“High five, dude,” Frog yelled at Travis. Travis slapped his palm and said something that made Frog shout with laughter.
“Fucking hell, Trav,” Cooper shouted and slung an arm over my shoulder. “We saw you punch that massive dude out there.”
My eyes were glued to Travis as Cooper spoke, watching carefully as his eyes changed—cool replacing the heat.
“What a douchebag! Our little Quinn needs the security more than we do.” Cooper jostled my shoulder and I tore my eyes away and mustered a smile for Cooper. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “You still smell like strawberries.” Then he winked at me before Mac pulled him away.
In that moment—watching everyone chatter loudly and laugh around me—I struggled not to feel alone. I’d been that way for so long it had overtaken my life, yet remembering those eerie shivers down my spine, like I was being watched, made it more prominent. Something fierce was bearing down, leaving me more uneasy than I’d felt in years.
***
Chapter Eight
Sunday lunchtime rolled around entirely too quickly. My appearance was required at the Valentine family barbecue. I would be seeing Travis there. In a social capacity. Nothing work related. Alcohol could possibly be involved. The very idea was making me late because everything in my wardrobe was utter rubbish—nothing that said “outfit to meet and socialise with the parents of the man you slept with once in a drunken moment of folly” jumped out at me. I shouldn’t have cared so much. I didn’t want to want Travis. I just did.
Juggling my handbag, keys, and the container of peanut butter and white chocolate chip biscuits I was up early baking, I locked the door of the townhouse. It was windy outside and strands of hair were ripped from their bobby pins, instantly ruining the hairstyle I’d taken great pains to put together. They whipped into my eyes, and growling irritably, I flicked my head to dislodge them. No doubt my neighbours, not including Lucy because she wasn’t home, would think I was having a wild stroke.
Flicking my head a second time, my eye caught a man striding towards me. Panic seized my body and the keys slipped from my hand and fell to the ground.
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I chanted silently as I dropped to the ground, grabbing them with trembling hands. I stood up and jammed them back in the door to unlock the townhouse.
“Quinn!” David yelled.
I glanced his way to see he’d picked up his pace to a jog.
Six months. I was supposed to have six more months! Why hadn’t someone done their job and notified me of his release?
“Dammit,” I muttered when the door stuck. I shoved at it, kicking the bottom corner hard with my foot. It flew open and I whirled around and slammed it shut behind me, the deadbolt sliding into place with a satisfying thunk. Heart in my throat, I scrambled for my phone and punched buttons frantically. When it started dialling I realised that panic had made me stupid because I’d rung Lucy.
“Shit.”
I quickly ended the call before she could answer and dialled emergency.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered, impatient for someone to answer.
“Quinn!” David yelled and oh God, the sound was right at my door. Loud banging accompanied the noise. “I know you’re in there. I saw you. Open the f**king door!”
The phone was answered and the operator told me to state my emergency. I explained in short, stuttered sentences, fumbling my words as she tried to make sense of their jumble.
“Police are on their way, David!” I shouted as I slid down the wall of the living room into a huddle. Rufus scratched at the back door wanting in, but I couldn’t bear him getting hurt if David managed to get inside. He whined at me, sensing something was wrong.
“You owe me over three years of my life in that shithole,” was his response.
For fifteen minutes the operator stayed on the line while David shouted, banged the door, and rattled windows.
“I’m here to collect,” he yelled. “And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it. When I’m done breaking you, you’re going to hand over the money you owe me.”
Money? What the hell was he talking about?
My body stopped rocking when the realisation that over five minutes of silence had slipped by. Another five minutes and the police were there doing a brief canvas of the area, asking questions, calling up prior assault records, and verifying the restraining order that should still be in place.
I was told that if they managed to pick him up, he would do another ninety days for the violation, as if that was supposed to reassure me.
My phone rang.
“Excuse me,” I murmured and answered it.
“Quinn? You’re late!” came Mac’s admonishment.
My voice shook as I gave my apology.
“Is everything okay?”
I looked around my townhouse. It wasn’t safe to stay here. Not now. The younger officer met my eyes. I could see hopelessness in them, as though he saw this shit every day and it was beating him down. Was it hard to offer nothing more than empty words of encouragement and fill out paperwork?
“Actually, nothing’s okay right now,” I admitted to Mac, too tired to pretend.
“Quinn?” Her voice lost its familiar intensity in favour of apprehension. “What’s going on?”
Rufus whined pitifully at the back door. “I don’t think I can make it today. I have to pack,” I told her.
“Pack? For what? Where are you going?”
“My place isn’t safe anymore. I have to find—”
“You’re not safe?” she half yelled. “Who—”
Mac was cut off this time, and after brief, muffled words, Travis came on the line.
