SOMETHING LIKE REDEMPTION (Something Like Normal #2)

Two-1

I wake, thankfully not gagged or tied to the bed.

Quinn has every right to be mad at me. But I don’t regret my decision. I’m just disappointed I got caught.

I stretch and yawn, still exhausted, but I doubt a week of sleep would be enough rest.

I’m alone in bed, and as I peek out the window, I see it’s still dark out. I wonder what time it is and where Quinn is. Panic seizes me, thinking he may have left, but as I sit up quickly, I see him hunched over the table, studying a map.

“Mornin’,” he says sleepily, not making eye contact but sensing I’m awake.

“Hey,” I reply hoarsely, brushing the hair off my face.

As Quinn raises a paper coffee cup above his head, his eyes still glued to the map in front of him, I quickly slip out of bed and throw on a sweater because it’s freezing. I graciously accept the coffee and take a seat near him at the tiny table. I cringe as I sip the bitter black coffee, but it’s better than nothing.

“Whatcha doing?” I ask, looking at the road map spread out in front of us.

Quinn finally meets my eyes, tapping a pen on the table, deep in thought. “Trying to figure out where to go next.”

“Oh,” I reply, sipping my coffee quietly and lowering my eyes. “We’re going to have to ditch the truck. The cops will be all over it by now.”

Quinn nods, dropping the pen onto the table and running both hands through his disheveled hair.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” he says.

Knowing how much he loves his truck, I bite my lip remorsefully. “Sorry.”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“Any ideas?” I ask, jutting my chin out toward the map.

He rubs his weary eyes, sliding Tabitha’s phone over to me. “I got that a couple of hours ago.”

Reaching for the phone, I glance at the screen and realize it’s just after three o’clock.

Keep moving.

Got someone to help.

Will text when I have more info. DO NOT go to the police. T x

“Someone to help?” I ask, looking at Quinn, confused.

But he only shrugs. “No clue. But I agree with the keep moving part.”

“To where?” I question, leaning in closer to see the routes he’s marked.

I trace my finger along the line he’s drawn, following the state lines that lead into Mexico.

“It’s the long, most indirect way, as we’ll need to take the back roads. But it’ll certainly keep the cops off our tails instead of taking a direct route.”

My eyes flick north, however, zeroing in on one particular place.

“Is there anywhere specific you wanted to go?” he asks as my finger circles around Alberta, Canada.

“Anywhere that serves better coffee than this,” I tease, making a pained face as I take another sip, still tracing over the location where my mom lives. “Do you want to know why I came to South Boston?”

Quinn waits for me to continue.

“To find my mom,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his. “After I shot my dad, I needed to leave LA. I wanted to get as far away from my past as possible, and it was pure luck I ended up where I did.”

Quinn knows I mean it was pure luck that I found him. Out of all the places I could have gone to, I ended up discovering this amazing man before me in South Boston. But I’ve had to pay a price for my fortune and so have others.

“So she’s in Canada?” he questions, though it’s pretty apparent as my finger has circled the same spot for the past few minutes.

“Yes,” I reply, nodding. “I found out within the first few days of being in South Boston.”

“So why did you stay?”

“Because of the people I met. Because of the friends I made. Because of…you,” I reply softly, hoping that doesn’t sound weird.

“Me?” he asks, taken aback by my confession.

“Yes.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask me to explain because I’m not sure I could clarify what I mean without freaking him out.

“Well, I’m glad you did.”

I’m well aware of his fingers grazing over my knuckles affectionately, and the gesture warms me all over. His long fingers envelop my wrist, pulling me toward him, and I quickly comply as he settles me onto his lap.

I’m sitting sideways, his long legs offering me all the support I need.

“Do you want to go to Canada?” he questions, his hand resting at the back of my nape, toying with my hair.

“It was so important to me, but now…I don’t know,” I confess as his fingers trail down my neck and across to my collarbone.

“What’s important now?” he asks, his breath fanning out across my cheeks.

I don’t reply as I lose myself to his touch.

“How about we just go wherever the road takes us?” he suggests, placing a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth.

“I like the sound of that. And besides, who knows what Tabitha has planned. She did say to keep moving.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“I’ve never really been anywhere. I’m sorry we’re seeing the sights of America as fugitives,” I add sadly.

Quinn inches his face toward mine, mere inches separating us as he whispers, “I’d go anywhere with you, Red. It wouldn’t matter where. Just as long as you were with me, nothing else would matter.”

“Even if we’re Bonnie and Clyde?” I ask, trying to make light of our situation.

Quinn nods, a small smile tugging at his sinful lips. “We could be Thelma and Louise, for all I care. Just promise me no more running away from me. We do this together. Promise me.”

I bridge the gap between us, pressing my lips to his before I whisper, “I promise.”

It’s day two, and we need a car. We ditched Quinn’s truck a few miles down the road, hiding it as best we could in a dense area of trees.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble for the tenth time as we walk alongside the road, the early morning sun leading us toward our journey to nowhere.

Quinn walks Lucky on a short leash while he enjoys sniffing everything in sight. “It’s fine, Red. It’s just a truck,” he says, adjusting his black baseball cap to block out the sun reflecting off the pavement.

He only says that to make me feel better, but it’s not working.

