She flung the words at Nick like an attack. She didn’t know what she expected from him. A reaction, for sure. But silence captured the interior of the truck cab, thick and hard to breathe.
His disapproval hung in the air, pressing against her skin.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he finally said.
“I’m not kidding. It was fine. He was nice.”
“He is not nice, Quinn.”
“Maybe not to you, but he was nice to me.”
“This isn’t a game!” he snapped. “If he’s being nice to you, it’s so he can use you against me.”
“Why?” she fired back. “Because I’m only good for guys to use me? That’s working out really great for you, isn’t it, Nick?”
The air in the cab moved, lifting a few strands of her hair.
Nick’s hands clutched the steering wheel like he wished it was Tyler’s neck.
“Look,” he said, his voice rough and low like gravel. “Tyler is cruel. Destructive. You know this. He hit you in the face and burned your arm and—”
“He didn’t hit me in the face!”
Nick gave it right back to her. “Then who did, Quinn?”
She locked her eyes on the windshield, suddenly afraid she might cry. Air moved through the cab again, warmer now, a caress along her exposed skin.
It felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t tell him. Like Becca, Nick knew some of what her home life was like, but not enough.
They mostly knew what it had been like before: the screaming matches with her mother, the father who seemed to forget he had a family. But since the fire, things had changed. Money was tight, and it was like her parents clung to Jake and his scholarship as if that was the shining star in their lives. Like that put food on the table.
More likely, keeping her mom away from the liquor store would do a lot more for their family than Jake’s stupid scholarship.
Not like Jake was making use of that scholarship, the way he kept frying his brain cells every night.
If Quinn told Nick about how her mother practically drank herself unconscious, or how her brother could barely string a sentence together, but didn’t mind strong-arming her into the wall when he needed twenty bucks, Nick would step in. He’d be the white knight in shining armor. He’d rescue her.
And then he’d kiss her on her forehead and go off with a knight of his own.
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me,” said Nick, his tone resigned. “I can’t believe you think that ass**le could be nice—”
“He was nice,” she said icily. “You know, he still thinks your brother killed his sister. He actually seemed kind of upset about it.”
“Upset. Yeah, okay.” Nick looked disgusted. “Did he tell you about the time he tried to kill Chris? Or the time he and his friends pinned Michael down in a parking lot and took a butane lighter to his face? Or how about the time he cornered me in the gym and—”
Nick broke off, breathing fast.
“And what?” she said.
“You know what? Forget us. Think about Becca. Just ask her what she thinks of Tyler.”
Quinn didn’t want to think about Becca. Lately, any time thoughts of Becca entered her brain, a bunch of jealousy and resentment crowded in alongside. “Well, maybe if Becca had been honest all along, I’d already know her thoughts about Tyler.”
Nick looked incredulous. “Maybe if you’d talk to her, she could be! Tyler’s best friend was one of the guys who tried to rape Becca. Seth Ramsey. He and Drew McKay dragged her onto the soccer field at Homecoming. Remember that?”
Quinn flinched. She remembered Becca’s torn, rain-soaked dress, the way her best friend had shivered in the backseat on the drive home. Chris Merrick had witnessed the attack, and Seth and Drew had been expelled from school. “I remember. But I’m not going to hold Tyler responsible for something Seth and Drew did—”
“Jesus, Quinn, fine. Maybe not then. But he tried to kill her at Drew’s party a few weeks ago. She and Chris ran into the water, and Tyler tried to shoot them. With a gun.”
Quinn didn’t say anything to that. Her brain was roiling with two different emotions.
Fear. Tyler had a gun. She’d seen it. He’d played it off by saying he was protecting his property, but . . . he’d been shooting at Becca?
Then anger. Becca had never said anything about Tyler shooting at her that night.
She’d never said anything about any of this.
Becca acted like she wanted to kiss and make up, but what was the point? Quinn was so tired of all these secrets.
Nick kept going. “I can’t believe you thought he was nice. Do you just find the most destructive people you can and latch on to them?”
She flinched. The words hurt more than anything her mom had said. Anything her brother had done. Quinn had to squish her eyes closed to keep the tears from planning an escape route.
When she was sure her voice would be steady, she looked at him. “I don’t know, Nick. Do I?”
He jerked the wheel to turn into the parking lot of the dance studio, then flung the vehicle roughly into park.
He didn’t look at her.
She wasn’t going to wait around for him to make her feel worse, so she got out of the truck and slammed the door closed.
Then she pushed into the nearly empty studio and stomped across the wooden floor, throwing her bag on the ground beside where Adam was making notes on a clipboard.
