Crazy for You

“I don’t want to talk, Bill.” Her voice was flat again, not pretending any more, he’d known that laugh was fake, and now she was just saying she didn’t want to, like she didn’t owe him, like it wasn’t her fault—

  “I want to talk,” he said, and crowded her closer, liking the way she stepped back—now she was paying attention—so that he moved closer and closer again until she was up against the building, nowhere to go.

  Now she’d talk to him, damn it.

  “Stop it.” She put her hands out to wave him away. “Just stop it. This is stupid.”

  She shoved at him a little, and it made him mad, she was shoving him away, but it made him want her, too, her hands on him, and that was wrong, this wasn’t about sex, and then she said, “Bill,” and tried to move around him and he caught at her wrists to hold her there.

  She shut up then, she knew he was serious, she was going to listen this time.

  “Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it and you can come back.” He heard his voice, and it sounded thick, like there was a lump in his throat, the way people sounded when they were going to cry, and that wasn’t his voice at all.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She tried to twist her hands away and he held her tighter, felt the fragile bones in her wrists crunch together, saw her take a sharp breath, frown at the pain, and thought, Now you’ll listen, thought about shoving her against the wall, shoving himself against her, just to feel her again, just to—

  “Let go, Bill.” Her face was wrong, she was frowning at him, she was all wrong. “It just wasn’t right. It’s nobody’s fault.” Her voice shook a little, and that made him tighten his hands again. She looked afraid, she was really paying attention now, he could talk to her now. “Let go of me,” she said, and he watched her try to be calm, that was his Quinn, nothing she couldn’t handle, nothing she couldn’t make all right. Except this. He was the one in control now.

  She squirmed under his hands again and he felt hot, felt like pushing at her, pushing against her, all her softness was supposed to be his, it was his—

  “This is ridiculous, Bill,” she said sharply. “You’re hurting me.”

  That’s the only way you listen, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t waste the time, he had to make her see—“What wasn’t right?” he said. “You owe me that, what was so goddamn wrong you had to leave? You just tell me that.”

  “Bill, I don’t like this.” She tried to make her voice firm, he could tell she was trying, but she quavered anyway, and he thought, Good. Good for somebody else to feel some pain instead of always him, good for her to know who was in charge. “Let me go,” she said, and he felt the heat flare again because he wasn’t going to. She was just out of luck because he wasn’t going to.

  “I don’t like letting you go.” Bill had to push the words out, his throat was too tight, she had to understand, he’d make her understand just how wrong she’d been to leave him in that tomb of an apartment. He shoved her into the brick again, bouncing her with his words to make her listen. “I don’t like coming home and finding you not there.” And watching her through windows, always shut out, that was her fault. He pulled her up and shoved her into the brick harder. “I don’t like never seeing you. I don’t like the way you won’t look at me, the way you treat me like I’m not even there, so I guess we’ve both got some things we don’t like.”

  “I’m going home.” Quinn tried to jerk her wrists free, but there was no way, not anymore, he’d had enough, so he pulled her close and then shoved her really hard against the building to make her listen, and her head smacked against the wall, and she cried out and blinked back tears, pain, he knew about pain, and he was glad.

  He pressed her wrists into the bricks, one hand on each side of her head so she couldn’t turn away, putting his face close to hers so she’d have to look at him, have to see him. “I did everything right, I was everything you needed, and you left me because of that damn dog. You were happy with me,” he said, and her voice choked as she said, “Bill—”

  “You were,” he said, “you were, you were, you were—” He shoved her wrists into the brick on each were, glad she winced when he did it, breathing heavier each time she did, glad she was paying attention, feeling really good, feeling really really good, but when he pulled back to shove her into the wall again, she wrenched herself away, throwing herself sideways, trying to get away. He said, “No,” and grabbed at her shirt, but she wouldn’t stop, he felt it give suddenly, and then she was running from him, limping and stumbling, her shirt was in his hand and her bare back was pale in the dark night as she ran, and all he had was her shirt, that was wrong. He yelled, “Goddamn it,” and threw the shirt away to run after her, to get her back, she couldn’t get away again, she was not going to get away again.