“I know you’re lying. So, to make it up to you, I’m going to steal you a hot-ass car,” I reply loudly when a semi roars past us, my hair whipping into my face from the momentum.

Quinn chuckles, his lips tipping up into a heart-stopping smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t think you’ll find anything but tractors out here, Red,” Quinn teases as we walk past a few farms.

“Why does it smell so bad out here?” I ask, covering my nose as I keep getting wafts of…something.

Quinn chuckles and waves his hand out toward the sky. “That would be the fresh country air you smell, city slicker.”

“Well, if that’s what fresh country air smells like, give me pollution any day.”

That earns me another laugh from Quinn, who finds this simply hilarious. After we decided to go wherever the road took us, we both lightened up a bit, but every so often, I could see his thoughts drifting back home and, no doubt, to Tristan.

I find myself doing the same, but after Tabitha’s ambiguous text message, I try not to think too much about it all because I know she has something up her sleeve. And so do I.

“Red, I think we’re going to have to hitchhike,” Quinn says, placing his hand over his brow and looking from left to right at the vast nothingness before us.

I’m not sure where we are, as we’ve driven for about an hour and dumped the truck in some creepy, remote forest. I shiver when thinking about the desolate, insect-infected spot. I’m trying to keep my cool and not envision every bug known to humankind coming out and eating my face off. We’ve walked a couple of miles into, well, nowhere, so I hate to say it, but I think he’s right.

“Do you think that’s safe?” I ask, swatting a fly away from my face.

Quinn smirks. “As opposed to walking out here, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a crazy man wielding a chainsaw to attack us?”

“Good point. I wish I had my knife,” I say, reminiscing about the days when all the safety I needed lay in my boot.

“Such a boss,” Quinn comments, winking playfully at me.

“I’d feel better if I had my Colt. Where did that end up?” I remember him confiscating it when I pulled it on him.

“It’s in my backpack,” he replies, but thankfully doesn’t mention why he has it.

I nod and let it go, realizing he won’t return it, which troubles me. Does he not trust me? I promised him that I wouldn’t run, and I meant it. Plan B doesn’t require me to run, so that’s why I was able to make that promise to him.

“Hey, up ahead,” Quinn says, nodding toward the road.

Squinting, I make out a bright orange VW camper van driving at a steady pace down the hill. “You think they’re nice?” I ask, hooking out my thumb while walking backward.

Quinn follows my motion and chuckles. “Probably not.”

The van sees us, and surprisingly, it pulls over a few feet away from us.

“I am so going to regret this,” I mumble as Quinn and I approach the passenger window.

Quinn throws me a carefree grin, and when we’re inches away from the van, he mutters, “Whatever happens, just roll with it, okay?”

I c**k my eyebrow, puzzled. “Why—” I stop midsentence as I hear him address the van’s occupants.

“Thanks for stopping, y’all,” he says in a thick Southern accent.

I nearly fall over my feet when I hear him speak because, yes, Quinn has a slight, almost nonexistent Southern twang, which becomes somewhat stronger when he’s tired or angry, but I’m presuming he’s now neither, so I wonder what the hell he’s playing at.

“That’s okay,” says the young brunette female driver while checking Quinn out.

“Where’re you headed?” pipes up the passenger, also giving him the once-over.

“Wherever you’re willing to take us,” he replies in that ridiculous fake accent.

These girls will undoubtedly see through his bullshit and drive off, thankful they didn’t pick up two strangers.

But they don’t.

“We’re headed into South Carolina to see The Blizzards. We can take you that far?” says yet another eager brunette from the back seat as she leans between the two front seats, eyeing Quinn.

Great.

Quinn looks at me as I stand behind him, totally against getting into the van. But what choice do I have? This might be the last car we see for hours, and the prospect of being out here with all this country air and country…bugs has me taking a step toward Quinn.

“Whatcha think, Mabel?” Quinn asks, his mouth twitching as I take a visible breath.

Mabel? Really?

“I think that’s a peachy idea, Theodore,” I reply in an accent that is just as bad as his.

“Well, all right then,” Quinn replies, and he has the gall to tip his baseball cap at them in gratitude.

All the girls giggle and flutter their eyelashes while I’m about to puke in my mouth. I’m pretty sure that only works if one is wearing a cowboy hat.

The side door squeaks open, and the eager brunette from the back seat greets us. “Welcome aboard. I’m Bridgette,” she says, gesturing for us to enter.

“Thanks,” I mumble while stepping into the bordello on wheels and sitting in the back.

Quinn steps in behind me, and just as he is about to sit near me, Bridgette corners him. “Come sit here, Theo,” she purrs, patting the seat near her, leaning forward so her boobs are on display.

I clench the leather seat underneath me, my fingers about to tear through the fabric. But I quickly remind myself to chill out. Quinn looks at me awkwardly, and I roll my eyes, snatching Lucky’s lead from his hand and positioning him near me.

“I hope you guys like eighties music!” shouts the driver, taking off while Bon Jovi’s “Bad Medicine” drowns out my curses.

“They won’t know,” I whisper to my only companion in the car who feels my pain.

Lucky gazes up at me, looking as pained as I do, and as we’re being subjected to Bret Michaels for the fifth time, I revisit my idea of banging my head repeatedly on the window, hoping to knock myself unconscious.