Fast (Not Like the Movies #2) Read online

  On the screen is a close-up photo of me—one of the ones Liam took, my scar on full display. The caption reads Scars on the outside reflect scars on the inside. Ugly is as ugly does. Words that cut straight through my chest leaving an open wound in their wake.

  As the lift descends I scroll down to more pictures of me from that shoot, all with a focus on that scar. Each one serves as a painful reminder of my past.

  No wonder I got all those looks on my way to the lift. What must people think? Not only am I a disfigured freak, but an attention-seeking one, too.

  “Thank you.” Alessandro takes his phone from my hand as the lift doors open.

  We’ve reached the bottom.

  So has my heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tears swell in my eyes then fall over the precipice of my lower lid. Oh God. How has this happened?

  Even as I ask it, I know the answer. Shantel must have sent it out this morning before I got in. She doesn't like me, and she openly admitted that she found my scar hideous.

  And now everyone has seen it. Everyone’s got a good view of my scar filling up the screen, front and centre. No make-up covering it. No hair hung low to hide behind. Embarrassment burns my cheeks and I race out of the lift, my hand over my mouth as people in the lobby stop and stare, no doubt wanting to see the freak close up.

  I reach the street, but the fresh air doesn't calm me as it usually would. Instead, the pollution stifles me, makes it harder to breathe, and I claw at the buttons of the shirt around my neck, desperate for space. Why has this happened? Why has this happened to me?

  “Quinn, wait!”

  I turn to see Madison at the doorway to the building, right underneath the McWilliams & Co gold-lettered sign. She bites her plump pink lip and shrugs, her phone in her hand.

  I don’t have to step closer to see what’s on the screen.

  “I have to go.”

  “Please.” She walks to my side and shakes her head. “I had no idea you felt this way. You’re not an ugly person. You’re—”

  “I didn't send the email,” I yell to stop her words, stop her pity. It’s the one thing I hate the most. “It wasn’t me! I would never want people to see photos of me—of this.” I sob, pointing to the scar that twists my lips. “Why would anyone want to see this?”

  Madison slowly shakes her head. “I’m not going to lie and tell you I didn’t notice it before, or that it’s barely visible.”

  I swipe at my eyes, trying to remove the tears but more flood in to take their place.

  “But I truly believe you’re more than just a small scar on your face. You’re so much more than that.”

  “And yet when I started here last week, it’s the first thing you looked at,” I cry, and from the stricken look on her face, I know it’s true. “Don’t you see?” I throw my hands to either side of my body. “This scar will always define me. This one mistake—it’s who I am.”

  I turn and walk away, powering across the street with the little green man at the traffic lights. Liam. I need Liam to hold me in his arms, to pull me close to his chest and tell me he can make it better. That it doesn't matter. That—

  That if he hadn’t taken those stupid photos, I never would have ended up in this mess in the first place.

  With each step, my sadness is replaced by anger. Why did he have to send them to my work address? Couldn’t he have just done what I’d asked and sent what I’d needed for the shoot?

  It’s not his fault, my brain argues, but I don’t have time for rational thought. Emotions surge inside me, fighting for dominance, and when Liam rushes out from behind the counter and pulls me to his chest, I collapse like a ragdoll. My knees fall from under me. His strong arms hold mine up, and I punch against his chest, both hating and needing this at the same time.

  “Come here.” He half leads, half carries me out the back to a small staffroom, lockers lining one wall, boxes of coffee the other. He shuts the red door behind him and pulls out a chair from beside a large box. “What’s wrong?”

  “You sent those photos in of me—and Shantel sent them to everyone,” I blubber. “Now everyone has seen my scar.”

  Liam shakes his head, a slight frown marring his olive brow. “But everyone’s seen it already.”

  “Not like that.” I stand. “Not all blown up on their screen, with her words underneath them pointing out just how horrible it is. Just how gross I really am.”

  “You’re not gross.” Liam’s voice raises to match my own. “How many times do we have to have this argument? You’re fucking beautiful!”

  “Then why do people look at me like I’m some kind of leper?”

  “Because people are idiots!” Liam roars. He grabs my shoulders. “Quinn, you can’t live your life worried what people will think. You have to just be you, living in the present, the now. Don’t use your past as an excuse to miss out on your future.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I snap. “You never stuck around to hear what they said. You up and left town when the going got tough.”

  Liam’s cheeks lose some of their colour. “So that’s what this is about? You still haven’t forgiven me for what happened back then?”

  The fire in his eyes shoots straight to my soul. All the anger that fuelled me flees my body, extinguished by the heat of his gaze. “I might not have forgiven you,” I sob-whisper. “But I can’t ever forgive myself.”

  We stand there in silence for a moment, tension thickening the morning air.

  Liam’s the one to break it. “You once asked me where I find your brother.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You said you go to his room for comfort, you wear his clothes and you feel he’s with you—and you asked me where that place was for me.”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “For me, that place is everywhere, Q. It’s in the ocean when it breathes those waves in and out. It’s in the photographs I take, snapshots of memories printed on my walls in black and white.” He pauses and slays me with a look that goes straight to the heart. “It’s in you, Q. It’s everything about you.”