“Quinn, are you in danger?” His words were harsh and urgent, yet hearing them had calm washing through me, as though his voice alone had the power to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
“No, I’m not. The police are here.”
“The police? I’m on my way.”
“No, Travis, everything’s under control—”
“Stay on the phone,” he told me. “Give me the keys to your bike,” I heard him order someone. Mitch’s muffled voice replied and after a moment, the throaty purr of an engine growled to life. “Hang on,” Travis yelled at me over the noise. The sound of a beep and clicking noise came through. “You there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Tell the police not to leave until we’re there, okay?”
They promised they would stay, and after relaying that to Travis, I offered the officers a drink.
“No thanks, ma’am,” said the older of the two.
I picked up the container of biscuits still sitting by the front door and sat it on the kitchen counter. Prying off the lid, I held it towards them. “Biscuit?”
The younger man looked at the older of the two. He shrugged and they both reached forward and took one each.
“Quinn, you still with me?” Travis yelled in my ear over the noise of a horn blasting and someone shouting. “You’ll have to speak up, okay?”
“Still here,” I replied loudly.
“Holy shit,” the younger officer barked out. “These are f—ah, nice biscuits, ma’am.”
His eyes were focused on the container, so I offered him another. He reached for one and when his responder crackled to life, he spoke into it around a mouthful of biscuit.
“Keep talking to me, Quinn. Tell me what you like to do when you’re not working,” Travis ordered.
“Oh…” Even with the fear and panic, my belly still fluttered just speaking to him on the phone. “Not much at all really. I like going to the beach or the movies, or just lazing around. Maybe that sounds boring to most people, but that’s my kind of thing.”
The sound of an engine gunning roared in my ears, then I heard, “If that makes you boring, then you can bore me stiff any day, sweetheart.”
The officers were focused on their paperwork, yet I still spun around to hide my flaming cheeks from their view. Oh my God the visions that his words evoked. Was he trying to distract me? If so, it worked. After a few more minutes of answering his random questions, my cheeks cooling, a loud throaty growl came thundering down the street and Travis said, “I’m here.”
I flew to the window and my mouth fell open, the phone still glued to my ear despite the fact that Travis had already hung up. He was peeling himself off a shiny, black motorcycle. Wearing faded jeans, a soft grey shirt, and a worn brown leather jacket, his powerful body strode determinedly to my front door. The blood in my veins boiled as he got closer, and my cheeks heated all over again.
Peeling the phone from my ear, I tossed it on the kitchen counter and made my way to the door. Seeing my movements, the young officer grabbed me from behind and hung on. I squirmed against his firm grip.
“It’s Travis at the door,” I explained.
He ignored me as the older policeman gave him a short nod and opened the door to the knock.
Travis stalked through, his presence overwhelming the small space. He ignored everything, his eyes searching my face before taking the length of me in carefully until he stood in front of me. Without moving his head, his eyes shifted to the young officer behind me, staring him down until he let go. Satisfied, Travis returned his eyes to mine.
“You okay?”
I managed a nod.
“Good.”
He took a step back, gaining distance, and I felt the loss. Hating that the simple movement affected me like it did, I said to the officers, “Thank you so much for your help today. Please let me know if you find him.” I looked everywhere but at Travis. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and pack.”
Leaving the room, muffled conversation followed my retreating form. I blocked it out. I didn’t want to know what they were telling Travis. He could charm the pants off anyone—I knew that first hand—no doubt they were busy telling him anything he asked.
I dragged a suitcase from my wardrobe and set it on the bed, opening the zipper. Returning again from the wardrobe, I tossed in a pile of clothes. No more banging on the wall that separated Lucy and I, yelling obscenities and laughing at each other. I returned with another pile of clothes. No more Lucy slipping over in her pyjamas to fight over the remote because Rick was watching the footy on their television. I went back for an armload of shoes. No more cooking for Lucy and running it next door so she could pass it off to Rick as her own work. I tossed the shoes in. Oh my God, I would even miss her Step Up movies. Maybe. All of sudden it felt like I was losing her just like I’d lost everything I’d ever cared about, which was stupid, but it hurt. It f**king hurt.
My eyes were burning when a tentative knock came at the open doorway. “Quinn?”
I rubbed angrily at an escaped tear, embarrassed and sickened that Travis was seeing firsthand knowledge of what my life was, is, like. From the abusive family to the tiny townhouse with its stained linoleum floors, cheap furniture, and aged bathroom that boasted a tacky shower curtain that stuck to your bum whenever you tried to move.
“I don’t know why you came, Travis, but everything’s fine. You should get back to your family’s barbecue.”