36. Quinn
36
QUINN
“ H ow could you do that?” I scream, wailing on my brother’s shoulder in my pain and fury. “He’s your best friend, you idiot. He’s been nothing but good and loyal to this family. I’m in love with him, and you just chased him out of our home like he’s some wild animal!”
“As far as I’m concerned, he is,” Killian growls, rounding on me now that he’s certain Lance is gone. “And of course you’re in love with him. You’ve been pining over him since the day you realized you like men. He took advantage of that while you were scared and hurt and vulnerable. He looked me in the eye for weeks , pretending to be my friend while he was fucking you behind my back, and he never said a word.”
“Because I told him not to! Lance wanted to tell you from the start, but I knew you’d overreact, and what with the whole Italian conflict and me being kidnapped and then all this with Natasha?—”
“Don’t you dare make excuses for him,” he snarls, getting right in my face as he points a finger at me.
“Killian, please. Won’t you just listen to me? Lance and I are in love. He loves me. And I get that it could be hard to wrap your mind around when you’ve been friends for so long?—”
“We weren’t friends. We were brothers. And if he were ever truly my friend, he never would have touched you.” Killian towers over me, his rage expanding his size until I feel like I’m craning my neck to look up at him.
But if I won’t stand up to him, who will? I’m his sister, and as such, it’s my responsibility to tell him when he’s being a complete dolt. Like he is right now.
“Of course he’s your friend. He’s the best friend a moron like you could ever hope to have. And he’s felt horrible about it, but that doesn’t give you the right to an opinion about who he or I fall in love with.”
I know I’m being harsh, especially with the weight Killian’s carrying on his shoulders right now. No doubt he’s stressed about Natasha—who’s clearly devastated about her sister’s fate and probably beside herself with guilt. But if I can’t talk some sense into him, then I’m terrified I might lose Lance. Forever. And I feel like I only just found the happiness I’ve craved all my life.
“I do get to have an opinion about it when he’s fucking my baby sister under my roof. He’s over a decade older than you for Christ’s sake!”
“I’m twenty-three years old, Killian! I think I can decide for myself who has a right to fuck me, as you so crassly put it. And if you want to be this unreasonable, then maybe I don’t want to live under your roof any longer. I’m going after Lance.”
The decision hits me like a bolt from the blue, and I turn toward my closet to throw on some clothes. I don’t need to explain myself. I can talk to Killian when he cools down—if he cools down. In the meantime, I need to make sure Lance and I are alright. Because this feels so completely far from okay right now, I can’t stop crying.
“I don’t think so,” Killian says flatly, stalking toward the door.
“Excuse me?” I ask, giving him an incredulous look.
“You’re not going to see him,” he states bluntly. “And I don’t have time for this. I’ll deal with you later, but right now, I have more important things to think about than my pain-in-the-ass little sister.”
My heart plummets as I hear the key twist in my lock, trapping me inside my room. “You have got to be kidding me!” I scream, racing across the room to pound on my door. “Killian, you can’t keep me in here! Unlock this door right now!”
All I’m met with is silence, and I hammer on the door with the flat of my palm.
“Answer me, damn it!”
Grabbing the doorknob, I try to twist it, jerking it violently as I will it to give. But it’s no use. I can’t believe he locked me in here. Like some kind of prisoner.
Slowly, I sag onto the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. And I bury my face as I start to sob. What a mess. I don’t know how I’m supposed to make this right.
I feel terrible.
I know Lance was most worried about Killian finding out that way, and now I see why. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined my brother could come unhinged quite like that. Then again, Killian’s been through so much. I’m not quite sure he is in his right mind at this moment.
Still, I feel the aching emptiness in my chest with Lance’s absence. And I wonder just how bad the pain might get if I never see him again…
Dark eyes leer at me above a cruel smile, and strong hands grip my shoulders when I turn to run.
“Let me go,” I plead, struggling against the painful hold he has on me. I try to use one of Natasha’s moves. Only this time, it doesn’t work. Every time I drive my elbows down to break his hold, he strikes me across the face, and I see stars.
Then Lance is there, looming over my attacker, and relief floods me. He’s here. I’m safe.
“I don’t think so,” Killian says, cocking his gun as he raises it.
“No, wait!” I scream, but it’s too late.
The bullet explodes from the tip of the gun, hitting Lance between the eyes. He drops.
I scream. And I scream. And I scream. Until my throat is raw and burning.
I jolt upright in my bed, the cry dying on my lips, and I’m drenched in a bone-chilling sweat that makes me shiver uncontrollably.
