Lover At Last(225)

Qhuinn shook his head, and put his palm out in a stop. And though she was inclined to make a second appeal, it just got her a another round of talk-to-the-hand.

Before Blay could get moving again, a guy with hair down to his ass and a pair of sprayed-on velvet pants made an approach. His smile was brilliant white, and his lean body seemed made for acrobatics.

A sudden nausea blendered Blay’s gut—even as he reminded himself that after their last run-in, Qhuinn would not be looking for sex from him ever again—so why should he care who the fighter fucked. And God knew the male had a sex drive—

Mr. Lounge Suit with the extensions was given the heave-ho as well.

After which, Qhuinn just refocused ahead of himself.

An abrupt vibration went off in Blay’s pocket, his phone letting him know there was a text. Taking the thing out, he saw that it was from Beth: All good—Layla home safe. Just went for a joyride, and is going to watch some tube with me.

Blay texted back a thanks, and returned his cell to his inner pocket. No reason to stay and bother the fighter with what had been a nonevent…although this was a chance to do a little damage control on his H-bomb delivery from a week ago.

Blay walked over, wending in and out of the bodies. When he got within range, he cleared his throat and spoke up over the din. “Hey—”

That hand shot up above Qhuinn’s shoulder. “For the love of fucking God, I’m not interested, okay?”

At that moment, the person on the left decided to vacate with whatever drink he’d ordered.

Blay took the human’s place.

“I told you to get the fuck—” Qhuinn froze in mid-blow-off. “What…are you doing here?”

Okay, where to start with that.

“Is there something wrong?” Qhuinn said.

“No, no. Really, not anything…you know, wrong.” Blay frowned as he realized there was no alcohol in front of the guy. “Did you just get here?”

“No, I’ve been hanging around for…couple of hours, I guess.”

“You’re not drinking?”

“I did when I first sat down. But then…yeah, no.”

Blay studied that face he knew so well. It was so grim, with hollows under the cheekbones and a perma-frown that suggested the guy hadn’t slept in seven days, either.

“Listen, Qhuinn—”

“Did you come to apologize?”

Blay cleared his throat again. “Yeah. I did. I’m—”

“Right.”

“What?”

Qhuinn put his hands up and scrubbed his eyes…then stayed put with his palms covering himself from forehead to chin. He said something that didn’t carry, and that was when Blay knew something momentous had happened.

Then again, the poor bastard had probably come to the realization that Blay was in fact not a saint.

Blay leaned in closer. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Fair, after all, was fair. He’d sure as hell unloaded everything on his mind when they’d last seen each other.

“You were right,” Qhuinn said. “I didn’t know…I was…”

When nothing else came, Blay’s ribs tightened up hard, his brows shooting sky-high as the gist hit him. Oh…my God.

As shock went through his whole body, he realized he’d never expected the guy to come around. Even as he’d yelled those hard-core words, it had been more a function of finally snapping, rather than out of any expectation that they would sink in.

Qhuinn shook his head, those hands staying in place. “I just…all those years, all that shit with them…I couldn’t face another strike against me.”

Blay was more than aware of who the “them” was.

“I did a lot of things to make it go away, to cover crap up—because even after they kicked me out, they were still in my head. Even after they died…still in there, you know. Always in there with the…” One hand made a fist and started banging his brain. “Always in there…”

Blay caught that thick wrist and guided the male’s arm down. “It’s okay….”

Qhuinn didn’t look at him. “I didn’t even know I was bending everything. I wasn’t, like, aware of the shit in my mind—” That deep voice caught. “I just didn’t want to give them another reason to hate me, even though they didn’t fucking matter. What the fuck is that, you know? What the fuck have I been thinking?”

The pain that wafted out of Qhuinn’s body was so great, it changed the air temperature around him, lowering things until the hair on Blay’s forearms pricked from the chill.

And at that moment, faced with the abject misery in front of him, Blay wished he could have taken what he’d said back—not because it wasn’t true, but because he wasn’t the one who should have ripped off that Band-Aid. Mary, Rhage’s shellan, should have done it as part of a therapy session or something. Or maybe Qhuinn should have gradually become aware of it.