B R E N

The days were cyclical: class, study, work, repeat. Working at The Grounds was good for me, a way to escape campus and certain people there.

Nessa was the best coworker. Once we overcame any remaining awkwardness about the fact that my dick had been in her mouth, our similar dark humor and eclectic taste in music brought us together and erased the tension. An old turntable sat in the corner of the cafe, and we'd take turns bringing in vinyl for our shifts. She never asked why I usually picked to play the same five songs that reminded me of home. 

On particularly slow days, Nessa would strum on her ukulele, filling the space with cheerful, plucky sounds.

Madie came by frequently, distracting me in the best of ways. She kept me alert and alive. It was often after tutoring sessions that she'd follow me down to The Grounds to study in the corner while Nessa and I brewed and cleaned. I couldn't blame Madie for wanting to hang out there; Nessa always snuck her free shit.

There wasn't much else that I'd gotten out of her about Quinton. Sometimes when he was busy at practice, she'd ask me to head to the soccer fields with her, and those days were the best ones of the week. There was something about running next to her, watching her hair fly and her eyes light up. We'd alternate between playing and talking, but every time I tried to learn more about Quinton, she'd shut down the conversation. It seemed like enough of a red flag to me.

But then there came a day when I was working my usual afternoon shift, and the front door chimed, announcing Madie's entrance—and Quinton's.

I heard his voice first, low and grating on my senses. "Hey, Nessa," he said smoothly—too smoothly. Sidling up to the counter, Quinton's eyes perused his girlfriend's roommate in a way that made me bite my lip in irritation. And I wasn't the only one who seemed to notice. Madie stood off to the side, staring at her boyfriend, her features scrunched up in confusion.

But I wasn't confused. I knew exactly the kind of loser that this guy was.

"What do you want, Quinton?" Nessa snapped, and I failed to withhold a snort.

Quinton pinned me with a glower before returning his attention to Nessa, rattling off some fancy-ass drink that Beau would probably order.

"What about you, Mads?" he asked. A quick swivel of his head didn't allow him the opportunity to see Madie's disapproving expression. With a little frown, she stepped toward the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Quinton.

"Can I have a vanilla latte and a blueberry scone, Nessa?" she asked, her voice as sweet as always.

"A scone?" Quinton repeated, blinking as he looked over to Madie. "You don't need a scone. We just had lunch."

Madie threw her arms up. "Seriously, Quinton?"

"What?" Instant defensiveness tore across his features.

Madie shook her head, her irritation evident. "You know what? Never mind. I don't even know why we are here," she bit out and then spun on her heel, heading in the direction of the door.

But she was wearing another one of Quinton's stupid sweatshirts, and his hand darted out to stop her, seizing the back of her hood. He yanked on it,  choking Madie. It only lasted a split-second, but her feet flung forward before jerking to an abrupt halt. Quinton released his grip, and his low voice grated on my senses. "Stop overreacting and come back here."

"What the hell, man?" I heard the words rip from my throat before I even had the chance to second guess them. My grip dug into the countertop; I was barely holding myself back from jumping over it, wanting to start a fight that I knew I'd lose.

Quinton merely scoffed in my direction. I didn't bother to look at him, my whole focus staying on Madie instead.

All I could see was the back of her head. I wanted to see her face.

Slowly, she granted me that. Madie twisted around, but she wasn't really there. Her expression was wiped blank. She stared vacantly ahead. I noticed a faint, red line imprinted on her neck.

Quinton rolled his eyes a little. He turned back to Nessa. "Can we get a scone and a vanilla latte, then?"

"I said never mind, Quinton," Madie intoned lowly.

"If you want a scone, I'll get you a scone," he said, shrugging. "You don't need to be a little drama queen about it."

"Stop being a dick, Quinton," Nessa intervened, snatching his credit card from his hands.

