat and hit the button for the seat warmers. August folded himself into the passenger side, teeth chattering and blood still dripping lazily from his nose as he stared blankly out the window.
“What’s your address?” Quinn asked, pulling up his GPS to enter the location.
August mumbled his response, and Quinn was surprised to see that the destination was thirty minutes away in a nice suburban area. He expected August to live in a penthouse that matched his expensive car, not an old gated neighbourhood surrounded by young families.
Quinn made sure August was buckled in before he put the car in drive and began their journey. His guest was leaning his head against the window, eyes shut and peaceful as he dozed. Now and then, August would hiss and grab his head like it was hurting him, making Quinn’s heart jump in panic.
“We should go to the hospital,” Quinn stated. It was the first time he had said something to August since they’d gotten in the car. “Your nose is still bleeding.”
August groaned and slowly shook his head. “I used to get nosebleeds like this all the time when I was a kid. It’s bleeding bad because I’ve been taking a fuck-ton of Advil to deal with this migraine that won’t go away.”
Ah, there was the petulant tone Quinn had missed. To be fair, if he had a never-ending migraine and played an intense sport like hockey, he would probably be grumpy too.
Actually, he would be catatonic in the shower and sobbing like a baby.
“You’ve had it for that long, and you haven’t seen a doctor about it?” Quinn asked, just to confirm the level of stupidity he was dealing with.
“The medical team looked at me,” said August. “They ran a bunch of tests and did scans, and they couldn’t find a brain bleed or a tumour, so they diagnosed me with anxiety. I’m under a lot of pressure to perform, so they said it would go away once I got my head back in the game.”
They stopped at a red light, so Quinn took the opportunity to give August a long, side-eyed stare.
As if sensing he was being observed, August turned his head and met his eyes. “They’re wrong, obviously.”
The light went green, and Quinn set his gaze back on the road. “Agreed. I don’t think it makes sense that your head still hurts after getting a hat…a hat throw?”
August chuckled, and Quinn crinkled his nose.
“Hat trick,” August corrected. “I almost got a double, which is basically unheard of for a defenceman. Everyone has too much skill these days, so it makes it hard to rack up goals, but the Sunburst goalie was shaken up after the first fight.”
Apparently, all Quinn had to do was mention hockey to get August talking. Typical puckhead.
It felt weird to be sitting in the car with him, having what could have been a normal conversation if there weren’t so much bad history between them. August must have noticed it too, because he suddenly went quiet and didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive.
When he reached the destination, Quinn pulled into the long, winding driveway of a house that looked like it had been plucked straight from the pages of an architectural journal—or an architect’s wet dream.
The place was breathtaking with its gabled roofs and ivy-draped stone, and windows glowing softly against the dark of the cold Vancouver night. It was the kind of home that had seen eras of history, and looked haunted as fuck.
Quinn dreamed of owning a place like this someday.
An old-world masterpiece that he could make his own.
He would furnish it with antique velvet furniture in deep greens and oxblood reds, and stained-glass chandeliers that would cast jewels of colour across the hardwood floors.
He would create a hidden library tucked behind a false wall, lined with leather-bound books and filled with the scent of dust and ink.
In the attic, he would have a collection of vintage trunks, overflowing with old clothes he’d hunted down online—things he could throw on when he wanted to play, or just disappear into another time for a while.
“They were going to tear it down, even though it’s borderline historical,” August said, catching on to Quinn’s silent appreciation. “But it was in rough shape, and it was going to take a lot of money to restore it. I bought it because I liked the spiral tower, and I had the money to fix it.”
Great. That meant all the original charm was likely gone. August didn’t give off antique guy vibes, so Quinn had a feeling he was about to walk into a place with white walls, grey floors, and a hockey rink in the basement.
Wait, why was he walking in? He had brought August to his house, so there was no need to go any further.
“Come see,” August said, sounding tired—and looking tired. “I know you want to.”
Quinn was about to tell him to pound sand when his text notification pinged loudly. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw a message from Eren staring back at him from the screen.
Eren: Niko Cote asked very nicely if you could stay with August until he gets home. He seemed worried about him. I gave him your number.
Another message popped up.
Unknown: It’s going to take me an hour to get there. I really hate to bother you, and I know we’re strangers, but can you stay with August? I don’t trust him to be alone.
Unknown: If you can’t, no problem. I don’t want to annoy you.
“Who’s saying what?” August asked.
Quinn ignored him and unlocked his phone, opening the messages sent by Niko Cote.
Quinn: There’s no need to race home. I can stay and watch him while you take a break and enjoy your victory.
He shouldn’t have offered, but he saw the player wearing the number 14 on his jersey, and he had looked really young. The way Niko was so concerned about August made Quinn think the poor kid hadn’t had much of a break lately, so the least he could do was stay.
If he was truly determined to help Eren get the cup for Esme, then watching August for a few hours to make sure he didn’t pass out and die was an easy sacrifice to make.
Unknown: I can’t ask you to do that.
At least the kid was considerate and respectful.
Quinn: If you show up within the next two hours, you’ll be locked out and sleeping outside in the snow. I WILL barricade the doors.
“Is that Callahan texting you?” asked August, leaning into Quinn’s space, but a firm hand in the air stopped him.
Quinn held it there, watching the three dots that said Niko was responding, smirking when they disappeared and reappeared several times before he finally received an answer.
Unknown: Okay.
That was easy. It was a shame that dealing with August wouldn’t be quite as enjoyable.
“Lead the way,” Quinn told August, already unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. “I’m on babysitting duty until your roommate gets home.”
He couldn’t see August’s face, but he expected a scowl when he looked at him again, but…there was no scowl.
August was gazing awkwardly at the snow-dusted driveway, not meeting Quinn’s eyes as he shut the door and started toward the house. “Come on.”
Quinn peered at the neighbouring houses to see if anyone was watching him follow a bloodied-up August inside, but most lights were off, and the surrounding foliage provided good cover.
And the evening was turning out to be full of surprises, because when Quinn entered August’s home, he found warm brown hardwood, rich coloured wallpapers, and fucking antique furniture.
There were no greys or modern-looking remodels, and when Quinn looked up and spotted the Tiffany chandelier, his mouth fell open.