  He caught her in three strides, grabbing at her bare arm, feeling her warm flesh under his fingers as he yanked her back and yelled, “Stop running from me.” He swung her around—she was naked, almost naked, one of those loud bras, awful pink, she was so round, he reached for her, wanting to dig his fingers into her—and she screamed, “No!” and kicked out and caught him on the knee. The pain shot to his groin, the knee gave way, he buckled to the pavement, losing his grip on her as he went down, grabbing out again even as she stumbled back and ran again. He tripped to his feet and went after her, just as a truck came around the corner, and his mind screamed No just like she had because the truck slowed down.

  Quinn shrieked, “Nick,” his name tearing at her throat, and the truck slid to a stop close to her. She lunged for the door just as Nick opened it from the inside and Bill grabbed her from behind again, yanking at her arm, and she wanted to scream and scream, grappling for the door, for Nick’s hand, anything to be with him and safe and away from the madness behind her.

  “Christ!” Nick lunged across the seat as Quinn grabbed for him. “Let go of her!”

  He caught the hand she flung at him and hauled her into the cab, dragging Bill behind her into the doorway. Her shoulders ached as they pulled her between them, and she clutched Nick with all the strength she had left, digging her fingers into his hand, leaning toward him, trying to become part of him again so Bill couldn’t drag her back.

  “Don’t let me go,” she said to Nick between gasps, and he said, “Don’t worry.”

  His face looked dark as he leaned across her, pinning her to the seat with his shoulder, keeping her safe with his weight. He glared down at Bill. “Bill, let go of her now.” He started to shove past her to get out of the truck and Quinn held on to him.

  “No,” she said. “No, you don’t leave me, no.”

  “We need to talk,” Bill said, still holding on. “Just talk. This is between us, Nick. Nothing to do with you.” His voice was thick with tension and rage, and Quinn wanted to throw up; she’d never heard Bill like that before. Breaking into her house could have been just malicious, but this, this was madness. Then he said, “Give her back to me,” and Quinn panicked.

  “Don’t let me go,” she said to Nick, not knowing what he could do, holding on to him for dear life. “Don’t leave me, don’t let me go.”

  Nick took a deep breath, and then set the emergency brake with his free hand. He eased himself around her, pushing her with his hip so that she slid over toward the driver’s door, almost lying on the seat because Bill was still holding on to her wrist, trying to pull her out. Nick leaned against her arm, blocking her from Bill’s sight—he felt so good and solid, like an anchor, like her last hope—and began to pry Bill’s fingers from her arm. He said with calm ferocity, “You’re hurting her, Bill,” and that was when Bill finally let go.

  Quinn felt so relieved she almost wept, crossing her arms in front of her, hugging herself to ease the aches in her shoulders and wrists, feeling naked and exposed in just her bra. Her shirt was back someplace on the pavement along with everything she’d ever known about herself and the world. Things like this didn’t happen to her. People didn’t hurt her. She didn’t get this scared. She
was the one in control, she could fix anything, she—

  “Don’t get between us, Nick.” Bill stood close, making his body a block so Nick couldn’t close the door. “I know you’re a good friend, but this is serious. Don’t make me come in there after her.”

  His voice was so calm that Quinn thought, He really is insane. He’s gone completely round the bend. He could do anything and think it was right. Even hurt her. Even drag her off just because he thought she belonged to him.

  “Here’s the situation, Bill,” Nick said in the same calm voice Bill was using. She could feel him shaking, hear the strain behind his voice as he fought his temper to stay in control. “You can undoubtedly kick my ass in about thirty seconds, but you can’t do it and grab Quinn, too, and that means she’ll have thirty seconds to lock herself inside this truck and dial nine-one-one on the cell phone while we’re beating the crap out of each other. Then you can explain to Frank Atchity why she’s so upset and I’m bleeding, and he’s already got some pretty good suspicions about you. Or you can let me take her home, and we can decide what the fuck is going on tomorrow. Your call.”