I wanted to applaud Nessa, but my hands were too busy balling into fists. Resisting the urge to punch the smug smirk off of Quinton's face took almost all of my energy. The rest of it was being sucked away by wanting to reach out to Madie—and stopping myself from doing so.

This wasn't the time.

At Nessa's reprimand, Quinton's smirk only grew. "Aren't you feisty, huh?"

Nessa turned away, mumbling something under her breath as she went to prepare their order.

"We'll bring your food and drink over to you shortly," I said, the words somehow passing through my tight lips.

Neither Quinton nor Madie acknowledged me before finding a table at the front of the cafe, near the large windows that overlooked the busy street. Watching Madie closely, I searched for any sign or any clue into what she was thinking.

"I hate Quinton Reid with a fiery, feisty passion."

Nessa's breathy voice startled me as I realized how close she was. She stood beside me, glaring at the couple. Her black hair hung as a curtain between us.

"So it's not just me, huh?"

"No," she muttered. "On campus, so many people love him. But they don't see this side of him."

"Who the fuck treats their girlfriend like that?" I muttered as I set about brewing more dark roast.

"I don't know," Nessa said, coming up behind me to whisper in my ear. "But, I bet you'd treat her a hell of a lot better."

My body stiffened, and Nessa laughed softly.

"You think I don't see you, Bren? Did you think you were good at hiding it?"

"Shut up, Nessa," I muttered, keeping my head down as I wiped the countertop around the chrome machines.

"Oh, stop," she huffed and nudged my shoulder. But I wasn't in the mood at the moment and grunted in reply. Unfortunately, Nessa continued anyway. "I think it's great."

"She has a boyfriend," I replied, jerking my head to the side to point out the obvious.

Folding her arms across her blue apron, Nessa leaned on the corner of the counter, glaring at me with those flat, hazel eyes of hers. I could just see her power stance from my peripheral vision. "Yeah, and he's a jerk. She deserves better."

"I know she does," I mumbled automatically because it was the thought that occupied most of my brain throughout every day. "But I don't think it is that easy. Try convincing Madie of that."

A prolonged sigh slipped through Nessa's lips, telling me exactly what I needed to know—telling me what I already knew.

Madie Lenertz was dangerously entwined with Quinton Reid. I just needed to find the goddamn end of the string so I could start unraveling that messy knot. But I also knew if I plucked the wrong chord, things would only get messier. The knot would tighten.

Nevertheless, I had to try.

So when Madie abruptly stood, making her way to the back of the cafe, I waited a minute or two before sneaking through the kitchens and popping into the hallway where the bathrooms were. I figured that was where she'd gone.

Sounds of water splashing in a sink could be heard through the large oak door. Then the water was shut off, and it was quiet—so quiet I could hear the thumping in my chest. Her strawberry blonde hair appeared first when the door opened. It shone in the darkened backdrop of the hallway. When she lifted her head, ocean blue eyes grew wide at seeing me.

"Hey," I said; it was nearly a whisper. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Madie replied. Her voice came out gravely, so she cleared it and tried again. "Yeah, I'm fine, Bren."

I took a deep breath. "Madie, you—how is your neck?"

One of her hands moved up to her throat, her fingers pressing into the skin with a light massage. "My neck? My neck is totally fine, Bren."

"Quinton shouldn't have done that," I said firmly—probably more firmly than was smart, knowing Madie.

"It's not a big deal, Bren," she said, making me want to punch something. "I was overreacting."

"You were reacting and rightly so," I tried to convince her. "But it wasn't an overreaction. And even if it were...." My tone weakened as I saw her beginning to clam up, her lip pulling in a tight line. I sighed. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

I took a dangerous step closer to her, wanting to be comforting but not knowing how to do it when she kept refusing to believe that she needed it.

Her soulful eyes looked up at me as silence pulsed between us. The absence of noise haunted me again.

"What if..." she began, and I held my breath.

Madie cleared her throat, and her next words came out in the loudest of whispers.

"What if I'm not, Bren?" Her breath caught. "What if I'm not okay?"

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