But more than that, I feel the bile rising up my throat like a volcano about to explode. I’m going to throw up.
Throwing off my covers, I launch myself out of bed and race toward the bathroom. I make it with seconds to spare, collapsing onto my knees and pulling back my hair before I regurgitate every last bite of the dinner Cheryl brought me.
It’s the third day in a row that I’ve thrown up like this, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s actually a stomach bug or if I’m just so upset and brokenhearted that it’s making me sick. Whatever the case, I can’t bring myself to eat most of the three square meals a day Cheryl brings me.
My nightmares have come back in full force with Lance’s absence. And what’s worse is that he keeps making cameo appearances. Only every time I see him, he ends up dying—usually at Killian’s hand.
A fresh wave of nausea hits me, and I lean over the porcelain once more to retch, but nothing comes up. I’ve been able to keep so little down that when my body does decide to purge, it only takes one good round before I’m just dry heaving.
Breathing heavily, I lean my forehead against my forearm as I hug the toilet miserably.
“Quinn?” Sharp knocking on the far side of my bedroom door accompanies Killian’s arrival.
“Go away,” I moan, tears springing to my eyes. Because the last person I want to see right now is my brother. He just shot the man I love, and in such vivid detail, I’m still not 100 percent certain that it was a dream and not a memory. But the events around it don’t quite make sense, chronologically, which makes me lean toward it being a bad dream.
“Are you sick?” Killian’s voice is much clearer now, and I realize he’s entered my room and is standing in the bathroom doorway.
“What do you want?” I ask miserably, refusing to look at him. I know I’m being a brat, but day by day, I find it harder to forgive my brother when he’s still refusing to be reasonable. And all the while, I feel the gaping hole in my chest growing more massive. If I don’t find a solution soon, I’m scared it might just swallow me whole.
“I thought I heard screaming,” he says gently, a note of concern tinging his tone.
Of course he did. He chased away the only one who can keep my monsters at bay. A sob rips from my chest as I think of Lance. God, I miss him so much it makes me physically ache.
“Quinn, what’s wrong?” Killian asks, genuinely worried now as he kneels beside me.
“I miss Lance. I need Lance,” I cry, blubbering pathetically. I don’t know why I can’t seem to control myself, but it feels like all I do lately is throw up or cry. And on the rare occasion when sleep sweeps me away from my reality, it carries me off into my own personal hell.
Killian stiffens beside me, tension rippling off him in waves, and he stands abruptly. “Stop being dramatic,” he says, his tone suddenly frigid. “He hasn’t even come back to check on you, so I think we can both assume his feelings weren’t nearly as real as you had hoped.”
“You chased him away at gunpoint, you asshole!” I scream. “Of course he hasn’t come back. You threatened to kill him if he ever tried.”
“And I will. Look at what he’s done to you, Quinny.”
Suddenly furious, my nausea forgotten, I jump to my feet. “What he’s done to me? This is entirely your fault, Killian. You won’t even let me talk to him! And you never gave him a chance to explain!”
“I don’t need an explanation,” my brother says flatly.
“Get out,” I command. “I said get out! I hate you!” I practically chase my brother out the door, and then I break down crying once again.
After a long moment, I hear Killian’s miserable voice from the other side of the door. “I’m sorry, Quinny. I just want to protect you.”
I don’t answer, and eventually, I hear his heavy footsteps fade away.
Just dragging myself to the toilet has become an exhaustive effort. I can’t remember the last time I managed to keep food down. And at this point, just the smell of it makes me sick. So I brought my plastic waste bin to put beside my bed, and I curled into a ball.
I don’t know how long I’ve stayed in this position. But I know Cheryl has come and gone multiple times. Killian too. But I refuse to talk to him anymore. Not until he snaps out of it and comes to his senses about Lance.
“She’s doing this to spite me,” he growls lowly, my brother’s familiar voice worming its way into my feverish dreams.
“I don’t know.” That sounds like Natasha, and her tone is edged with concern. “She looks like she might actually be sick.”
Cool fingers press against my forehead, and I shiver violently.
“I think we should call Dr. Miller. You said she was throwing up?”
“Days ago. Maybe. But when I asked her what was wrong, she just said she missed Lance. I thought she was being dramatic, trying to make a point.”
“She hasn’t been drinking either,” Cheryl says with apparent concern.
Natasha sighs. “Killian. You’re being unreasonable.”
Thank you, Natasha.