  Bill looked like a maddened bull, but then he looked past Nick’s shoulder into Quinn’s eyes. She drew a shuddering breath, and his face changed. “Don’t cry,” he said to her. “I just need to talk.”

  “Later,” she said to appease him. “Much later.” I hate you. I never want to see you again. Ever. I hope you die.

  “I’m going to take her home now,” Nick said. “Step back so we can close the door.”

  Bill stood there for a minute, the longest minute of Quinn’s life, and then he stepped back, and Nick pulled the door shut and locked it. “Jesus, that was bad,” he said, and turned to put his arms around her.

  She leaned into his arms, pressing against him, trying to feel warm and safe, and when she said, “I’m okay,” he said, “No, you’re not. Somebody you used to care about just hurt you.”

  His arms tightened around her and she clutched his shirt and sobbed once—she hadn’t meant to at all, it just came out—and he held her close until she felt her breathing slow again. “Take me home,” she said into his shirt. “Get me out of here.”

  Nick kissed her forehead. He let go of her to take off his flannel shirt and drape it around her, and then he climbed over her to get back to the driver’s seat. Quinn took one last long shuddering breath and turned to get her seat belt. Through the window she saw Bill across the lot, standing there, her shirt in his hand, watching them. “Get me out of here,” she said, and Nick looked past her and said, “Jesus,” and floored it getting her away from him.

  Nick took her home—trying not to shake, trying to be the practical, calm, soothing one when all he wanted to do was kill Bill—and they walked in the dining room to find Max and Darla sitting in strained silence.

  “What happened to you?” Darla said when she saw Quinn’s face. “Nick, what did you—”

  “It wasn’t Nick,” Quinn said. “It was Bill. He grabbed me. He’s out of control, completely out of control.”

  “The police,” Darla said, and Nick said, “Damn straight.”

  Quinn collapsed into a chair. “I hate this. I hate this. Why couldn’t he just give up and let me go?” She put her head down on the table, and Darla went to stand beside her and stroke her hair.

  Nick felt like hell.

  “It’s not your fault,” Darla told her. “He’s crazy.”

  “We’re calling the police now,” Nick said, needing to do something, and Quinn raised her head and said, “Not now.”

  Nick said, “Quinn!” and Darla said, “Just give her a minute. She’s not going to talk to anybody like this.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Max stood up, as tense as Nick. “Suppose that loon comes here after her. Nick calls the police.”

  “He’s not going to come here,” Quinn said tiredly, and Nick wanted to hold her, to tell her it would be all right, that he’d be there, that—“My dad’s here. Darla’s here—”

  “Not anymore, she’s not,” Max said. “This is it.” He turned to Darla and said, “I know you want to wait until Saturday, but it’s time for you to come home. You are not staying here with that asshole on the loose.”

  Darla shook her head, incredulous with him. “I can’t leave Quinn. Bill—”

  “She can come home with us,” Max said at the same time Nick said, “I’ll stay with Quinn.”

  “Or Nick can stay with her,” Max said, picking up the thread smoothly. “But you don’t stay here. It’s dangerous.”

  “If it’s dangerous, then I’m definitely not leaving her.” Darla’s voice was stubborn but uncertain. “Nick won’t stay, you know how he is—”

  “Hey,” Nick said, feeling outraged and guilty all at once. Of course he’d stay. Okay, so generally he wasn’t much for sleepovers, but this was different. He’d stay. At least until Bill was in jail with a good long sentence.

  “—and I can’t leave her alone,” Darla finished.

  “It’s okay—” Quinn began, and then Max said, “The hell with this, you’re going,” and picked Darla up over his shoulder.

  Nick winced, and Darla said, “Wait a minute,” and squirmed to wriggle down.

  “Probably not a good idea,” Nick told Max under his breath, but he opened the door anyway, and Max carried her out.

  Darla said, “I said, wait a minute,” as they hit the porch, but Nick said, “Don’t hurry back,” and shut the door behind them. He leaned against the door and locked it, throwing the deadbolt.

  Quinn stood, tense and strained. “That’s my best friend. I object.”

