QUINN

"I'm sorry."

I'm not sure how many times I've repeated this mantra since I got back in the truck. At least four, minimum. But Cash just keeps telling me not to apologize. How can I not? I subjected him to Hurricane Mabel without warning. And Hurricane Mabel is prone to destroying the sturdiest of houses.

Mama is a different person with me when she's not completely wasted. She's kind and wise and even sort of loving sometimes. It makes my heart hurt that nobody else gets to see that side of her.

And, once a man comes around, she transforms into something I don't even recognize anymore. I knew she'd feed me to the wolves the second Cash shook her hand, but I didn't expect it to happen so quickly. I thought I'd have time to clean the house, feed the gremlin her alcohol, and get the hell out of there before she started spilling my secrets.

I guess I need to stop filling her in on my life. At least where the important stuff is involved.

I'm kind of curious about why Cash hasn't mentioned it yet. I'm glad he hasn't, but it also fills me with anxiety. Like I'm waiting for the explosion of questions that will blow me to bits when I don't know how to answer them.

Well, if he won't accept my apologies on mama's behalf, I guess I'll try for the whole club thing since I never officially made amends with him on that.

"Sorry for being mean at the club that one night."

"Stop." He tenses, his words barely escaping through his teeth.

I wonder if he clenches his jaw so tight that it grinds his teeth down to nonexistence. He stresses out way too much.

"How many teeth ya got, Cash?"

"Don't know, never counted. How many should I have?" He sighs, gripping the wheel tighter with the one hand that rests there.

The other one has been perched on his thigh, stretching open and clamping shut repeatedly. His knuckles look irritated and maybe a little swollen.

"About thirty-two, I think."

He's quiet for a moment, bobbing his head back and forth as his mouth purses to the side like he's contemplating his answer.

"Mmm...twenty-six, then."

"Cash! Where are all your teeth?!"

I'm horrified! He really does grind them down into oblivion! Or he has some kind of disease where they just fall out.

"Got all four wisdom teeth removed, lost one playing hockey, and another when I was still fighting."

I undo my seatbelt and climb across the bench seat, tucking my legs underneath my butt. My finger pinches his upper lip and his head jerks away from me. When I grab at it again, he lets me raise it up this time so I can see his teeth.

I don't notice anything that looks out of place or missing. I wish I could shrink so I could crawl in there and get a better look.

"Liar. You're not missing any." I release his lip and crawl back to my own side.

He chuckles before tapping on one of his canines and then moves to the other side of his mouth to show me one of the premolars on the upper side.

"Those two are implants."

"Wow. That's so cool. I never would have been able to tell."

"Guess I should thank the dentist, then." He smirks, relaxing his shoulders for the first time since we got in the truck.

"Look, I'm sorry for –"

"Quinn!" He shouts, making me wince. "Just...stop. Please." At least he ended it gently.

It's dead silent until we pull up against the curb in front of my apartment. I've never been so happy to be home before, even if everything inside is determined to kill me. Cash cuts the engine and stares out at the street.

Is he watching the cats? I constructed a cardboard box fort for them in the general direction he's looking. I peek over the dash, but I don't see any kitties utilizing the makeshift home right now. I need to restock the food supply.

"Is it true?" He says under his breath.

"That you should have thirty-two teeth? I'm pretty sure, yeah."

"The fucking overdose thing, Quinn! Goddamn, can you just have a real conversation for five seconds?"

I slump down in my seat, hoping it will swallow me whole. I've never seen him angry before. Well, I have. But never with me. I know I can be a little annoying sometimes and he thinks I'm weird for some reason but I never wanted to make him mad.

I feel like I'm floating right now rather than trying to disappear into a cloth seat. Escape, Quinn, while you still can!

I exit the truck and carefully shut the door behind me, quietly tiptoeing away so he doesn't see or hear me sneaking off. When I make it up to the door, I realize he's been trailing after me this whole time. I whirl around, putting on my best display of outrage as I gawk up at him.

"You can go home now."

"Is it true?"

Jeeez, why is he repeating himself? His brain must be broken!

"Cash, you can't listen to anything she says. She's drunk like all the time and –"

"Is it fucking true?!" His frustrated roar stuns me into silence as it perforates my ear canal. He's not playing around anymore.

My hands start to shake as I duck my head.

"Maybe." The word comes out as a muffled whimper.

Feet are pretty useful, especially when they're helping you bolt through a store, up some stairs, and placing you at your front door. I don't show them enough appreciation.

I'm trying to unlock my door with my worthless fingers that are refusing to work as hard as my feet just did. They might as well just be noodles. What's the point of hands if they can't even hold keys!?

They clatter to the ground, and I don't have the necessary stamina to bend down and pick them up. I try some Matilda moves, hoping the powers of telekinesis will force them back up into my grasp. They don't budge.

A large hand closes over the keys, holding them out to me. I can't grab them because my arms feel like jelly. I look up into dark sapphire eyes, unable to successfully participate in life.