His disapproval hung in the air, pressing against her skin.
“Please tell me you’re kidding,” he finally said.
“I’m not kidding. It was fine. He was nice.”
“He is not nice, Quinn.”
“Maybe not to you, but he was nice to me.”
“This isn’t a game!” he snapped. “If he’s being nice to you, it’s so he can use you against me.”
“Why?” she fired back. “Because I’m only good for guys to use me? That’s working out really great for you, isn’t it, Nick?”
The air in the cab moved, lifting a few strands of her hair.
Nick’s hands clutched the steering wheel like he wished it was Tyler’s neck.
“Look,” he said, his voice rough and low like gravel. “Tyler is cruel. Destructive. You know this. He hit you in the face and burned your arm and—”
“He didn’t hit me in the face!”
Nick gave it right back to her. “Then who did, Quinn?”
She locked her eyes on the windshield, suddenly afraid she might cry. Air moved through the cab again, warmer now, a caress along her exposed skin.
It felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t tell him. Like Becca, Nick knew some of what her home life was like, but not enough.
They mostly knew what it had been like before: the screaming matches with her mother, the father who seemed to forget he had a family. But since the fire, things had changed. Money was tight, and it was like her parents clung to Jake and his scholarship as if that was the shining star in their lives. Like that put food on the table.
More likely, keeping her mom away from the liquor store would do a lot more for their family than Jake’s stupid scholarship.
Not like Jake was making use of that scholarship, the way he kept frying his brain cells every night.
If Quinn told Nick about how her mother practically drank herself unconscious, or how her brother could barely string a sentence together, but didn’t mind strong-arming her into the wall when he needed twenty bucks, Nick would step in. He’d be the white knight in shining armor. He’d rescue her.
And then he’d kiss her on her forehead and go off with a knight of his own.
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me,” said Nick, his tone resigned. “I can’t believe you think that ass**le could be nice—”
“He was nice,” she said icily. “You know, he still thinks your brother killed his sister. He actually seemed kind of upset about it.”
“Upset. Yeah, okay.” Nick looked disgusted. “Did he tell you about the time he tried to kill Chris? Or the time he and his friends pinned Michael down in a parking lot and took a butane lighter to his face? Or how about the time he cornered me in the gym and—”
Nick broke off, breathing fast.
“And what?” she said.
“You know what? Forget us. Think about Becca. Just ask her what she thinks of Tyler.”
Quinn didn’t want to think about Becca. Lately, any time thoughts of Becca entered her brain, a bunch of jealousy and resentment crowded in alongside. “Well, maybe if Becca had been honest all along, I’d already know her thoughts about Tyler.”
Nick looked incredulous. “Maybe if you’d talk to her, she could be! Tyler’s best friend was one of the guys who tried to rape Becca. Seth Ramsey. He and Drew McKay dragged her onto the soccer field at Homecoming. Remember that?”
Quinn flinched. She remembered Becca’s torn, rain-soaked dress, the way her best friend had shivered in the backseat on the drive home. Chris Merrick had witnessed the attack, and Seth and Drew had been expelled from school. “I remember. But I’m not going to hold Tyler responsible for something Seth and Drew did—”
“Jesus, Quinn, fine. Maybe not then. But he tried to kill her at Drew’s party a few weeks ago. She and Chris ran into the water, and Tyler tried to shoot them. With a gun.”
Quinn didn’t say anything to that. Her brain was roiling with two different emotions.
Fear. Tyler had a gun. She’d seen it. He’d played it off by saying he was protecting his property, but . . . he’d been shooting at Becca?
Then anger. Becca had never said anything about Tyler shooting at her that night.
She’d never said anything about any of this.
Becca acted like she wanted to kiss and make up, but what was the point? Quinn was so tired of all these secrets.
Nick kept going. “I can’t believe you thought he was nice. Do you just find the most destructive people you can and latch on to them?”
She flinched. The words hurt more than anything her mom had said. Anything her brother had done. Quinn had to squish her eyes closed to keep the tears from planning an escape route.
When she was sure her voice would be steady, she looked at him. “I don’t know, Nick. Do I?”
He jerked the wheel to turn into the parking lot of the dance studio, then flung the vehicle roughly into park.
He didn’t look at her.
She wasn’t going to wait around for him to make her feel worse, so she got out of the truck and slammed the door closed.
Then she pushed into the nearly empty studio and stomped across the wooden floor, throwing her bag on the ground beside where Adam was making notes on a clipboard.
