Chapter 35 Aston #3
Quentin stills. Slowly, he replaces his glasses and resumes his stoic position, arms crossed over his chest. Where I was hoping I’d find confusion or anger, or better yet, hurt…all I find is pity.
And I hate it. Despise it. It pisses me off more than I already am.
“Did you know Vale didn’t talk for over a year after that night?” he asks out of nowhere.
I tense at the mention of that night. But then what he’s saying registers, and I straighten to attention, arms dropping to my sides. “Not at all?”
“Not while he was awake,” he says in a pointed manner. Then, almost reluctantly, he adds, “He’d call for you in his sleep sometimes.” His voice is almost…gentle when he tells me that.
My eyes grow wide with shock.
Quentin’s brow furrows, head cocked as he searches my face. What he’s looking for, I could only guess. “I never told him. I don’t think he knows,” he admits.
I swallow audibly.
“It’s a bad idea,” he tells me, eyes creased with something akin to regret. “You two. You have to know that.”
I smile ruefully. “Because we were foster brothers?”
“Because he’s a psychopath.”
I roll my eyes. “Actually, no, I’m not. They ruled that ou—wait, what???” My smirk falls, along with my jaw, landing somewhere on the floor.
Quentin watches me steadily, pointedly, going on as if he didn’t just drop a grenade on my nuts. “And there’s nothing more dangerous that a psychopath with unresolved trauma.”
I stare at him for a long beat, before blinking a couple times. “That’s not…”
He cocks a brow. “Not true? Because I can assure you—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “No. No, I mean he’s not…” My voice trails off, failing me as the denial I’ve built in my head crumbles in record time.
Memories upon memories surge forth all at once—those that I still have from back then—from before, that is. Safe ones. And more recent ones…
Annndddd cue the, “Oh. Oh,” heard around the world.
“Well, fuck me in the ass,” I breathe, awe-struck. Quentin coughs. “That explains a lot,” I murmur faintly, thinking back on our last few encounters.
“You can understand now why—”
Tuning Quentin out, I pinch my lip between my thumb and forefinger as I pace back and forth across the room, running through all that’s transpired. “How did I not see this? I mean, okay, to be fair, I can be a little dense. But wow, wow, this is—”
“He can’t love you.”
I freeze, halting mid-step, words dying in my throat. Face bunched up, I turn my head, leveling Quentin with a withering glare.
His eyes widen, and he holds up a hand. “Not because of you…because of him. Because of the way his brain works.” At my scowl, he says gently, “Aston…he can’t empathize, he can’t feel remorse…
both of which are needed to sustain a healthy, long-lasting relationship.
His ability to connect—to relate to other people—is surface-level at best. He can’t—”
I’m shaking my head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it though?”
I turn fully on him. “No. It doesn’t. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Quentin opens his mouth, but I’m not done, so he smartly shuts his trap.
“It took you over a year to get him to talk? It took me less than two months.” At the widening of his eyes, I say, “Yeah, the whole mute thing? Didn’t start because of me.
It’s just who he is. It’s just one of his quirks.
We’ve all got ’em. Sometimes, I black out and st—” My gaze flicks to the mirror. “Stroke people.”
Quentin gives me a what the fuck look.
“And sometimes he just doesn’t feel like chit-chattin’.” I shrug. “I don’t know about you, but given the choice between,”—I mouth murder—“and silence…you might be warning off the wrong party here.” I hold up a hand. “Not that I want you to warn him off. For the record.”
“Noted,” he murmurs dryly.
I cross my arms and jut out my chin. “As if he’d even listen to you.”
“Confident, are we?” There’s something underlying his voice I can’t pinpoint. He sounds…amused, almost. Like he’s just humoring me.
“I know it might come as a shock to you, Quentin—can I call you Quentin?—but once upon a time, I had Vale wrapped around my itty bitty finger.” I twirl a digit in the air. “Didn’t you just say yourself, there’s not much he wouldn’t do for me?”
He dips his chin. “I did.” He pauses meaningfully. “But it’s not out of love, Aston.”
“Then what is it?”
“Hubris.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
“And when his pride is on the line? When his ego is put on the chopping block? There’s no telling what he’ll do.
No limit to the lengths he’ll go to eradicate whatever it is he felt threatened or wronged by.
” He sighs. “It blinds him to what is right and wrong. Makes him reckless in a way that is dangerous for everyone.”
