She wasn’t far. The wind brought him the scent of a campfire, and he followed that. Adam followed him, silent but very present.
And there was Quinn, passed out on a fleece blanket between two guys. She was still fully clothed, but tension hovered in the air, making Nick pause to size up the situation. Big guys. Drunk guys who stopped laughing when they caught sight of Nick and Adam.
Now Nick regretted not bringing Gabriel.
Wuss.
“Thanks for the call,” said Adam, his voice easy, as if they hadn’t walked into a tense situation. “We can take Quinn home.”
The one guy, the darker haired one, sneered. “We didn’t call for a couple of fags.”
Nick froze. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the word around school—usually as a joke in the locker room—but it hit him very differently when it was directed at him. When he’d been walking along having . . . thoughts.
Adam didn’t hesitate, he just walked over and started picking Quinn up. “I’m sure Quinn didn’t, either, but apparently you two showed up.”
Both men were on their feet. The dark-haired one went after Adam.
Nick was quick. He caught the guy’s arm, but he didn’t fight him. “Hey.” Wind whipped around him, responding to his emotion. But he was used to placating his twin, and he kept his voice easy. “Chill out. We’re just here to take her home.”
The guy swung around and punched him in the face.
Nick hit the sand before he realized he was falling.
Damn, it hurt. It hurt about a bazillion times more than when Quinn had done the same thing. He hadn’t even been expecting it. At least when he tried to stop his twin from fighting, Gabriel listened.
Nick found his footing in the sand. Now he was pissed, and the air enjoyed that, pulling sand into tiny tornadoes at his feet. The wind turned ice cold, coming off the water like it was blowing from a glacier.
The other guy, the one with lighter hair, had grabbed his friend. Adam had Quinn, and he looked like he was wrestling with whether to put her down and help. He’d moved back, toward their motorcycles and the tree line.
“Go,” Nick said to him. “Get her to the truck.”
Adam glanced between him and the guys on the beach. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
Nick wasn’t sure, either. He wasn’t a fighter, not really. And what was he going to do? Suffocate them? Freeze them to death? Blast them with sand?
“It’s all right,” said the light-haired guy. He still had a death grip on his friend, but his words had a hint of slur. “Take her home. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“Yeah,” said Nick. “Looks like it.” But he glanced at Adam and took a step toward the trail. Adam met his eyes, and they shared a moment of silent agreement.
Adam didn’t want to fight, either.
And that was refreshing.
The dark-haired guy swore. “I’m going to kill those—”
“Run,” said Nick.
Adam ran. Nick was right behind him.
And then they were tearing through the darkness, leaping into the truck.
And then they were gone.
CHAPTER 5
Nick had to fight to keep the truck near the speed limit. He kept checking the rearview mirror, looking for motorcycles or any sign of danger.
“They can’t follow us,” Adam said. “At least, I don’t think they can.”
Nick didn’t look away from the road. Quinn was a heavy weight against him, buckled into the middle bench seat. He had a pretty good sense that she was drooling on his shoulder.
“How do you know?”
“I disabled their bikes. Maybe.”
Nick looked over. “How did you do that?”
Adam shrugged, and it looked like he was trying to hide a smile. “Yanked some wires. I don’t know.”
Nick smiled. “Smart.”
Adam snorted, and his voice turned a bit self-deprecating. “Yeah, not too bad for a ‘couple of fags,’ huh?” Before Nick could say anything to that, Adam looked over again. “Sorry to drag you into that. The guy sounded okay on the phone.”
“I’m just glad Quinn wasn’t hurt.” Though she smelled like a frigging distillery.
“Are you okay?”
Nick shrugged. He could already feel swelling starting on his jaw, and blood was a bitter taste on the side of his tongue. “It’s not the first time I’ve been hit, and it probably won’t be the last. I’ll be all right.” Gabriel would probably shit a brick when he got home, though.
“He was going to hit me,” said Adam, and there was something like wonder in his voice.
“I’m happy to hit you if you feel like you’re missing out on the full experience.”
“No, just—” Adam hesitated. “Thanks.”
Nick shrugged again, uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being the rescuer. “I wasn’t trying to fight him. I thought I could talk him down.”
“Still. No one’s ever done that for me.”
Nick didn’t know what to say to that. Then Adam’s cell phone chimed, and that was enough to distract him from the conversation.
“Wow,” said Adam. “It’s from that guy on the beach. He said he’s sorry his friend got out of control.”
“I’m surprised he’s not begging us not to press charges.”
Adam looked at him. Nick could feel the weight of his eyes in the darkness. “Do you want to?”
Nick shook his head. The last thing he needed to do was draw attention to his family. To say nothing of dragging Quinn into it. She had enough problems.
Adam’s cell phone chimed again, and he read off the screen. “He says he has a little sister, and he took care of her, so he wanted to look after Quinn. He says neither of them hurt her.” A pause, another chime, and Adam guffawed. “He asked if we’d give her his number.”
Nick snorted. “I’m surprised he can text coherently, as hammered as they were.”