  I raise my hand to cover the scar, but he grasps my wrist and pulls it back.

  “Not in that damn scar. In you.”

  My hand drops to my side. The world in front of me blurs, and I wrap my arm around my stomach. Go. I have to go. I need to get back to his room, to that safe place. I need to be close to Braden.

  I press my eyes shut, think of his smiling face. It drifts in and out of focus. This is why I can’t live down here. This is why I need to be close to Emerald Cove. “I’m sorry.” I step toward the door. “I have to go.”

  “Well, this is just great.” Liam’s face turns to the floor.

  “Great?”

  His eyes flash to mine. “Because I finally have you back by my side and I’m losing you for the same reason I was back then. Your brother. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

  His words sink to the bottom of my heart. I push past him, grabbing the door handle.

  “Quinn, wait!” Liam grabs my wrist again, but I shake him off.

  “Don’t.” I run from the café, headed for the train station. As my feet hit the pavement, I listen for his voice, just in case he comes to stop me.

  He doesn't.

  And I hate that it makes me cry harder.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I catch the train back to Emerald Cove. On the journey, I try to type and email, to reach Braden the way I’ve always reached him before, but the words don’t seem to come.

  To: [email protected]:22pm 25/07/2017

  From: [email protected]

  Re: I miss you

  So much it hurts.

  So much I can hardly breathe.

  Tears blur my vision. Sobs choke me as I stumble from the carriage to my car, then drive straight home. Mum’s at work, so I use the key hidden under the thyme pot plant out the back and let myself into the main house, bypassing the kitchen to head straight to Braden’s
room.

  I shut the door, close the curtains, and open the wardrobe. The smell of must, of clothes shut up too long, hits me, but so does something else—this tiny hint of Braden. Of sweat and spice and my brother. Who I miss so damn much. Every. Single. Day.

  My shirt falls to the floor, and I grab one of his T-shirts and slip it over my head. This is my safe place. Where I always come when things are hard, when I miss him more than ever.

  And in this moment, I do. I miss his rational voice. His calm eyes. His love. God, I miss his love, more than anything.

  I fist the blue material in my hands, waiting for that familiar sense of peace to wash over me—waiting to feel as if the brother I lost is still here with me, guiding me. Helping me make the right decisions. Helping me find the answers.

  I close my eyes tight, conjuring up an image of Braden wearing this shirt, of Braden talking, laughing—but something isn’t right.

  Where once my memories of him danced and sparkled with life, now they’re static. Like photographs. Snapshots of my brother instead of a moving film.

  I squeeze the shirt tighter again, willing myself to bring those memories to life. But where once I found solidarity, all I discover is that this T-shirt is just a T-shirt. Something Braden once wore. Something he no longer needs.

  I curl up into a ball and sob, letting the emotions of the day fall free with the tears that fall from my eyes. Not even my safe place, the one room I can count on to brighten my memories, can help me now.

  I cry for it all. I cry for the memories slipping through my fingers like waves through the sand. I cry for the lost opportunity. I cry for Liam. I cry for Braden.

  But most of all, I cry for me.

  ***

  Black seeps in under the curtains when two arms pull me tight to a soft chest, the scent of floral perfume in the air. I blink twice, struggling to focus. Where am I—

  Life crashes around me. The assignment. Me walking out. Me yelling at Liam.

  My memories, falling apart.

  I groan and press one hand to my head. What have I done?

  “Baby girl.” Mum presses a kiss to my cheek. “What are you doing?”

  I turn to face her. The dull orange glow from the hall casts her face in half light. He looked so much like her—that same blonde hair, those same dark eyes.

  The missing hits me like an ache in the gut, a physical pain that I have no remedy for. “I ... Braden, I ...”

  “Shh, honey.” Mum pulls me close to her chest. “It’s okay.”

  I push back. “But it’s not.” I shake my head. “Mum, I blamed Liam for some stupid thing today. Something he didn’t even do wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  And so I tell her the whole sorry story, from Shantel’s initial dislike of me to the events of this morning, the email that went around to the entire company sent from an address that apparently was mine.

  “And then I went all crazy lady at Liam because he was the one who took the photos in the first place, but really, he didn’t do anything wrong.” I sigh. “And I miss him, Mum. I miss him so, so much, with everything I have.”

  Mum doesn’t need to ask which him I’m referring to. She gets me, just as she always has. Her lips thin into a line and she glances out to the hall behind her, and just like she gets me, I get her, and I know she needs to say something.

  “What?”

  She lets her breath out slowly through her teeth. “Well ...”

  “Yes?”

  Her dark eyes meet mine. “Did you ever think that maybe you’re punishing yourself?”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “You applied for a job at the local paper, even though your dream has always been to work in magazines.”

  “Because I didn’t want to leave my memories of Braden—”

  “Just hear me out.” Mum holds up one hand in protest. “Then, after only minimal convincing from me, mind you, you applied for an internship with your favourite magazine—as if you were teasing yourself. Look, Quinn. This is what you can’t have.” She shakes her head. “As if you wanted to remind yourself that you were missing out.”

