Broken (21 page)

And for some odd reason, tears stung her eyes.

Sara stared at the message displayed on her phone and told herself again,
Don’t get excited
.

Call me.
That was all it said. It could be nothing. It could be problems. It could be a warning. No reason to get excited, she knew.

Still, her fingers shook as she made the call. “Yeah?”

“I’m close.”

She licked her lips and asked, “Close to what?”

“Not telling you. But I’m close.” The call ended.

“Damn it,” Sara snarled. She threw the phone down on the counter and turned, staring outside. Close . . . close to what, and how close?

She’d put the maps away, tucked them out of sight so she didn’t have to see them, even though she didn’t need the glaring reminder. But now she went and pulled one out, staring at it. She hadn’t made any notes on the map—never a good idea, but she remembered the routes she’d planned, outlined in her head.

Was it possible that she wouldn’t need to leave?

She didn’t even want to hope. Part of her, though, couldn’t help it.

Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to leave.

Maybe, just maybe, she could keep Quinn. For as long as he wanted her, anyway.

“DAMN, Sara. I don’t know what you’re doing lately, but I want some of it.”

“Huh?”

Sara looked up from the counter where she was counting out her tips and found Meagan watching her with a wicked grin. “I said I want some of it.”

Sara looked at her tips and then at Meagan, scowling. “You’ve got your own tips.”

Meagan laughed. “Not talking about the money . . . I’m talking about whatever has that smile on your face lately.”

“A man,” Annette said from behind the cash register where she was also counting up money. “Only thing that makes a girl smile like that is a man.”

“I dunno . . . good chocolate can make me smile pretty big,” Sara hedged while blood rushed up to stain her cheeks red.

“So you were thinking about chocolate?” Meagan snorted. “Honey, chocolate might make you smile, but it won’t make you blush. So . . . is it a man?”

“Ahh . . .” Sara didn’t know how to answer that. Girl talk was something she’d been lacking in, almost as much as just regular old small talk—except while she abhorred small talk in general, she’d always loved sitting around and talking with friends.

She missed it.

It was dangerous, though. Too dangerous. Even though a sliver of hope had settled inside her heart, she wasn’t going to mess up. She had to stay careful. She shot Meagan a small smile and shrugged, keeping her voice level as she said, “There might be a guy.”

“Might?”

“Might be. We’re mostly just friends, though.”

“Man, I need a friend who can make me smile that way.” Meagan rolled her eyes and then added, “Well, other than a battery-operated one.”

Annette snickered. “Batteries don’t operate good enough to bring on that kind of smiling.”

They all laughed, and finished counting things up in silence. When it was time to leave, just like he normally did, Annette’s husband Arnold walked Meagan and Sara to the bus stop. An ex-Marine, he still had that hard, tough look to him, and the thugs that might have hassled the women that late at night cut a wide berth around him.

“You be careful getting off, honey,” he said, smiling kindly at Sara as her bus slowed down.

“I will.”

The bus stopped just a block from Theresa’s, and while it was late, it wasn’t that late. Most of the time, her ride was uneventful, and this one turned out the same way. A lesson in monotony, slow at this stop, drive by that one, slow . . . drive by . . . slow . . . by the time it slowed for her, the rhythm had all but lulled her to sleep and she knuckled her eyes before rising from the seat and making her way up front.

She paused at the door as it opened, pleasantly surprised to see Quinn waiting there for her.

“Everything okay?” the driver asked from behind her.

“Yes.” She shot a smile at the lady over her shoulder and then jogged down the stairs. She stopped on the curb and they waited in silence as the bus pulled away. She tucked her hands into her pockets as Quinn pushed off the railing. “Waiting for somebody?” she asked as a foolish smile spread over her face.

In lieu of answering, he reached out and hooked a hand around the back of her neck, tugging her up against him. As his mouth came down on hers, she grinned against his lips and said, “I guess so.”

When the kiss ended, she sighed and settled back down on her feet. Grinning up at him, she said, “You’re definitely better than chocolate.”

Quinn arched a brow at her. “I am?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“This something you’ve thought about a lot?”

Sara shrugged. “Not until a few minutes ago. I was getting off work and apparently I had this grin on my face. Somebody asked about it, and then somebody else said only a man makes a woman grin like that. So I say I’ve grinned like that about chocolate, but I think I might have lied. You’re definitely better than chocolate.”

“Glad to hear that.” He cupped her face in his hand and stroked his thumb over her lip.

She kissed him there and then pulled back, started down the sidewalk. He fell into step beside her. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she said, “This is getting to be a regular thing.”

“What?”

“You waiting here when I get off of the bus.”

He was quiet for a moment. When he did speak, his voice was neutral, carefully so. “Is that a problem?”

Sara shrugged. It
should
be a problem. She knew that.
He
should be a problem. And in a way, he was, but it was the wrong kind of way. Instead of wanting to keep him at a distance, she wanted him close, all the time close, which really led to more problems.

How was she ever going to manage leaving him?