“I think there’s a fair bit of autocorrect going on. Every time he tries to say her name, it says Quinine.”
Nick laughed outright at that.
But then he sobered when he glanced over and found Adam staring at him.
Nick knew that look. It was how girls sometimes looked at him, with cartoon hearts practically exploding from their eyes.
It was unnerving.
With girls, he could smile back. Flirt. A glance here, a touch there, a teasing word. It cost him nothing, and it was what everyone expected.
Right now, it left him breathless and uncertain. Because what everyone expected was in direct contradiction with what he wanted.
He locked his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. “You’ll have to tell me where you live again.”
Adam must have noticed the sharpness in his voice, because he gave the return directions flatly, reciting his address by rote. The hearts were gone from his eyes, and he was studying the windshield with almost as much focus as Nick.
Nick didn’t like that.
He dulled the edge in his tone. “You sure you don’t mind her sleeping it off at your place?”
“Nah,” said Adam quietly. “It’s nothing.”
Adam lived in a basement apartment at one of the aging brick complexes on the edge of Annapolis. The apartment was small, practically an efficiency. One bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen–living room–dining room combo. All beige carpet, white walls with dark photography prints everywhere, and minimal furniture. A tiny two-seater kitchen table was tucked into the corner by the oven, and there was a couch and an end table, but no television. Just piles of books everywhere. Cluttered, but neat and orderly.
The air was peaceful here, and Nick took a long breath for what felt like the first time all evening.
“You can put her on the bed,” Adam whispered, though they’d been speaking normally in the car and she hadn’t stirred.
Nick shouldered through the doorway and eased Quinn onto the bed, pulling a black and blue–checked quilt over her sl
eeping form. Her breathing still felt regular, and the air whispered nothing of danger, so he felt pretty sure she was fine.
Then he straightened and realized he was in Adam’s room. Alone.
It felt quiet and intimate and smelled like oranges and cloves, and Nick didn’t want to leave.
But what was he going to do? Sit here?
God, he felt so selfish. Quinn was lying here, unconscious. He should have just taken her to his house initially.
But then Adam wouldn’t have called.
He reached for the normal mental barriers to tell himself to shut up, but here, in someone else’s space, it was a lot harder to lie to himself.
He needed to leave.
Adam stuck his head through the doorway. “I started some coffee. How do you take it?”
This would be the perfect opportunity to decline, to get out and go home.
“Just cream,” he said.
When he was sitting at the little table in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a mug, he fought for something to say.
But all he could think about was the way Adam’s hands had poured cream into the mugs, or the graceful way he moved about the kitchen, or the shape of his mouth or the brown of his eyes or the—
Adam sat down and Nick jerked his eyes back to his mug. He took a quick gulp.
“How’s the coffee?” Adam’s voice was amused. And close.
This table was too damn small.
“It’s great. Thanks.” Nick still couldn’t look at him. His cheeks felt warm, and he hoped that was just the steam from the coffee. He doubted it.
Adam was silent for a long minute. A weighted minute.
Then he said, his voice completely sober, “When I was seventeen, Quinn told me she had a crush on me. I told her I had a crush on the starting center of the football team. A few days later, someone slammed my face into the corner of my locker. I never saw who did it. But he broke my nose and two teeth. I had to have reconstructive surgery. I didn’t go back to school.”
Nick was looking at him now. “Holy shit.”
Adam shrugged. “It wasn’t that long ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Nick frowned. “I think—I think I did. I remember something. . .” He shook his head. It was one of those high school dramas, the complete focus of hallway gossip for like five minutes, then gone.
Unless you were the center of the drama, like Adam.
Nick wasn’t entirely sure what to say. That he understood? He’d gotten in enough fights because of being an Elemental that he could relate—but saying so didn’t seem right.
He had to clear his throat. “I’m surprised you provoked those guys on the beach.”
Adam shrugged. “I’m not going to live in fear because of who I am. If that idiot who hit me thought he could scare me straight, it didn’t work.”
The words made Nick’s throat swell. He had to look back at his mug. It hammered home his exact position. Being an Elemental, struggling to find his place among his brothers, hiding who he was with Quinn and every other girl. Funny how the first place he’d found some shred of peace was in a stranger’s apartment, drinking coffee while his girlfriend slept off a bender.
“You’re going to have one hell of a bruise,” Adam said.
“Yeah, well.”
Adam touched his face, and Nick froze. His fingers were warm, gentle, and Nick wanted to freeze time.
Then Adam said, “I’m an idiot. I should have gotten you some ice.”
And his fingers were gone, and Nick was sitting there practically breathless with wanting him back.
One touch, and he was going to pieces. He wanted to slam his forehead on the table.
Adam came back with ice wrapped in a towel, and Nick was so scattered that he almost said that water was Chris’s thing, and it would probably help more to just leave it uncovered.
But then the towel was against his bruised cheek, and Adam’s other hand was on his neck to stabilize it, and even though Nick knew he should be taking over the holding of the towel, he didn’t want to move for fear of disrupting this moment.