  My chin near touches my chest. “That’s ridiculous ...”

  “Is it?” Mum’s eyes don’t smile like they usually do. “You just didn't expect Liam. You didn't expect him to make you want to live, to take chances—”

  “To screw everything up.”

  “You didn’t screw things up—that Shantel did.” Mum tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “But either way, you took it as a sign. You took it as confirmation that your initial thoughts were true—you don’t deserve nice things, and so you ran and tried to destroy one of the few good things you had left before it could destroy you.”

  “Mum, I wouldn’t—”

  “Wouldn’t what, sweetheart?” She gives me a sad smile. “End a relationship just because you were afraid? Rush out of a potential job opportunity before you ran the risk of failing?” She pauses, and her mouth turns grim. “Or blame yourself for something that happened four years ago?”

  “I ...” I close my mouth. Her words sink in, like grains of sand sinking into the ocean floor.

  She kisses my forehead and musses my hair. “I’ll leave you to it.” Her legs stretch out and she stands, pausing in the doorway for a moment. “You know it wasn’t your fault, Quinn girl. Not even close.”

  And with that she walks away, leaving me with more weight on my mind than I’ve had since Braden died.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sleep doesn't come easily to troubled minds, and I spend the night staring at the stark white ceiling, wishing there was something I could do, wishing things had gone differently. Is what Mum said true? Am I punishing myself by not taking the opportunities life has thrown at me? By preventing myself from having the things I want most?

  I roll over, my legs twisting in the sheets, and press the home button on my phone to check the time. Five past one. Still so much of the night left to go ...

  Did I do that? Am I so screwed up that I’ve prevented myself having the things I really want?

  I repeat the questions over and over, but no answer is forthcoming. Nothing is clear. I argue with myself—surely I wouldn't do something so horrid. I wouldn’t ruin my life just because I think I don’t deserve things to be good. That’s sadistic, even for me.

  Then I think of Liam, his face when I crumbled in front of him. Those beautiful golden-brown eyes—the way they focused in only on me. My heart swells and I give a small shake of my head. No. There’s no way I knowingly sabotaged that. Not when I feel the way I do about him.

  Then why didn't you fight?

  The thought enters my mind unbidden, but once it’s there, I can’t think it back out. Why didn’t I fight to keep him? Why didn’t I talk things over, get past my stupid, irrational anger about some photographs he took to try and prove to me that I was something more than just a scar? More than just my past?

  I run my hands over my face and up into my hair on the pillow.

  He loves me.

  He said it himself.

  And I ran away like the thought scared the living daylights out of me. If I wasn’t trying to self-sabotage, if I really did think I deserved a shot at something with him, would I have been so quick to jump down his throat for doing next to nothing wrong? Would I have walked away when deep down, I knew how ridiculous my reasoning was?

  As I pull back the sheets and sit up, one word takes over all other negative thoughts in my brain:

  No.

  I freaked out when I realised just how good things with Liam and me could be. The last three years I’ve been sabotaging myself, making sure my life sunk below any greatness I could achieve. Mediocrity and failure. I’d decided I was destined for that before I’d even given myself a proper chance.

  I straighten my spine, roll back my shoulders. I deserve better. I might have lost my opportunity to work at Lola magazine. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still stand a chance of winning
Liam back.

  ***

  I hammer on the door to Liam’s apartment, the overhead fluorescent painting my knuckles an even whiter white than usual.

  “Shut up!” someone down the hall calls, and I knock again.

  “Come on,” I mutter. Surely he’s home. Surely he’ll get up to see who the nutter banging down the door at—quick phone check—three in the morning is.

  “Liam, answer the door,” I beg as I knock again.

  Silence.

  Maybe he isn't home. Worse, maybe he’s checked through the peephole, seen it’s the crazy lady who walked out on him this afternoon, and has gone back to bed. With another girl. No, a supermodel. No, Shantel.

  Ew.

  My heart flip-flops, and just as I turn to head back to the car, the thud, thud of footsteps sounds from behind the door.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, staring at the silver handle as it twists then moves back revealing—

  Whoa.

  Liam’s abs are cast in stark relief thanks to the bright light above. His boxers cover his junk, but I can’t help my eyes from focusing there anyway. His half-naked body makes my mouth water, and I press my lips together to stop from drooling. God, he’s good looking.

  “What do you want?”

  I blink up at the stony face looking down at me. All thoughts of his abs, his junk, the incredible things he can do with those lips and that tongue—they fly from my mind as I lose myself in those cold eyes. Eyes that still make me swoon, despite their harsh front.

  “Q?” Liam prompts, and I open my mouth, then close it, then open it again. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to start.

  “I ...”

  “You ...?” He raises his eyebrows.

  I purse my lips, then try again. Sometimes, the past is shallow, a skin-deep reminder of something that doesn’t matter. Other times, it's soul deep—and you feel it in your bones.

  “Confession?” I try, falling back on our old game.

  “Go ahead.” He nods, a smile playing on the corners of his lips before he quickly schools them into a straight line.