“Not really a problem . . . just wondering why.”

“Maybe because I like seeing you,” he said, shrugging. Then he stopped and reached out, catching her hand to bring her to a halt as well. “Screw that. I do like seeing you. Besides, it’s not like you’re walking home in broad daylight. You never get home before ten and I’d just rather not think about you making the walk at night.”

Cocking a brow at him, she pointed out, “I’ve made the walk a million and one times at night and haven’t had any trouble. And this is definitely a better neighborhood than I’m used to—nothing much ever happens around here.”

“I know that.” He shifted from one foot to the other, shoving a hand through his hair. His eyes stared off into the distance, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable meeting her gaze.

Nervous, she realized. He was nervous.

It was a rare thing for him to actually
look
nervous, Sara decided. She’d seen him pissed before, seen him irritated, seen him amused, but
nervous
was new.

“Look, I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, jerking a shoulder up. “I just feel better walking with you.”

His eyes cut to hers, but whatever he felt besides nervousness, he kept hidden, tucked away behind that blank, gruff exterior. “You want me to stop?”

“Would you?” she asked, tilting her head.

He gave a single, short nod. “If you tell me you want me to stop, yeah, I’ll stop. I’ll be pissed off, but I’ll stop.”

Sara took one step forward. That put her close enough so all she had to do to kiss him was rise up on her toes. His mouth lowered to meet hers, but she didn’t kiss his lips. She angled her head and brushed her mouth against his cheek, then over to his ear. “You don’t have to stop.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” Settling back on her heels, she smiled up at him. “I’m not used to having somebody who wants to watch out for me . . . it’s kind of weird, but I like it.”

“NO.”

Sara wasn’t really a light sleeper, but the talking, along with Quinn’s restless thrashing, was definitely enough to drag her out of sleep. Confused, she lay in the bed, staring up into darkness while her brain tried to function.

Next to her, Quinn jerked and spoke again. His voice was barely more than a sob this time, so guttural and hoarse, it barely made sense.

It was a name, though. Like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on her, she was suddenly very, very aware. Although as he said the name again, she wished otherwise.

It was a woman’s name.

Elena
—

Jealousy ate at her even while her heart broke a little at the pure misery in his voice. Uncertain, she lay there. Did she try to wake him up? Did she get pissed off? Storm off? Kick him out of the bed?

Then he whispered, “I’m sorry.” His words were so tormented, so full of pain that her heart decided what she should do before her brain could even process it. She snuggled closer, working an arm around his waist and rubbing her cheek back and forth against his sweat-dampened chest. Tears stung her eyes as his chest heaved. A sound suspiciously like a sob ripped from him, harsh and raw.

His name leaped to her lips—she wanted to shake him, urge him out of whatever awful dreams held him captive. But her sense of self-preservation had her holding her tongue. She remembered the last time she’d caught him off guard, and while she definitely wasn’t mad about it, she really would rather not catch him off guard again—especially while he was caught in the grip of a nightmare.

So instead, she held him and stroked him, used her body to reassure him as best she could. It finally worked. In his sleep, he turned to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close and tight.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered again.

Unable to stop herself, she slid a hand down his back and murmured, “Shhhh . . .”

He came awake, his entire body jerking. He rasped out, “Fuck.”

She kissed his chest. His heart was racing, pounding against his ribs in a hard, fast rhythm. “You okay?”

“Just dandy,” he muttered.

Tipping her head back, she stared at him as he rubbed his eyes. It was too dark to make out his face clearly, but she wasn’t certain that was a bad thing—she wasn’t certain she could handle seeing his face just now.

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Yeah.” He sighed and turned his head away. “I have them sometimes. Did I wake you up?”

She shrugged.

“I’m sorry.”

Kissing his chest, she shrugged again. “Don’t be sorry.” She licked her lips and then hesitantly asked, “You want to talk about it?”

He didn’t respond right away, and she wasn’t sure if she should be glad or not. She wanted to know, but at the same time she didn’t. She didn’t want to know who Elena was, but she had to know. She didn’t need to find out too many details about the guy, but at the same time, she needed to know more.

But then he wrapped his arms around her, once more pulling her close, clutching her against him, like he desperately needed to feel her against him. “You really don’t want to know what kind of shit I was dreaming about, darlin’. Trust me.”

“I dunno . . . it sounds like maybe you should talk about it. Talk about her.” She kept her voice level and flat, keeping her own anguish locked away.

He tensed and she caught her lower lip between her teeth, deciding she was definitely glad she couldn’t see his face clearly just then. Because that meant he probably couldn’t see hers too well either, which meant he wouldn’t see the misery in her eyes.

“Her?” he echoed back, his voice husky.

“The woman you were dreaming about. You said her name a couple of times . . . then you kept saying ‘I’m sorry.’ Over and over.”

“Shit.” He jerked away from her and climbed out of the bed, stalking across the room.

Tears burned her eyes. Drawing her knees to her chest, she smoothed the blankets around her and then pressed her brow to her knees.