I tilt my head. “Why are you telling me all this? Won’t Vale be pissed?”
“Oh, I’m sure he will. I’m not too worried though.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he wasn’t hiding it from you to begin with.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you saying he…wants me to know he’s a…psychopath?”
Damn, that’s going to take some getting used to.
The last so-called psychopath I met was some kid named Ollie at Ashwood. He was only ten years old, and he was admitted after attempting to murder his little sister. Something he bragged about to anyone who’d listen.
Dude was a freak.
And then one day he was just gone. Rumor had it he was transferred to a juvenile detention center, or Baby Prison as I liked to call it.
“He doesn’t not want you to know,” Quentin says in an unreadable tone. “Truthfully? I think he’s lonely. Even psychopaths crave companionship. I imagine it must be exhausting always having to fake it.”
I shake my head, the ache in my head getting more unbearable by the second. “So, which is it? Do you want me to stay away or get closer?”
He quirks a brow. “Didn’t we already establish you’re not walking away?”
When I say nothing to that, he goes on, “Like I said before, I’m worried. All it would take is one step in the wrong direction for him to sabotage everything. He’s got his entire future ahead of him. As do you.”
I look away at that.
“You do, Aston,” Quentin says emphatically. “I know you might be…hesitant to reach for it, and tonight didn’t help matters, but—”
“What do you know about any of it?” I snap, glaring at him. “Since when do you care about me?”
He flinches. It’s so subtle I nearly miss it.
Gotcha.
I mock-gasp, rounding my eyes. Tapping a finger to my lips, I say, “Oh, did I forget to mention I know your little secret?”
His mouth thins. “You looked me up.”
I smirk. “Does Vale know what you did? Does he know the real reason why you adopted him? Does he—”
“Yes.”
My mouth slams shut, and I straighten. Then, “He does?” I eye him warily up and down.
“Why do you think I moved us here? Why I got away from all that, and went private?”
I frown.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you,” he says with a surprising amount of sincerity. “I really am. What happened to you…”
Grinding my teeth, I say, “Don’t.” Our gazes lock, and I make sure he sees just how serious I am. If he keeps pushing, I won’t be held responsible for my actions. “You don’t want to go there.”
For a long moment, we just stare at each other.
Finally, he nods. “Just keep what I told you in mind, okay? Consider this my…Hail Mary.”
I frown. “What does religion have to do with any of this?”
His lips twist. “It’s a football term. A last ditch effort born out of desperation. I figured if I couldn’t scare you away, I could at least…inform you. Prepare you, so you’re not blindsided when things inevitably go sideways.”
“Why are you so certain it will end badly for us?”
He smiles but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years defending people like Vale, people like you…
it’s that some truths should never see the light of day.
And my fear is that the closer you two get,” he goes on to finish ominously, “the harder it will be to keep them buried in the dark.”
A chill skitters down my spine, and a dull throbbing has taken residence behind my eyes. Turning away, I screw up my face and give a quick shake of my head. Ignoring the way my heart pounds faster, and the floor beneath my feet ripples
Three…four…
You better lock the door…
A hand grips my shoulder, squeezing. “Aston.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
When the hell did he move?
Flinching away from him, I mutter, “Go away.” I can’t even be sure if my words are for him, or that…thing inside me.
Just as I open the door, he says, “I’m sorry for pushing. Just…consider what I said, okay? After everything you two have been through, I’d hate to see you hurt, either of—”
I cut him off with a scornful laugh. Peering over my shoulder, I say, “Did you ever think that maybe that’s exactly what I deserve?”
His eyes widen in shock, and I want to take the words back instantly. I don’t even really know where they came from—what place they were wrenched, raw and ragged. It’s not as if I feel…guilty for killing Rick.
Hell, it’s thanks to me Vale’s got himself this nosy busy-body of a daddy—a real DILF too, but that’s beside the point—meddling in our affairs.
At least one of us has a future.
If only we could share it…
The walls around me shiver. My skin grows cold and clammy.
“And Vale?” Quentin says from what feels like miles away. And still, despite how far away from my body I suddenly feel, our eyes remain locked when he asks, “What does he deserve?”
One beat passes.
Two…
Tearing my gaze from him, I throw open the door to leave. But not before vomiting up one last piece of honesty. Another hidden truth I know better than to lend any attention to.
And yet somehow, I find myself handing it right over to Quentin as if he could take it off my hands.
“A choice.”