Chapter Eleven
Watching Him Hurt Her
Damien
There are things a man can tolerate. And then there are things he absolutely cannot. Unfortunately for me, Quinn Thomas dating Emette Black sits right on the line between those two categories.
I tell myself it’s not my business. I repeat that sentence like a mantra at least twelve times a day. Not my relationship. Not my place. Not my problem. And yet somehow I keep ending up in situations where I have to watch that guy chip away at her confidence like it’s his personal hobby.
And today is no exception.
I sit at one of the tables outside The Hideaway with a beer in my hand while the late afternoon sun slowly drops toward the trees across the street. Franklinton isn’t exactly known for its nightlife, but The Hideaway is one of the few places where people gather after work.
Adam owns the place. Which means the entire Grey family treats it like an extension of the living room. Across the table, Laine leans back in his chair while Alistair demolishes a plate of fries like it personally offended him.
“You’re staring again,” Laine says casually.
I blink. “What?”
“Across the street.”
I follow his gaze and there she is. Quinn. She’s walking toward the bar with Emette beside her. Her blonde hair moves in the breeze and she’s wearing a soft blue sundress that makes her look like she stepped out of a summer catalog.
She looks beautiful. Happy even. Which makes the tension in my chest slightly confusing. Because I should want her to be happy even if that happiness involves someone else.
Emette opens the door for her, and I mentally award him points for basic manners as they step inside.
“Well,” Alistair says, finally looking up from his fries. “This should be interesting.”
I glance at him. “Why?”
“Because half the town is in there tonight.”
“Okay.” I’m not really catching his drift.
“And people have opinions about Emette Black.”
“That’s not news.”
“Still,” Alistair says and gestures toward the bar door. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
I sigh internally. The last thing I want is drama. Unfortunately, drama seems to follow Emette Black like a loyal dog.
Five minutes later we’re inside The Hideaway. The bar smells like grilled burgers, spilled beer, and the faint hint of whiskey that seems permanently embedded in the wood paneling. Music plays from the jukebox while people talk and laugh at scattered tables.
And right near the center of the room, Quinn sits with Emette at one of the booths.
I immediately notice two things. First, she’s smiling politely.
Not the smile she has when she is happy or when no one is watching.
Second, he’s not paying attention to her.
He’s leaning halfway across the table talking to another guy about football like she’s not even there.
My jaw tightens and Laine notices.
“Relax,” he murmurs.
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re about to commit a felony.”
“I’m drinking beer.”
“You’re glaring.” He is a pain in my ass.
“I’m observing,” I counter.
“Same thing.”
We grab a table a few booths away. Close enough to see them but far enough that we’re not directly involved. Or at least that’s the plan.
Quinn tries to join the conversation twice and both times Emette talks over her. By the third attempt she stops trying and something unpleasant twists in my chest.
Alistair follows my gaze. “Man,” he mutters quietly.
“What?”
“That guy’s an idiot,” he says, matter of fact.
“I noticed.”
Quinn picks up her drink and takes a small sip. She glances around the room and that’s when her eyes land on our table. For a split second her expression brightens and she smiles. The real kind, warm and genuine.
She lifts a hand in greeting and I nod back. Across from her, Emette finally notices the direction of her attention and he turns. His gaze lands on me.
The temperature in the room seems to drop five degrees instantly. He stares and I stare back. Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. Some rivalries don’t require words.
Eventually he turns away again but the tension lingers.
The waitress brings us some fresh beers and conversation around the table resumes. But I keep noticing things. The way Quinn sits quietly while Emette dominates every conversation. The way he occasionally corrects her when she says something. The way her smile gets smaller every time he does it.
And I fucking hate it. Absolutely. Fucking. Hate. It.
Because Quinn deserves someone who listens when she talks. Someone who actually cares what she thinks, not someone who treats her like a background character in his life.
Laine nudges my arm. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Staring.”
I take a long drink of my beer. “Mind your business.”
“My business is preventing you from punching someone.”
“I’m not going to punch him.” I grind my teeth hoping my words are true.
“You look like you want to,” he points out, voice flat.
“Wanting and doing are different things.”
“Good.”
Across the room, Quinn laughs at something someone else says.
The sound is softer tonight, more cautious.
Not the bright laugh I heard earlier at the shop.
And that’s what pushes my patience a little closer to the edge.
Because I know what her laugh sounds like when she’s truly happy and this isn’t it.
Emette leans back in the booth and says something I can’t hear. Quinn responds and he rolls his eyes. Actually rolls his eyes, like she just said something ridiculous.
My fingers tighten around the beer bottle and Alistair notices.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I say without looking at him.
“You’re thinking about it.”
“Thinking is legal.”
“For now.”
The conversation at our table fades into background noise and all I can focus on is the booth across the room. The way Quinn’s shoulders slowly curl inward, the way she stops talking completely after a while, and the way Emette doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Finally, Quinn slides out of the booth, she says something to him, and he waves a dismissive hand without looking up. She heads toward the door and my body reacts before my brain finishes processing the movement.
“I’m going outside,” I say.
Laine grabs my arm briefly. “Damien.”
“What?”
“Be careful.”
“I’m just getting air.”
He studies my face for a second before he nods. “All right.”
I step outside into the evening air. The sky has turned a soft shade of orange as the sun dips toward the horizon. Quinn stands near the railing outside the bar, staring down the street like she’s trying to collect her thoughts.
She hears the door behind me and turns. “Oh. Hey.” For a moment neither of us says anything before she smiles. A tired kind of smile. “You guys came, too?”
“Adam owns the place.”
“Right.” She looks back toward the street. “Nice night.”
“Yeah.” Silence settles between us. Comfortable but also heavy with things neither of us is saying.
“Are you okay?” I ask finally, unable to keep the words back any longer.
“Of course.”
“That sounded automatic.”
“It was.”
I lean against the railing beside her. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“You’re very good at pretending.”
She sighs softly. “I just needed a little air.”
“Understandable.”
Inside the bar someone laughs loudly while the music shifts to a new song. Quinn watches the sky for a moment longer. Then she says something that makes my chest tighten again.
“Sometimes I think he doesn’t even like me.”
I turn toward her. “What?”
She shrugs slightly. “Emette.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it, though?”
“Yes.” My answer leaves no room for argument.
“Why?”
“Because anyone who spends five minutes around you would have to be an idiot not to like you.”
That earns a small laugh. “Flatterer.”
“Truth teller,” I counter with a small smile of my own.
She glances at me. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say nice things when I’m feeling down.”
“Maybe I just say what I’m thinking.”
“And what are you thinking right now?”
I hesitate because the honest answer is complicated, but the words come out anyway. “I think you deserve someone who makes you laugh like you did earlier today.”
Her eyes soften slightly. “That was a good laugh.”
“The best.”
She studies me for a second longer before she smiles again, a little brighter this time and I realize something. No matter how hard I try to stay out of her relationship, watching Emette hurt her is going to keep pushing my patience closer and closer to the edge.
Because some things a man can tolerate. But seeing a good woman slowly lose her sparkle? That’s not one of them.