“Look at poor Quinn. She’s not well. She’s hurting, and it doesn’t matter if you feel like he betrayed you. Think about it from her perspective. You threatened to kill the man she’s in love with. You said it yourself how crazy she is about him.”
“It’s a child’s crush that he took advantage of when he knew I wasn’t paying close enough attention,” Killian growls.
“Regardless of how you feel about it, you need to have a doctor look at Quinn.”
“I’ll call Dr. Miller right now.”
“Quinn? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”
I don’t recognize the soft male voice, but it’s calm and reassuring, and it pulls me from my haunting nightmares full of cruel brown eyes and riding crops and torture devices.
“Hmm?” I murmur, checking to see if I can, in fact, lift my eyelids.
They feel heavy, but I manage it, only to find they grate like sandpaper across my eyes.
Kind blue eyes look at me through wire-rimmed glasses, and the gray-haired man gives me an encouraging smile. “Good. Can you follow my light with your eyes?”
I try, though my brain feels sluggish, and I just want to close my eyes again. Something tightens around my bicep and another cool circle finds the inside of my elbow. Then it releases with a hiss.
“Her vitals look pretty normal, though she appears to be quite dehydrated. And if she’s been throwing up, I would say that’s most likely the cause. I’d like to run a few tests, and in the meantime, I’ll start her on some fluids to help with the dehydration…”
I think I drift off then, because I lose track of what the kind old man is saying.
And when I open my eyes again, I’m shocked at how much better I feel. How much more awake. Frowning, I sit up slowly and look around my bedroom. An IV’s been hooked up to my arm with fluids—to help rehydrate me, I recall. Which makes sense, now that my brain doesn’t feel so foggy. I’ve been unable to keep anything down for so long. Of course I got too low on fluids.
“Ah, you’re awake, and you look like you’re feeling better already.” That same kind-eyed older man shuffles toward me from the bathroom, where it looks like he’s been doing some bloodwork. “You’ve got a bit of color back in your cheeks, so I think we’re on a good track.” He smiles, his mustache spreading at the corners like wings.
“Am I sick?” I ask, grateful to finally have someone who can give me some answers about why I’ve been feeling so god-awful lately—beyond my broken heart.
“Overall, I’d say you’re quite healthy, Quinn,” the doctor says, giving my hand an encouraging pat. “Though you were quite dehydrated and your tests would say you’re pretty depleted of vitamins. I’ll prescribe you an anti-nausea medication to get you through the worst of it, and I would recommend you start taking a prenatal right away.”
My heart skips a beat at the casual way he says it. “I’m sorry. A prenatal…are you telling me I’m pregnant?” I ask.
That can’t possibly be true. Lance came inside me, what, a week ago? There’s no way I would be experiencing morning sickness already. But if the doctor did blood work, then it must confirm I am.
Then it hits me. That first night Lance and I had sex. Briefly, he was inside me without a condom. But he didn’t come without one. And while it’s possible to get pregnant from precum, it’s so unlikely, I didn’t even think about taking a contraceptive.
But that’s not all that happened is it?
Because by the time he was inside me without a condom, Lance had already come once. And if he had any remaining sperm from the first time…Oh dear God. I’ve been pregnant all this time.
“You are indeed pregnant, Miss King. From the looks of it, I’d say you’re about a month along,” the doctor confirms. “I believe congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks,” I breathe, too stunned to think straight.
“I’ve left the nausea medication on your counter along with a recommended brand of vitamin. Please call me with any questions or if your nausea continues, yes?”
“Right. Yeah, thank you, Doctor,” I say as he packs his bag to leave.
My mind’s still spinning when Killian knocks a few minutes later.
“Come in!” I call, and he does, his expression almost sheepish as he steps inside.
“How you feeling?” he asks gently—more gently than he’s spoken to me in days.
“Better,” I admit, then my stomach knots as I wonder exactly what I should tell him.
Everything. Because maybe if he knows, Killian will realize it was wrong to send Lance away. He’s the father of my child. He should be here with me.
“Killian,” I say cautiously, “I have something to tell you.”
“Okay?” His eyes narrow suspiciously as he tips his head.
“You need to call Lance and tell him to come home. I’m pregnant, and he deserves to know.”
“You’re…what?” he asks, color rising in his cheeks.
“Lance should know he’s going to be a father. He deserves a chance to be a father to our child and?—”
“Like hell he does!” Killian roars, making me jump. “That bastard took advantage of you, and he didn’t even bother to use protection? If I ever find Lance, I’ll kill him for knocking you up.”