Chapter 21 #2
I take a seat beside him, still clenching his hand in mine.
“This…isn’t so bad.”
Except the thing chooses the same moment to move, starting the upward swing into the air, and I’m about to retract my previous statement.
Quinn eyes me, looking for any signs of discomfort in my face. I’m sure there’s plenty there, but he must not see enough to cause any real worry.
“Do you need me to kiss you at the top if you get too nervous?” he says, a lilt of teasing in his tone. “Like in those cheesy rom-com movies?”
“I don’t even think fucking you while this things spins us silly would make me less nervous.”
He leans over and his breath coasting over my neck causes me to shiver. “That could be arranged if you want.” His voice is a low, husky whisper. “We’d have to be quick, though. The ride’s less than fifteen minutes.”
I let out a bark of laughter, his ridiculous antics helping to put me more at ease. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
A knowing smirk rests on those sinful lips. “Maybe not full-blown anal. But I’d definitely suck your dick if you needed a way to relax and get your mind off it.”
I have a snarky my hero ready to burst free from my lips, but it gets caught in the back of my throat when our gondola rises high enough for the sunset to shine through each little crack and crevice of the Chicago skyline.
“Wow,” I murmur, my attention fixated out the window.
“This is my favorite spot in the whole city,” he whispers, and when I glance over, I find him staring out the glass too. “I swear, it’s like being on top of the world.”
“I believe you’re thinking of Mount Everest,” I supply, though from the way my heart is still racing a little, I might as well be standing at the top of the planet’s tallest mountain peak. Heights are heights.
“You’re a wise guy today, aren’t you?”
“It’s the fear talking.”
“No, it’s definitely just you,” he says, smiling, and I’m starting to realize I’m not strong enough to withstand the sight of those damn divots in his cheeks. It’s like dimple warfare.
It’s not until the wheel starts its first descent when he finally turns to face me, allowing me to see both of them in all their stupidly attractive glory.
“When I was a kid and had hockey practices or games over at the rink in Grant Park, I’d beg Marta to bring me here after. It was always my reward for playing well, getting to ride the Ferris wheel.”
“Marta?” I ask, because surely he doesn’t call his mother by her first name.
His smile turns a little sad. “She was my au pair growing up. Now, she just works on the staff as one of the housekeepers.”
Confusion hits me. “I thought your dad took you. To hockey, I mean.”
“Only in the beginning. But when it became too much of an inconvenience for him, Marta was tasked with taking me.”
“And what about your mom?” I pause, a realization hitting me. “Wait, are your parents married?”
“Whether or not they should be remains to be seen, but yeah, they are.”
“So why didn’t she take you?” I ask slowly.
He gives me an off-handed shrug. “Not sure. Probably too busy banging whatever junior partner at the firm was suiting her fancy that week.”
I almost choke on my spit. “You’re kidding.”
All I get is a slow shake of his head for a response.
“They didn’t even go to your games at all?”
Another shake of his head as the wheel ticks upward again.
“Normally, no. I remember having a parents’ night for a game senior year.
I’d told them about it weeks beforehand; reminding them, putting it in the phone calendars and emails.
It was so important to me, I even went to their personal assistants, making sure they had all the information too.
” His blue eyes shimmer, and it’s not just from the glow of the sunset.
“I’m sure you can tell where this story is going. ”
A sinking feeling causes my stomach to roll, instantly making me want to vomit more than this Ferris wheel ride ever could.
“Neither of them showed,” I whisper. Not a question, because I know it could only be the truth.
His teeth roll over his bottom lip and he nods. “But there was Marta in the stands, just like she always was. So I took the rose we were supposed to give to our families straight to her. She was my parent that night.” A soft scoff comes from him. “Most nights, actually.”
My chest aches for him, in no way being able to imagine being raised the way he was.
My dad was gone a lot, sure, and my mom had to raise Logan and I on her own for six months at a time, but we never lacked in love or support or just…quality time as a family. Even if it was us going to see one of Dad’s games, at least we were all together.
“But your parents come now.” Again, not a question, but a clear observation because of the conversation I overheard earlier this season between Quinn and his dad.
Another scoff leaves him. “Only for their own benefit. Usually to look like the doting parents they could never be, supporting their collegiate athlete son when my father despises the sport simply because it brings me joy.”
“I’m sure that’s not the reason why.”
“It might as well be. Anything that doesn’t fit into his little plan for how my life should play out should be removed immediately.
There’s only room in it for things like taking over the firm, the society wife.
Fancy cars and houses and kids to pass stupid amounts of money on to. Even when it’s never been my plan.”
“That’s…quite a different version from what you have in mind.”
A solemn nod is his response, and it’s then when I finally get what he’s saying.
My parents have always been supportive of me and my coming out about my sexuality.
It’s who I am, not something I chose for myself.
But I’d have to be blind or stupid to not see their vision of my life with the wife and two-point-five kids and house with a picket fence going out the window when I told them I’m attracted to guys.
And I’m sure it was difficult for them to swallow at first.
But never once did they tell me what I want for myself is wrong. Never.
“You want them to see you for who you really are? Then you make them. At every turn, you take the version of you they want and you toss it out the window to get left in the dust. Because there’s nothing more important than being the person you want to be.”
He whispers, “I could say the same about you, you know, Mr. I Have To Follow My Legacy.”
I smirk. “Yeah, but we’re not talking about me, are we?”
That gets him to at least crack a smile, and I find myself glad to lift even an ounce of the heaviness weighing on him. Something I never thought I’d be doing when it comes to him.
Hell, if anyone would have told me I’d grow to be fond of Quinton de Haas, let alone like him, I would have called them a fucking liar on the spot. Yet somehow, the walls I’ve built to keep guys like him out of my life are crumbling down, brick by brick.
I know I don’t have time for the fun, flirty heartbreaker with a heart of gold, or whatever crap people write about in romance novels to make women swoon.
It’s not what my time at Leighton is for.
I’m here for hockey, to pass my classes and get a degree.
Maybe even search for a job if I don’t get any feelers from an NHL team—though Dad and Coach’s old agent, Louis Spaulding, has already been harping on me about a contract.
All this to say, I have far more important shit to get a handle on over my dating life.
Not that Quinton and I are dating by any means, even if it might feel like it right now. Because here I am, doing shit I’d be doing with a boyfriend—ice skating and Ferris wheel rides and deep, meaningful conversations—when all we are is fuck buddies.
Somewhere between the night in the frat house bathroom and right now, the lines got blurred. For me, at least. Because what we’re doing doesn’t make sense in my head anymore.
I’m helpless to stop it though.
“Where’d you just go on me?” he asks, cutting into my thoughts.
Busted. “Nowhere.”
The look on his face tells me he’s skeptical. “Oak, you might not know this about yourself…but you’re a terrible liar.”
“Just…it’s a pretty great view. That’s all.”
His eyes move back to the skyline as we swing up for our third and final time.
“It is. Say what you want about my parents, but I was lucky to grow up down here.” Lifting his arm, he points to one of the high rises a few blocks away.
“Right there. Penthouse apartment in downtown Chicago. More than most kids could ever dream of having, right?”
Nodding in agreement, I squeeze his hand. “So why does it feel like there’s a but lingering in your head?”
His head shakes. “Not but. I never wanted for anything. Not when it came to all the things necessary for me to survive. I had a roof over my head and was always fed—usually some five-course meal our chef would make—and made it to my fancy prep school on time every day, thanks to my personal driver.” He pauses, then repeats, “I never wanted for anything.”
Except, from the way he says it, there’s one thing he did want. Desperately, it seems.
Love.
And it breaks my fucking heart to pieces.