Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(8)

One thing I’d learned was that Quarry hated hugs. He dodged my arms every chance he got. I, on the other hand, loved them, so I snuck them as often as I could—usually by ambushing him from behind. He’d always curse and complain, but his body would relax almost instantly, and when I would bury my face between his shoulder blades, I could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He’d stand there motionlessly until I was done and then walk away as if it hadn’t happened.

But it happened.

And I had a sneaking suspicion that he gave it to me because he thought I needed it.

Which I absolutely did.

But so did he.

It’s funny how much a person can grow and change in only three hundred and sixty five days. On the flip side, sometimes there aren’t enough days to ever change some things.

When I was twelve, I fell in love with Quarry Page. And not the kind of love that had me doodling his name in hearts on every notebook I owned. I’m talking the kind of love that seeps into the marrow of your bones and becomes part of your very being. I didn’t have daydreams of wearing a white dress and meeting him at an altar. I did, however, want to sleep every single night for the rest of my life at his side.

I discovered that magical feeling on one of my numerous trips to Indianapolis.

It was Aunt Erica’s birthday, and we were in town so my parents could go to the surprise party Uncle Slate and my mom had been planning for months. Minutes before they were supposed to leave, their usual nanny called out sick. Erica was ready to cancel the whole thing and stay home, but Slate scrambled, and luckily for me, newly turned eighteen-year-old Flint Page was first on his list of replacements.

I liked Flint. He was nice enough. Boring, but still nice.

But he wasn’t why I was lucky.

My night took an exciting turn when Quarry came strutting in behind his brother. His dark hair was swept to the side but still hanging in his eyes as his gaze found mine. That dimple dented his cheek as a crooked grin formed on his lips.

“Sup.” He lifted his chin in my direction, acting every bit as cool as he looked in a pair of purposely tattered jeans and a T-shirt that was hopeless to hide the muscles that made him appear far older than thirteen.

I, however, wasn’t cool at all.

“Q!” I squealed, bouncing on my toes.

He laughed only to quiet suddenly when my dad caught him by the back of the shirt and said, “I’m watching you, boy.” It was a threat, but he said it with a smile.

Everyone knew that Q and I were close. They also knew we were only friends. My parents loved the Page boys and trusted them implicitly. Sure, Quarry got into his fair share of trouble—usually my trouble he took the wrap for. But they always knew he’d never let anything happen to me. My dad actually adored how protective he was over me. It was probably the only reason he allowed his little princess to spend so much time with a rough-around-the-edges boy.

“Yes, sir,” Quarry quickly responded.

“Okay, Flint. I put a list of emergency numbers on the fridge. Ty and Adam are both asleep in Adam’s room, but if they wake up, turn on the sound machine and leave the door cracked. They’ll fall right back to sleep,” Aunt Erica said to Flint as my mom huddled beside her.

“Oh, don’t worry about Ty. He sleeps like a rock,” my mom added.

“I put a sippy cup in the fridge for Riley. It’s the pink one. Not the blue one. Just remember: She’s the girl. Pink.”

“I think I can handle that,” he replied, flashing his eyes to Uncle Slate in a plea for backup.

“Erica, leave the boy alone. This isn’t exactly his first time with the kids!” Slate shouted.

“It is with Ty and Liv too! Four kids is a lot different,” she called back, never dragging her eyes off Flint. “Are you sure you can handle this? I mean, it’s not too late to say no.” She nervously toyed with the ends of her long, blond hair.

“It’ll be no problem.” He laughed. “Riley and Adam are easy, and if Ty wakes up, Liv can help me with him.”

Erica smiled, but her hesitance was still obvious. Turning to my mother, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Sarah? We could always go out another night.”

“She’s fine with it!” my dad confirmed. “Good lord, can we please go? I’m starving.”

Slate made his way over to Erica, draping his arm around her hips. “Beautiful, he’s got it.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Give him some money for pizza and let’s go.”

Slate passed Flint a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet then ushered Erica toward the door. My mom waited as the adults filed from the house. No sooner had the door clicked than she laid into us.

“You two,” she said, waving a finger between Quarry and me. “Do not give Flint any trouble tonight. No pranks. No games. Nothing. Eat pizza, watch a movie, hang out, whatever. Just stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Quarry answered hastily.

I nodded, but when I opened my mouth to reply, she got there first.

“I’m serious, Liv. I’m not your father. Don’t think you can just bat your eyelashes at me. You get in any trouble tonight, you won’t be pinning it on Quarry.”

Quarry attempted to interject, but she once again got there first.

“Don’t you even try to cover for her.”