Chapter 35
Quinn
“I’m not trying to pressure you into strongarming August.”
Quinn rubbed his face and groaned. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now, when he was trying to enjoy the game to show support for August, but Bea was determined.
“Indigo said something about her son that freaked me out,” Bea continued, taking his hand to squeeze it. “She said his mood dipped two weeks before you told me about what happened between him and Perry, and when she pulled him off the Timbits team, he went back to normal.”
Quinn was happy he hadn’t eaten anything because he would have thrown it up. The thought of any child going through what August had made him physically ill. Just listening to his stories during the therapy sessions had required taking several doses of Gravol so the queasiness would go away.
Afterward, Quinn had called a meeting and asked the parents if their kids had been in Perry’s office alone with him, but none of them had, except Indigo’s son, Atticus.
When Atticus was questioned about it, he said that nothing bad happened, but Perry would praise him and tell him that he was talented, and that if he listened, he would make it to the NHL.
Those praises came with treats and other gifts, but they all accumulated into one thing.
Grooming.
Luckily, they had made it in time to stop Atticus from being abused, which Quinn was thankful for every waking moment. Perry hadn’t faced any consequences yet, but Quinn was working on it.
Indigo had gone to the police to press charges, but without evidence, the grooming was brushed off as a coach trying to encourage one of his players.
That’s where August would need to come in.
Quinn’s lawyer made it very clear that without the tapes or pictures, August’s accusations would be tricky to prove. He was a famous hockey player, and the case would be high profile, but they had to think of his career before deciding how to move forward.
All the attention drawn by legal battles could mess up his game, and the last thing a hockey player needed was extra pressure.
August had shown interest in providing statements and working with investigators, but he was still in a weird mind space right now, and Quinn wanted him to take more time before they went after Perry.
Quinn didn’t know why, but he had a gut feeling that Perry still had the evidence they needed to convict him. He was planning to talk to August about his theory, but he needed to be careful.
Diana, his therapist, warned him that overwhelming August was a bad idea when he was in such a fragile mental state.
And since parents were pulling their children from the Timbits team, she believed that Perry was too smart to engage inappropriately with kids for a short time.
She told him that if Perry had been doing it for ten years, then he knew how to avoid getting caught, which meant that he knew when to back off.
Quinn trusted her judgment, and his hands were tied because he needed to protect August, and that meant giving him time to recover from the barrage of nightmares that haunted his sleep every night.
Quinn missed his nieces and Eren, but he couldn’t bear the thought of going home when he knew August would be in distress without him.
“Bea, the fucker is going to jail,” Quinn said, trying to answer her fears in a way that would soothe her frazzled nerves. “He had his hands on Emira and Alara during some of their sessions, and if you don’t think Eren is ready to bypass the law to put that monster in the ground, you’re wrong.”
Bea was tearing up, and he didn’t blame her.
While Perry hadn’t touched Tate, Bea had still been on the ice with her son and smiled when he praised her boy.
She was having a normal reaction that any parent would have.
She wanted justice, but if they wanted to put Perry away for good, then they had to gather evidence and testimonies.
“You focus on being there for Indigo and Atticus and let me handle the hard part,” Quinn finished, giving her what he hoped was a calming smile. “August is willing to cooperate, but he can’t do it right now. And I love him too much to push—”
Quinn was cut off by screaming loud enough to rattle the teeth in his skull. The stands erupted around him with people surging to their feet, their voices clamouring into a pitch that made him dizzy.
For a moment, Quinn thought there must be a fire or some unseen disaster unfolding inside the building, but no one was running in panic.
They stood rooted in place, their bodies rigid like a wall of living steel, faces twisted in abstract horror as they looked toward the rink where the players were still skating.
Bea jumped to her feet as every guy sitting on the player’s bench leapt over the wall, shouting something at Quinn that he couldn’t hear.
The jumbotron wasn’t showing anything that explained the reaction of the crowd, but then Bea yanked him to his feet and shoved him against the glass, her mouth forming the words.
“Eren’s hurt.”
Quinn’s world stopped and flipped on its axis.
