Page 163 of Quinlan

Love.

Yes. That. That strange, foreign creature festering inside me. The thing that’s eating up all the available space.

A parasite. A cure.

Ours.

She won’t get any anniversary cards from the three of us. We won’t make a big deal about Valentine’s Day.

We will, however, burn the world down for her. We’ll be there for her happy days. Hold her through her nightmares. Catch her when she falls.

Annihilate each and every one of her demons.

The biggest one of them being Rex.

The so-called man who loves her. He probably had for a while. Until Blake died. Until they became a burden in his eyes. The three of them. And he figured a five-year-old could manage.

He could’ve—fuck that,should’ve—done more than drop food at their place. Should’ve moved in there.

Hell, I could’ve left home at eighteen. God knows I hated every breath I took in that motherfucking place. But I had Anne. My sister. My blood. She was never a responsibility or a burden. I loved her. I had to take care of her. That was that.

Eight years of added torture were nothing compared to leaving her there by herself for even for one night.

That’s what Rex should’ve done for Quinlan. Be there for her. She didn’t just lose her baby brother. He didn’tjustdrown before her eyes. She lost her entire family that day. Her parents checked out.

Alone. She’d survived. She made it.

And she was all alone.

Right hook. I imagine his face there. A tooth flying out at my punch. His nose caving in. Blood gushing.

I’ve done that over the years. Imagined Rex’s face along with a few selected others.

Never like this, though, with this level of hate. Maybe because it’s fresh in my head. Maybe because I can’t stand to be just another person who’s failed her.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

My punches have no rhyme or reason anymore. I’m going after the punching bag blindly. After Rex. After the throb in my head.

If I’m not careful, the broken bones would be mine.

He didn’t lift a finger for them. Quinlan was the one who sought therapy for her parents. Damien watched her making the calls. She was a teenager when she did that. Didn’t cry. It almost sounded…normal. No tears were shed throughout these calls. She didn’t look distressed.

Damien wouldn’t have let it slide if he’d think she was breaking down.

He never saw her making food for her family. She’d have to have done it in the crack of dawn so she could go to school after.

I feel bad for him. I bet he hates himself for missing these signs, when he shouldn’t. He’d done his best to stalk her. He’s obsessed and grateful and adores the fuck out of her. I’d have to repeat to him what Quinlan said later. None of this was his fault.

The sounds of my fist connecting to the punching bag echo in the otherwise silent gym. The pain in my knuckles intensifies.

Right hook, left. Jab, jab, jab, cross. One of Rex’s eyes swells shut. I’m coming from the side, and his blood coats his mouth and chin. He gurgles, trying to defend himself.

He can’t. He won’t.

Useless piece of shit.

I’m about to land another punch when I feel it.

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