Secret

“I’m not going to the cops.” Quinn flung her tangled blond hair back from her face. “Drive, Nick, all right? Drive the f**king truck.”

He took a long breath and blew it out through his teeth.

She punched him in the arm. Hard. “Drive!”

He shifted into gear. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

Nick listened to the air threading through the cab, cataloging her injuries as his element fed information to him. Mostly cuts and bruises, nothing more serious than that.

As he thought it, his senses picked up on something else, an unnatural heat making the air jitter around her.

She was cradling her arm.

“He burned you?” Nick asked.

“How did you know that?”

“It’s his MO. He’s a Fire Elemental. I’ve felt the effects before.” More than once, too. Tyler and his best friend Seth used to wait to trap Nick alone. They’d pin him down and threaten to burn his skin off, knowing Nick wouldn’t use his abilities to stop them.

Only they didn’t always stop at threats.

Nick should have let him suffocate in the driveway.

“Fire, like Gabriel?” Quinn snorted. “Why is that not surprising? They should just burn the crap out of each other.”

“Not like Gabriel. Nowhere near as strong. Give me your hand.”

“He seemed plenty strong to me.” But she held out her hand, snatching it back at the last moment when he went to take it.

“Don’t touch it, okay? It hurts like a bitch.”

He glanced away from the road for a sec. Lights from the roadway reflected off the drying tears on her cheeks. He caught sight of that bruise again and wanted to kill Tyler.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Come closer.”

She unsnapped her seat belt and scooted to the middle of the bench, until her shoulder was against his side and their thighs were touching.

Her face pressed into his shoulder. She smelled like the woods, pine and dirt and nighttime.

Nick sighed and put an arm around her, stroking her hair back from her face. “Quinn. Do you want me to take you home?”

“To your house?” her muffled voice asked hopefully.

He hadn’t meant his house, but he felt the pain and fear in every breath she took.

“Please?” she whispered.

“Okay,” he said, hitting the turn signal to make a U-turn at the next intersection. “You have to be absolutely quiet. Mike will kill me if he finds you there.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to be loud?” she said suggestively.

Nick made a disgusted noise. “You can’t be too hurt if you’re making jokes.”

She raised her head and sniffled. “You smell like Adam.”

Nick couldn’t figure out the note in her voice, but warmth snuck across his cheeks as he remembered the exotic scent of oranges and cloves. Of course she’d know what Adam smelled like—she’d spent an hour with her hands all over him during rehearsal.

“Your bag is still here, too,” Quinn continued, kicking at his messenger bag on the floor of the truck. “Nick Merrick, you dirty dog. It’s after midnight.”

“We just talked.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Quinn. Shut up and give me your arm.”

When she did, he glanced between her wrist and the road. He could feel the heat coming off her skin from here. No wonder he’d found her crying.

He definitely should’ve killed Tyler in the driveway.

Nick blew air along the burn, feeding power into it.

Quinn sucked in a breath. “What are you doing?”

“Healing it.” He had to be careful, though. Too much power could hurt. He knew that from experience, too.

She relaxed against him, resting her head against his shoulder again. “That feels amazing.”

“I’ll send you a bill.”

“Can you fix my face, too?”

“Yes.” Another breath, another flare of power. She was relaxed, so he tried for information. “Why did he hit you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Did you sleep with Adam?”

“Of course not.” The thought was terrifying and intriguing all at once, and he told his imagination to knock it off.

“Don’t get all indignant about it. Two virile guys? Isn’t that like twice the recommended daily dose of testosterone?”

“Quinn.”

“Did you make out at least?”

He sighed along her skin.

Quinn made a low sound and snuggled closer. “You really like him, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. Honestly, he still didn’t know if he’d been relieved to get Quinn’s call, putting an end to the night, or disappointed that it had cut their time short. He felt so unprepared to be with a guy, like he only knew the choreography for one dance step, and this was a completely different type of music.

God, he couldn’t even fool himself. Disappointed. He’d been disappointed.

He’d never lost control like that before. His life was always about fulfilling expectations. Spending a few minutes acting on instinct—he’d never felt anything like it. He couldn’t wait to feel like that again.

Quinn lifted her head and looked up at him. “You do really like him. I know you do. I could tell the instant you saw him at the studio.”

“I’m glad I’m so transparent.”

“You’re not transparent. He’s just like that. Magnetic. Everyone likes Adam.”

Nick blew another line of breath along her arm, drawing the burn out, feeling the skin rebuild. Everyone likes Adam.

Quinn’s voice had changed when she’d dropped the words.

Nick realigned what he’d learned from the evening, Adam’s gentle teasing, his easy comfort with who he was. They’d shared a moment. More than a moment—Nick had trusted him with the biggest secret of his life. You’re safe here.