  Nick came toward her. “No, you don’t. You’re as glad as I am they’re back together. Come on—”

  “Back together may be premature,” Quinn said. “She didn’t seemed charmed by that. Just like I wasn’t charmed by Bill.”

  Nick stopped, appalled at the comparison. “That’s different. This is her husband.”

  “I’m not sure.” Quinn limped into the living room and sank onto the couch. “I’m not sure about anything anymore.” She rubbed her ankle. “Bill was never like this before, grabby, physical. He’s changed. Maybe Max has, too.”

  “I sure as hell hope so.” Nick came to stand in front of her. “That’s why Darla left him. I thought change was what you guys wanted.”

  “Not like that,” Quinn said. “I don’t understand Bill at all.”

  She looked tired and confused and hurt, and Nick felt like hell again. “I do. I think he’s a jerk and we’re calling the police right now, but I understand him. He thinks you belong to him.”

  “Listen, I have told him—”

  “You told me, too, and I didn’t go away.” He sat next to her on the couch, taking her hand, trying to make her understand so she wouldn’t look so lost. “For the past two weeks, I’ve waited, and I’ve watched you, and I knew you’d come back to me because you belong to me. Every guy thinks that about the woman he loves.”

  Quinn jerked her head up at “loves,” and he ignored it to go on.

  “It’s the reason I trapped you against that wall after you blew me off for those weeks. I took you back.” He felt a wave of heat even as he said it. He wanted her again, wanted to take her like that again, feel her give herself up like that again, and then Quinn closed her eyes, and he felt like hell. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not.” She opened her eyes again and looked at him fully. “I was just overwhelmed by how sexy that was. Politically incorrect as hell, but really, really sexy.”

  He wanted to bend her back right there on the couch, and he felt guilty for wanting to, she’d been manhandled enough for one night. But he still wanted to. “Look, I know it’s not right, but that’s the way it is. I watch you walk across the stage, and I look at your butt and I think, That’s mine. I watch you stretch up to take a paint can from Thea and your shirt gapes open and I think, That’s mine. I listen to your voice and your laugh and I watch your eyes and your mouth and I think, That’s mine. Even wh
en you were saying no, you were mine. It doesn’t go away. You can’t talk me out of that. Every move you make belongs to me. I know it’s wrong, and I don’t care.”

  “Oh,” Quinn said.

  “And the problem is, Bill doesn’t even know it’s wrong. He just knows you’re his and you’re not with him.”

  Quinn swallowed. “He’s never going to see the truth, is he?”

  “Yes,” Nick said. “He’s going to see it, but it’s going to take more than talk. I don’t know what it’s going to take, but I know it’s going to be more than you saying, ‘Bill, it’s over.’ You could say it to me and I’d never believe it. You’re mine. Just like Darla belongs to Max.” He spared a thought for Max, who’d just kidnapped his wife. “I hope.”

  “I can’t cope with this right now.” Quinn collapsed against the back of the couch. “I know that’s weak, I’ll handle this tomorrow, but no more tonight.”

  “You need ice on that ankle before we call the cops?” Nick said, and she shook her head.

  “No.” Quinn shook her head. “No police. I can’t face them tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll do it, I swear. But not tonight.”

  Nick started to protest and then saw how exhausted she looked. He was staying with her, and Bill wasn’t going anyplace. “First thing in the morning, then, you promise.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said, nodding.

  “Okay.” He held out his hand. “Come on, gimpy. Let’s go to bed.”

  “Oh, you really are staying?” Quinn took his hand, and he looked down to see her wrists scraped raw. From far away he heard her say, “Dad’s upstairs, you know. You don’t—”

  “What happened to your wrists?”

  Quinn looked at her hands. “Oh. Bill scraped them against the bricks.”

  “That’s it,” Nick said. “He goes to jail forever. The sonofabitch—”

  “It’s not that bad—”

  “Fuck him. He goes to jail.” Nick gritted his teeth, and then shut up when he saw how upset she was. “Tomorrow. Where’s your first-aid stuff?”

  “Kitchen,” Quinn said. “I don’t think he realized—”