SOMETHING LIKE REDEMPTION (Something Like Normal #2)

One-1

“Red, are you awake?”

No!

My sense of hearing is finely tuned as my eyes have been shut for the past three hours, refusing to open because once they do, the events of why I’m here will become real.

I don’t want to believe that my dad, who I put a bullet into, is not really dead. Nor do I want to believe that he and his drug dealer, my former “boss” Big Phil, shot a man in cold blood, ending his life like it never mattered.

But it did matter.

It matters to me.

He mattered to me.

And because of me, he’s dead.

Hank protected me until the very end. He could have ratted me out, but he didn’t. He faced my dad head-on, proving to be more of a parent than my own biological father. So where’s the justice in him being dead while his murderers roam free?

There isn’t any.

When I jumped on a bus close to three months ago, headed for the sleepy town of South Boston, Virginia, I never imagined the harm I would cause so many people I came to care for.

Especially not the man sitting beside me.

Nothing about Quinn Berkeley is simple, and from the get-go, I knew he would change my life forever. But I never foresaw just how much so. Nor did I ever predict that his brother, Tristan, would do the same.

Tristan, who Quinn and I left unconscious and bleeding to death on his hallway floor, is the reason Quinn and I are alive.

Yes, we’re on the run from the police, as we’re both prime suspects in Hank’s murder, but we’re alive.

And we’re together.

But I don’t blame Quinn for resenting or even hating me. I mean, I’m the reason his brother was coughing up his own blood, thanks to a stab wound my dad and Phil inflicted on him.

I hate myself for it, and I will continue to do so for all the days of my life.

But that’s good.

All that hate and anger will fuel me to rid this earth of two assholes, ensuring they never hurt another living soul again.

I tell myself to open my eyes, as Quinn just asked me a question.

Yet my eyes remain closed.

How am I supposed to open them and face the eyes of the man whose life I have just destroyed? Because of me, Quinn’s life is one big f****d-up mess, and I can’t do anything about it. Or is there?

“I know you’re not sleeping.”

“How do you know?” I ask, cracking open an eye, only able to take him in this way.

Step by step with Quinn—I’ve learned the hard way. If I overindulge too fast, he’s proven to be hazardous to my health.

“Because I know you,” he replies plainly, his face inches from mine. His weary eyes reveal how our messed-up situation weighs heavily upon him.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking around at our unfamiliar surroundings, seeing a strip of derelict shops and lots of greenery.

“Someplace in North Carolina. Thought we could get something to eat and withdraw some cash,” he replies, muffling a yawn with the back of his hand.

“Sure.” I unbuckle my seat belt.

My Border Collie pup, Lucky, likes the sound of that, as he sits up, wagging his tail excitedly. Patting between his ears, I’m so happy he’s in better condition than when I first found him. “Okay, buddy, you’re coming too.”

Quinn exits the cab, and I take a minute to admire him.

He stretches his long arms above his head, which results in a sliver of his hardened stomach becoming exposed. My eyes drop to his ink, which I only know is there because I’ve been lucky enough to see him topless.

I know what lies underneath that plain, simple T-shirt, and nothing is plain or simple about it. I berate myself to stop checking him out because one, he’s cocky enough, and two, I need to ween myself off him because three hours is a long time to plot and plan.

I’m certain of a few things. It goes without saying my need for revenge animates me to survive. But I’m not selfish enough to drag Quinn down with me.

I’ve done enough of that.

No, what I have planned will save Quinn. It will clear his name, and in time, this will all be a distant memory for him.

But to do that, I have to sacrifice myself to save him.

I have no doubt that at the end of all of this, Quinn will hate me with every fiber of his being. And you know what? I can live with that.

I can live with that fact because I can live with anything as long as he’s happy and free.

“Did you want me to drive for a bit?” I ask, looking down at Quinn, who nurses his third cup of black coffee.

We’re sitting in a roadside diner called Yo-Yo’s, and it’s nothing like Bobby Joe’s, the diner I worked at back home.

Home.

It’s funny how I don’t consider LA my home anymore even though I grew up there. But when was it really my home? It stopped being my home the day my mother up and left, moving to Canada. I was three when it happened, and I haven’t heard from her since.

It was my mission before all this s**t happened to find her and ask her to fill in the blanks because my father sure as hell didn’t. I was prepared to beg for an explanation as to why she left because, how could a mother abandon her three-year-old child? Was I a disappointment in her eyes? Is that why she left?

But now, my priorities have changed.

I’ve found my mother. I know where she lives. But nowadays, that doesn’t seem as important as it once was to me.

Granted, things have turned to s**t, but deep down, it was never really a priority. If it were, I would have left the moment I found out where she was. But I didn’t. I stayed in South Boston because I had found the place I wanted to call home.

It’s too bad because if I had left, Hank would still be alive, and Tristan wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

“Nope, it’s fine. But I think we should crash. We’ve got to figure out what the hell to do next,” Quinn says, interrupting my what-ifs.

Rubbing my temples, hoping to soothe my pounding headache, proves futile. “Okay, good idea,” I reply, looking down at my untouched burger.