With a start, he realized that Adam’s one-liners could have been the same kind of practiced words that Nick dropped on unsuspecting girls.

He’d rushed into this with his emotions exposed and bare.

He’d fallen for Adam’s quiet confidence, his dedication to dance and school, and his singular focus on what he wanted. Nick had been all instinct and feeling and passion. Adam had been controlled. In control.

You’re going to break my heart. I can feel it.

God, repeating it to himself now, it felt like such a line.

“Yowch!” Quinn said, sitting up straight and yanking her arm away. “Holy crap, Nick!”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Here. I’ll be more careful.”

“No—actually—I think it’s fine.” She held her wrist out, running a finger along the smooth skin. “You’re amazing.”

“Amazing,” he echoed. “Yeah. Right.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Am I being an idiot, Quinn?”

He could feel her studying him in the darkness. “I think I need more information.”

“With Adam.”

She was quiet for a minute. He pulled up the driveway to his house and killed the engine. They couldn’t sit here too long, but they could never finish this conversation in the house, so he waited with the keys in his hand, his eyes on the darkened dash.

Quinn let out a slow breath. “You really like him,” she said softly. “Like, full on hearts in your eyes, doodling your last name with his, making up—”

“Quinn.”

She pulled her legs up on the bench to sit cross-legged. “Did you go back to his place?”

He winced, feeling like he was admitting something he shouldn’t. “Yes.”

“Was there more kissing or more talking?”

His face felt warm again, and he fiddled with the keys in his lap. Was this how girls felt? He didn’t like it. “Dead even.”

“Did anyone’s clothes come off?”

“No!” Thank god. But now he was imagining it.

God, this was so confusing. He shouldn’t have thrown away the cup sleeve with Courtnie’s number. That he knew how to handle.

But another part of him railed against the idea, like he’d cracked a door and his subconscious had wedged an arm into the opening.

Quinn was quiet for a while. “I’ve known Adam for a long time,” she finally said. “But that doesn’t mean I know him well.

He doesn’t bring a lot of guys around the studio or anything—

but he never seems lonely, either. Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know. You called, and I left in a hurry. He said he’d text me later.” Nick checked his phone. No new messages from Adam. Not even to ask how Quinn was.

“Sucks being the girl, doesn’t it?” said Quinn.

“Shut up.” But yes. It did.

Nick tried to be quiet when he snuck Quinn into the house, but Hunter stirred and ran a hand across his face when they crept into the bedroom.

His eyes widened fractionally when he saw Quinn, but he took it in stride. “You guys want me to crash on the couch?”

“She’s sleeping here, that’s all,” said Nick.

Hunter yawned and rolled over, turning his back on them.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Nick usually slept in a T-shirt and boxers, but out of defer-ence to Quinn’s presence in his bed, he pulled on a pair of threadbare sweatpants. They changed in the dark, and then he drew back the blankets.

Quinn slid in beside him. She offered his modesty no defer-ence. His hand brushed bare thigh, but before he could react to that, she was pressed up against him, her leg slung over his.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, controlling the air so the sound waves of their conversation wouldn’t carry to Hunter.

“Come on,” she breathed. “If I’m caught here, it should at least look like we’re sleeping together.”

Nick didn’t say anything, torn between protesting and thinking she had a pretty good point.

Quinn snuggled more closely, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s not like you care, right? If you want me to move, I will.”

“No.” He hesitated. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Can you still fix my face?” Her voice was sleepy.

“Sure,” he murmured. At least her sleeping position made that easy. He turned his head and eased a breath along her cheek.

She relaxed into him, so he fished for information. “You never told me how you ended up with Tyler.”

“I walked to the 7-Eleven. He was there.”

“You walked there alone?”

“I walk there all the time. Stop being such a mother hen.”

“Why did Tyler start hassling you?” For an instant, he wondered if Quinn had walked up and started hassling Tyler. She wasn’t exactly subtle.

“He wants to know what happened at the carnival. He said something about the Guides.” She paused. “The news said those explosions at the carnival were due to poor wiring.”

“No. That was Calla Dean. She started those.”

“Calla Dean!”

“Shh. Yeah. She was behind the arson attacks, too.”

Quinn’s house had burned down in one of those arson attacks—it was the whole reason they were living in that damned apartment. “I thought that was Rick Stacey!”

“He helped, but she was the mastermind.”

Quinn was silent for a minute. She knew Calla Dean from school—but she didn’t know her well. Calla had been one of the students who’d disappeared after the carnival, and everyone thought she was dead. There was still a memorial of notes and pictures taped all over her locker.