Give Me Strength (12 page)

His brows rose at the very idea of me telling
him how to run a security operation. “My job is to keep you safe.
As far as I’m concerned, my job is being done, but you’re making it
difficult for me by putting yourself in situations like that. Make
some changes.”

“Your job is
not
to keep
me
safe.
It’s to keep Jamieson safe.”

Travis widened his eyes as though I’d lost all
sense. “You
are
Jamieson.”

My mouth opened but nothing came out because it
was quite possible he was right. I snapped it shut, biting my lip
to stop a sharp retort bursting through in the face of his
logic.

His eyes fell to my lips, and my lungs seized at
seeing the heat in them return full force. He took two steps
forward. I counted them as I held my breath.

“Quinn,” he whispered. His arm reached for me
hesitantly when the dressing room door opened with a resounding
bang. The moment lost, he took a step back, his arm falling by his
side as Mac strode through followed by the rest of the band.

“High five, dude,” Frog yelled at Travis. Travis
slapped his palm and said something that made Frog shout with
laughter.

“Fucking hell, Trav,” Cooper shouted and slung
an arm over my shoulder. “We saw you punch that massive dude out
there.”

My eyes were glued to Travis as Cooper spoke,
watching carefully as his eyes changed—cool replacing the heat.

“What a douchebag! Our little Quinn needs the
security more than we do.” Cooper jostled my shoulder and I tore my
eyes away and mustered a smile for Cooper. He leaned into my ear
and whispered, “You still smell like strawberries.” Then he winked
at me before Mac pulled him away.

In that moment—watching everyone chatter loudly
and laugh around me—I struggled not to feel alone. I’d been that
way for so long it had overtaken my life, yet remembering those
eerie shivers down my spine, like I was being watched, made it more
prominent. Something fierce was bearing down, leaving me more
uneasy than I’d felt in years.

***

Sunday lunchtime rolled
around entirely too quickly. My appearance was required at the
Valentine family barbecue. I would be seeing Travis there. In a
social capacity. Nothing work related. Alcohol could possibly be
involved. The very idea was making me late because everything in my
wardrobe was utter rubbish—nothing that said “outfit to meet and
socialise with the parents of the man you slept with once in a
drunken moment of folly” jumped out at me. I shouldn’t have cared
so much. I didn’t
want
to want Travis. I just did.

Juggling my handbag, keys, and the container of
peanut butter and white chocolate chip biscuits I was up early
baking, I locked the door of the townhouse. It was windy outside
and strands of hair were ripped from their bobby pins, instantly
ruining the hairstyle I’d taken great pains to put together. They
whipped into my eyes, and growling irritably, I flicked my head to
dislodge them. No doubt my neighbours, not including Lucy because
she wasn’t home, would think I was having a wild stroke.

Flicking my head a second time, my eye caught a
man striding towards me. Panic seized my body and the keys slipped
from my hand and fell to the ground.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God,
I chanted
silently as I dropped to the ground, grabbing them with trembling
hands. I stood up and jammed them back in the door to unlock the
townhouse.

“Quinn!” David yelled.

I glanced his way to see he’d picked up his pace
to a jog.

Six months. I was supposed to have six more
months! Why hadn’t someone done their job and notified me of his
release?

“Dammit,” I muttered when the door stuck. I
shoved at it, kicking the bottom corner hard with my foot. It flew
open and I whirled around and slammed it shut behind me, the
deadbolt sliding into place with a satisfying thunk. Heart in my
throat, I scrambled for my phone and punched buttons frantically.
When it started dialling I realised that panic had made me stupid
because I’d rung Lucy.

“Shit.”

I quickly ended the call before she could answer
and dialled emergency.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered, impatient for
someone to answer.

“Quinn!” David yelled and oh God, the sound was
right at my door. Loud banging accompanied the noise. “I know
you’re in there. I saw you. Open the fucking door!”

The phone was answered and the operator told me
to state my emergency. I explained in short, stuttered sentences,
fumbling my words as she tried to make sense of their jumble.

“Police are on their way, David!” I shouted as I
slid down the wall of the living room into a huddle. Rufus
scratched at the back door wanting in, but I couldn’t bear him
getting hurt if David managed to get inside. He whined at me,
sensing something was wrong.

“You owe me over three years of my life in that
shithole,” was his response.

For fifteen minutes the operator stayed on the
line while David shouted, banged the door, and rattled windows.

“I’m here to collect,” he yelled. “And I’m going
to enjoy every minute of it. When I’m done breaking you, you’re
going to hand over the money you owe me.”

Money?
What the hell was he talking
about?

My body stopped rocking when the realisation
that over five minutes of silence had slipped by. Another five
minutes and the police were there doing a brief canvas of the area,
asking questions, calling up prior assault records, and verifying
the restraining order that should still be in place.

I was told that if they managed to pick him up,
he would do another ninety days for the violation, as if that was
supposed to reassure me.

My phone rang.

“Excuse me,” I murmured and answered it.

“Quinn? You’re late!” came Mac’s
admonishment.

My voice shook as I gave my apology.

“Is everything okay?”

I looked around my townhouse. It wasn’t safe to
stay here. Not now. The younger officer met my eyes. I could see
hopelessness in them, as though he saw this shit every day and it
was beating him down. Was it hard to offer nothing more than empty
words of encouragement and fill out paperwork?

“Actually, nothing’s okay right now,” I admitted
to Mac, too tired to pretend.

“Quinn?” Her voice lost its familiar intensity
in favour of apprehension. “What’s going on?”

Rufus whined pitifully at the back door. “I
don’t think I can make it today. I have to pack,” I told her.