The thought of eating turns my stomach, so I slide it over to Quinn. “Here. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

As Quinn accepts, his long fingers brush over mine accidentally, and I pull away like I’ve been burned. He eyes me strangely but doesn’t question it, as we both know where that conversation will lead. For now, it seems we both want to live in denial.

I peer around the quiet diner and take in my surroundings because, this time, I really am just passing through a quiet, sleepy town.

“Can I get you another cup of coffee?” the server asks, clearly eyeing Quinn as she wiggles the glass coffeepot, blatantly flirting with him.

I’ve tried to ignore her because this has been going on since we first sat down. She looks like the girl-next-door type, and I already know she’s a better match for Quinn than I am.

And that’s because she doesn’t have a fuckload of baggage coming out of her ass, which won’t remain dead and buried.

“I’m good, thanks. Red?” He looks at me, and I shake my head in response because the next word to come out of my mouth will be a curse word.

“What brings you to North Carolina?” she purrs, leaning in unnecessarily close to collect Quinn’s dirty plate.

I don’t blame her for flirting because Quinn is hot and never short of female attention. But I need to get out of here, as the images of throttling this girl are becoming way too vivid.

“I’ll meet you outside,” I snap while reaching into the back pocket of my jeans and throwing some money onto the table.

Quinn looks up at me, puzzled, while the server looks relieved I’m leaving.

“Red, wait, I’ll…” he says, half standing.

But I don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence because I’m charging toward the exit.

Shouldering the door open, I welcome the cool breeze that slaps me in the face and mercifully cools me the hell down. I need to put a lid on my possessive, irrational feelings for Quinn. We haven’t even established what we are.

And besides, I’m supposed to be weening myself off him.

Thankfully, I find a distraction in the form of an ATM across the road, so I quickly run over to the quiet strip of shops with Tabitha’s credit card.

Tabitha Henderson.

Another friend I collected along the way who showed nothing but loyalty till the very end. It’s only because of Tabitha’s generosity that we could afford to do any of this. Otherwise, we’d be on the run and broke.

I intend to pay her back every penny even though I know it’ll take me my whole life to do so, as Tabitha comes from money. Not that you’d guess, seeing as Tabitha worked with me at Bobby Joe’s. That’s how we met.

With her fiery-red hair, warm eyes, and welcoming smile, I didn’t stand a chance at not being her friend—her best friend.

Trying not to look too suspicious, I flip my hand over to where I’ve written down Tabitha’s PIN numbers for each card in blue ink. As the machine reveals just how much money is available to withdraw, I have to take a closer look because I’ve never seen so many zeros before.

I feel awful, but I withdraw it all and do the same with the other two cards she so generously gave me.

As I quickly stuff the money into my backpack, in fear I’ll get mugged on the way back to Quinn’s truck, I wish I had my flick knife for protection. But I lost that in a scuffle with Brad, the sheriff’s son. But kicking that bastard’s ass was so worth it.

Thinking back to how different things would have turned out if not for Quinn saving my ass, I realize how much he’s done for me. Time and time again, Quinn has saved me and my ass. And all I’ve done is get his ass into trouble.

“There you are,” Quinn says when he sees me leaning against the hood of the truck.

“Here I am.”

He raises his eyebrow, confused by my behavior.

“Let’s go find somewhere to stay. I’ve withdrawn some money.”

Quinn nods but wisely doesn’t make a big deal about it because we don’t know who may be listening.

“Cool, let’s split,” he says, walking over to the passenger door to open it for me, but I pop off the hood and get there first.

Again, he raises his dark eyebrow and chews on the silver hoop in his lip, but he thankfully lets it go.

This is all part of my plan for him to hate me.

In the words of Quinn Berkeley, “It’s for the best.”

We find the perfect little motel hidden along the highway a few miles out of town. My heart breaks as I see its condition is similar to Night Cats, the motel that Hank owned and I worked at. It didn’t take long for it to become my home.

“You okay?” Quinn asks as he switches off the truck and catches me staring vacantly at the motel.

“Never better,” I blankly reply, not making eye contact as I reach for my backpack off the floor.

“Red.” Quinn sighs, and I can clearly hear the exhaustion in his voice, but I ignore him and push open my door before he can corner me and make me c***k.

Finding the office, I barge through the front glass door, needing to get away from Quinn. But the pang of guilt as I step into the small room hits me straight in the guts, and I want to head back out the way I came.

Nothing in this cold, sterile, and unfriendly room resembles Night Cats. But I still can’t stop my heart from pounding out of my chest and my breaths from leaving me in loud, anxious pants.

“Miss? You okay?” a nasally voice asks, snapping me out of my blackout.

“What?” I ask, looking up at the lady in front of me. She has cold eyes, unlike Hank, who always greeted me with a smile.

“She’s fine,” Quinn answers as he winds his arm around my waist to stop me from collapsing.

The lady looks from me to Quinn, pursing her thin lips. “What can I get for you, then?”

“A room, please,” Quinn replies, stepping toward the counter while softly releasing me.

Surprisingly, my feet hold me up.