It was nothing short of a miracle that the heat off his face wasn’t instantly melting all the ice.
Adam’s thumb tapped against his neck. “Your heart is racing.” No kidding.
Nick turned his head away and took the ice-filled towel. He set it on the table and had to look into his coffee mug again.
“Sorry,” said Adam. “I know there’s no point in pushing your buttons. You’re just adorable when you blush like that.” Then he was grinning. “Or like that.”
“Yeah, this is fantastic.” Even his voice was gravelly and uncertain.
Adam picked up the towel and held it out. “I’ll stop. You hold the—”
Nick shifted forward and kissed him.
He hadn’t given it a moment’s consideration—and if he had, he probably wouldn’t have done it at all. But now he couldn’t imagine stopping.
Kissing a girl was nothing like this. The basic mechanics, sure. But kissing Adam, there was a strength behind it, a raw masculinity despite his lyrical movement and gentle fingers. Nick was distantly aware of the ice hitting the floor.
Then Adam was kissing him back, drawing at Nick’s tongue with his own. He had a hand behind Nick’s neck, stroking the hair there, and Nick wished he could freeze this exact moment.
Oh, and the next moment, when Adam bit at Nick’s lip.
And the moment after that, when Nick stroked a hand up Adam’s neck, finding the first start of stubble across his jaw.
It was like every thought he’d ever blocked, every fantasy he’d ever refused to acknowledge, was blasting through his brain all at once with the force of a hurricane. Everything he knew was with a girl. Like reciting a learned lesson, something he could do because he had to.
This—this was new. And exciting. And primal and raw and right.
And insanely hot. He wished there weren’t so many damn clothes in the way.
They were going to be on the floor in a minute.
“Easy. Easy,” said Adam.
Nick felt like he was coming up for air.
Hell, he was practically panting.
He looked into Adam’s brown eyes, which were just now searching his.
“Well,” said Adam, a slight smile on his lips. “That was unexpected.”
Unexpected. Somehow the best and worst word to use. All of a sudden, the emotion of the evening caught up with him, and Nick felt the inexplicable urge to put his head on Adam’s shoulder and cry.
But then a girl cleared her throat from behind him.
“You can say that again,” said Quinn.
CHAPTER 6
Quinn wondered just how many times life was going to jerk her around today.
She’d have to storm past Nick and Adam to get to the front door, but a sliding glass door led out of the living room. An alcoholic buzz still made her thoughts swim, but she managed to get the lock thrown. She stumbled onto the tiny concrete patio. Cold air bit at her cheeks before Nick caught up to her.
“Stop,” he said. “Quinn, stop, please—”
She swung around and hit him. Rage-filled strikes that slammed into his chest and made her head ache and vision whirl.
She was vaguely aware she was crying, and she had no idea how many times she hit him before he caught her arms and forced her still.
Quinn looked up at him. Her body felt like she was still moving. The stars spun overhead. Her stomach rolled.
“Quinn,” he whispered.
“Nick,” she said back.
And then she threw up on his feet.
He deserved it, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating. She expected him to shove her away in disgust, or to drop her there in her own puke, because she could barely hold herself upright.
But he kicked off his shoes and picked her up.
“I want you to leave me alone,” she said, even as her head lolled onto his shoulder against her will.
&nb
sp; “No offense,” he said as he carried her back into the apartment, “but I’m pretty sure you’re as screwed up about what you want as I am.”
He cleaned her up and put her back in Adam’s bed. Then he wrapped the quilt around her and lay down beside her.
Adam brought her Tylenol and a glass of water, then left them alone.
Quinn stared through the darkness at the ceiling. It wasn’t spinning now. Every breath seemed to clear her head.
Stupid tears were still leaking out of her eyes, and she angrily swiped them away.
“I’m sorry,” said Nick.
“So you’re gay?”
He was silent for a moment, and his voice was careful. “I don’t know.”
“No offense,” she said, mocking his earlier tone, “but I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of thing you’d know by now.”
He rolled up on one shoulder to look down at her—but he didn’t say anything.
And then she recognized the uncertainty in his eyes, the mixture of worry and fear and panic and need. She struggled with acceptance every day—she’d never considered that someone like Nick Merrick would be struggling with the same thing. He’d seemed like such a rock, such a steady, put-together guy, and she’d latched on to him, hoping to find some security.
He was really just as screwed up as she was.
That chased the anger away. “Do your brothers know?” she said quietly.
“I don’t know if there’s anything to know, Quinn.”
Well, that sounded like a heaping load of self-denial. She didn’t look away from him and chose her words carefully. “Do they have any idea you might have entertained the thought of kissing another boy?”
His voice was resigned. “No.”
“Not even Gabriel?”
“No. Jesus, no.”
She stretched her hand out from under the blanket and found his. “It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.”
He rolled back to stare at the same ceiling, but he kept hold of her hand. “I should have just taken you back to my house tonight.”
“No, I’m glad this happened.” Then she winced. “I mean, not the puking part. But I thought you were just stringing me along.”
“Quinn.” He squeezed her hand. “I kind of was.”