“Pack? For what? Where are you going?”

“My place isn’t safe anymore. I have to
find—”

“You’re not safe?” she half yelled. “Who—”

Mac was cut off this time, and after brief,
muffled words, Travis came on the line.

“Quinn, are you in danger?” His words were harsh
and urgent, yet hearing them had calm washing through me, as though
his voice alone had the power to leap tall buildings in a single
bound.

“No, I’m not. The police are here.”

“The police? I’m on my way.”

“No, Travis, everything’s under control—”

“Stay on the phone,” he told me. “Give me the
keys to your bike,” I heard him order someone. Mitch’s muffled
voice replied and after a moment, the throaty purr of an engine
growled to life. “Hang on,” Travis yelled at me over the noise. The
sound of a beep and clicking noise came through. “You there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Tell the police not to leave until we’re there,
okay?”

They promised they would stay, and after
relaying that to Travis, I offered the officers a drink.

“No thanks, ma’am,” said the older of the
two.

I picked up the container of biscuits still
sitting by the front door and sat it on the kitchen counter. Prying
off the lid, I held it towards them. “Biscuit?”

The younger man looked at the older of the two.
He shrugged and they both reached forward and took one each.

“Quinn, you still with me?” Travis yelled in my
ear over the noise of a horn blasting and someone shouting. “You’ll
have to speak up, okay?”

“Still here,” I replied loudly.

“Holy shit,” the younger officer barked out.
“These are f—ah, nice biscuits, ma’am.”

His eyes were focused on the container, so I
offered him another. He reached for one and when his responder
crackled to life, he spoke into it around a mouthful of
biscuit.

“Keep talking to me, Quinn. Tell me what you
like to do when you’re not working,” Travis ordered.

“Oh…” Even with the fear and panic, my belly
still fluttered just speaking to him on the phone. “Not much at all
really. I like going to the beach or the movies, or just lazing
around. Maybe that sounds boring to most people, but that’s my kind
of thing.”

The sound of an engine gunning roared in my
ears, then I heard, “If that makes you boring, then you can bore me
stiff any day, sweetheart.”

The officers were focused on their paperwork,
yet I still spun around to hide my flaming cheeks from their view.
Oh my God the visions that his words evoked. Was he trying to
distract me? If so, it worked. After a few more minutes of
answering his random questions, my cheeks cooling, a loud throaty
growl came thundering down the street and Travis said, “I’m
here.”

I flew to the window and my mouth fell open, the
phone still glued to my ear despite the fact that Travis had
already hung up. He was peeling himself off a shiny, black
motorcycle. Wearing faded jeans, a soft grey shirt, and a worn
brown leather jacket, his powerful body strode determinedly to my
front door. The blood in my veins boiled as he got closer, and my
cheeks heated all over again.

Peeling the phone from my ear, I tossed it on
the kitchen counter and made my way to the door. Seeing my
movements, the young officer grabbed me from behind and hung on. I
squirmed against his firm grip.

“It’s Travis at the door,” I explained.

He ignored me as the older policeman gave him a
short nod and opened the door to the knock.

Travis stalked through, his presence
overwhelming the small space. He ignored everything, his eyes
searching my face before taking the length of me in carefully until
he stood in front of me. Without moving his head, his eyes shifted
to the young officer behind me, staring him down until he let go.
Satisfied, Travis returned his eyes to mine.

“You okay?”

I managed a nod.

“Good.”

He took a step back, gaining distance, and I
felt the loss. Hating that the simple movement affected me like it
did, I said to the officers, “Thank you so much for your help
today. Please let me know if you find him.” I looked everywhere but
at Travis. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and pack.”

Leaving the room, muffled conversation followed
my retreating form. I blocked it out. I didn’t want to know what
they were telling Travis. He could charm the pants off anyone—I
knew that first hand—no doubt they were busy telling him anything
he asked.

I dragged a suitcase from my wardrobe and set it
on the bed, opening the zipper. Returning again from the wardrobe,
I tossed in a pile of clothes. No more banging on the wall that
separated Lucy and I, yelling obscenities and laughing at each
other. I returned with another pile of clothes. No more Lucy
slipping over in her pyjamas to fight over the remote because Rick
was watching the footy on their television. I went back for an
armload of shoes. No more cooking for Lucy and running it next door
so she could pass it off to Rick as her own work. I tossed the
shoes in. Oh my God, I would even miss her
Step Up
movies.
Maybe. All of sudden it felt like I was losing her just like I’d
lost everything I’d ever cared about, which was stupid, but it
hurt. It fucking hurt.

My eyes were burning when a tentative knock came
at the open doorway. “Quinn?”

I rubbed angrily at an escaped tear, embarrassed
and sickened that Travis was seeing firsthand knowledge of what my
life was,
is
, like. From the abusive family to the tiny
townhouse with its stained linoleum floors, cheap furniture, and
aged bathroom that boasted a tacky shower curtain that stuck to
your bum whenever you tried to move.

“I don’t know why you came, Travis, but
everything’s fine. You should get back to your family’s
barbecue.”

I shoved at the clothes and shoes to make more
room in the suitcase and turned back towards the wardrobe.

Travis walked into the room and sat down on the
edge of my bed. “Talk to me.”

“No.”

I came back with another armload of shoes to him
sitting there, elbows on his knees, staring at his linked hands. I
paused long enough for his eyes to find mine. He exhaled
audibly.

“Quinn,” he began, and stopped, swiping a hand
across his jaw. “David, your…stepfather…the police say he assaulted
you a few years back?”