His heart pounded in his throat as he watched the players and coaches spill onto the ice while the refs pushed everyone away from the two figures lying motionless amid the chaos. He couldn’t comprehend why he was seeing so much red—he couldn’t comprehend anything right now.
“Medical is racing to assist the captain. Everyone, please quiet down so they can hear orders and coordinate treatment.”
And just like that, the screaming died into an unsettling hush.
A few children were crying, along with some adults, but there was no talking. Not even whispers.
“Snow, move!” A voice shouted from the ice, and bile crept up Quinn’s throat when he realized August had been the one shielding Eren from the melee.
Niko took hold of August’s jersey the second he was standing, pulling him away from the people now blocking Eren from view. Quinn caught one glimpse of Eren seizing before he disappeared behind the bodies of the medical staff, and Bea gasped beside him.
“Oh god,” she said, her body trembling hard enough to shake the glass. “Oh my god. Oh—”
Quinn held her tight, stopping her rambling before she became inconsolable. He couldn’t understand why August was wearing so much red when he was sure that the Bigfoots’ colours were blue, green and white.
Even his hair, which was normally chalk white, was red in random patches. More of the colour was dripping onto the ice under August’s skates, but no one noticed other than him because everyone was looking at Eren.
The shouting from the medical staff sounded muted as they loaded Eren’s body onto a stretcher and carried him out, and then two members of the team rounded on August, running toward him.
“He’s hurt,” said Quinn.
He didn’t wait for Bea to respond. Quinn shoved through the row of horrified spectators and went to the gate, flashing his badge at the staff member to let him inside.
The hush grew into a crescendo as Quinn went through the door, but he could still hear one of the players from the other team hollering, “I killed him!” over the panic.
August was guided off the ice by the medical staff with a steadying hand on either side of him as they led him toward the entrance, where Quinn stood frozen in place.
The man to August’s left kept a thick wad of gauze pressed firmly to his forearm, and it was already soaked through with blood.
It explained the source of the blood smeared across the ice behind them, but Quinn had a sickening feeling that not all of it was August’s.
And then August lifted his head as he drew closer, and his gaze met Quinn’s.
Quinn had been braced for fear, shock, pain, or even anger, but his stomach dropped when August’s unfocused and glassy eyes stared through him rather than at him.
His face was eerily calm, too, as if his mind had slipped somewhere far away to escape what his body couldn’t.
There was no recognition there, just the hollow vacancy of someone who was no longer fully present.
“I said I’m fine,” August growled, jerking his arm away from the man holding it. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
Quinn knew he was overstepping, but he jumped in and grabbed onto August’s arm to stop him from fighting and was relieved when August surrendered instantly. He was a big man, especially on skates, and Quinn didn’t want August to hurt anyone if his dissociation turned into fight or flight mode.
“He has to go to the hospital,” the man told Quinn. “You’re his boyfriend and Callahan’s medical executor, right?”
Quinn nodded. His jaw was clenched so hard that it felt welded shut, so it was impossible to answer with words.
“Callahan is already on route, so you’ll ride with us. Snow’s arm got sliced by a blade during the scrum, and it’s too deep to patch here. He needs to get it looked at by a surgeon.”
Quinn nodded again.
“I told Niko to go to Eren’s house after the game,” August said quietly, his voice sounding distant. “Don’t worry ‘bout Alara and Emira. He’ll make sure they’re okay.”
“It’s a good thing he jumped in, or Callahan would have taken that skate blade to the face,” said the man on August’s other side. They were moving quickly through the halls, Quinn walking backward as they directed him to the ambulance bay, still holding onto the giant man sandwiched between them.
“He’s lost blood,” said the other. “He seems disoriented, so we’ll do a brief neuro exam after we get him hooked up and check his vitals. If he was hit on the head at any point, they’ll see it on the cameras and report back to us for concussion protocol.”
August tried to lift his arm, but Quinn hushed him until he settled.
“Thanks,” said the man with the gauze. “This guy is usually a handful with injuries. I know it’s not conventional to let you be here, but this is an emergent situation.”
Yes, because it was his two players who were injured.
“Eren—” Quinn choked on his words before he could get his question out.