Crazy for You Read online

“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