They stare back, scouring over every inch of my face, mapping out my expression like a damn professional navigator. I bet he has a built-in GPS in his head.

Then, those giant paws are on my cheeks and the lips I couldn't take my eyes off of last night are pressed against mine once again. They connect, disappear, connect, disappear. A slew of passionately sad kisses that I'm happily drowning in. I don't even know if I'm kissing him back because I can't feel my face either.

You know what...let's just say my entire body is stupid right now so I don't have to explain the lack of function behind each part and piece.

Once his mouth permanently separates from mine, his forehead takes up residency on the top of my skull. That went by too fast. A time machine would be nice right now.

"If you ever feel like that's gonna happen again, you call me. I don't care what day it is, what time it is, if you're in a goddamn tree in the middle of fucking nowhere. You call me, Quinn."

My chest feels like it's being crushed under the weight of his words. I don't ask for help. That's not something I do. I've never had the option.

"I don't have your number."

Can't call someone if you don't have their contact information. Duh, Cash.

"I'll give it to you." He mumbles.

"What if my phone is dead?" Didn't think of that, did you?!

"Then send a fucking messenger pigeon. I don't fucking care. Just find me."

Pigeon?! Absolutely not. They're almost as bad as the seagulls!

"You're saying fuck a lot more than usual."

"Sue me." He fires back.

"For what? What can I charge you with? Disturbing the peace? Disorderly conduct?"

Cash groans and pulls away from me completely, allowing me to finally breathe. But the air feels empty in my lungs. Like it's lacking one of its essential gases.

His forehead falls against the wall with a light thud and he makes no attempt to speak or move. I don't need him to do this whole thing he's doing. The pretending to care skit. I've seen it before. Experienced it with dad, with Hunter, with Ethan.

Hell, I had front row seats in the theater while they put on a convincing act, performing a beautiful play on stage. But I don't plan to buy the ticket again. You can only watch the same show so many times before you get sick of it.

They lure you in with their words and their warmth and then turn on you like a rabid dog when things get tough. It's a game that I've lost quite often. I'm not falling for this charade again.

But I don't like how distressed Cash appears to be right now. A wave of guilt washes over me. Causing someone harm is never my intention, even when I'm trying to protect myself from them.

"Talk to me, Quinn. I'm struggling here." The grumble comes from him as his head still rests against the wall.

"Why are you struggling, Cash?" I inquire, peering down at my feet.

"Because you won't talk to me." Pure frustration smothers his voice.

"Why do you want me to talk to you so badly?" I'm confused and, quite frankly, getting a little annoyed with his annoyance. Does that make sense?

He's trying so hard to persuade me and I don't understand why. Can't we just go back to when I used him as a bodyguard? I liked arguing with him about my nefarious activities more than I like whatever this is.

"Because I care about you."

Oh no you don't, Mister! Nuh-uh!

I finally unlock the door and strut through it like I'm a damn supermodel on the runway, ready to forget this entire day. Grabbing a bottle of liquor from under the cabinet, I pop it open and pour some into a glass.

The door shuts behind me and I turn to see Cash leaning with his palm against it, a look of resignation on his face. I want him in here with me. I mean, I don't. In a way.

I want him here, but I want him to shut up. Is that too much to ask?

"We're talking about it."

Well, that sounded more like a demand than a friendly suggestion. Ugh, I guess it was too much to ask. Men are so hard-headed. With their stupid man-brains and their dumb mouths that talk about things nobody else wants to hear.

"Cash, please stop. We have a good kinda-sorta friendship thing going on here. Don't mess it up with lies and bullshit. I actually like having you around and you're ruining it for me. You should really think about kissing more and talking less. You're much better with your lips than you are your words."

"I'm ruining it?" He asks, seemingly shocked by this news.

"Yes!" I spit out, nodding fervently.

"I'm ruining it?"

Has he suddenly forgotten how to speak English? I guess I need to put this into simpler terms for him.

"You. Quiet. No speak. No pretend. Just be. Use lips, not voice."

He stares at me blankly before doing that quiet laugh thing he does, his shoulders bouncing up once as a subtle grin tugs at the very corner of his mouth.

"You really piss me off sometimes."

Despite his words, he's still smirking. That's very misleading. I don't think he even knows what he's saying right now. This is so frustrating. I feel like I'm talking to a child!

"Why do I piss you off? Because I'm not dumb enough to think you'd care about me?" I shrug, blowing off his now infuriated expression.

When he steps closer, I shuffle back towards the couch.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I might care about you? Explain that one to me, Quinn, because I don't fucking get it."

"Because why would you?!"

Oh wow. I just screamed.

The sound bounces around the room, causing me to flinch when it echoes back at me, filling my head. My hand clamps over my mouth, astonished over my own outward expression of anger. I start backing up further until my butt presses against the wall, just in case Cash doesn't like being talked to this way.

I know he doesn't. Nobody likes being yelled at. My hand aimlessly feels around for some kind of weapon to utilize for if he decides to react. It's coming up empty.

I shouldn't have yelled. Where did that even come from?