Of course he was. “Thanks.”
Blay nodded to the bouncers, Big Rob and Silent Tom, and pushed out of the staff area into the club proper. As he emerged on the far side, the bass drum of the music went right into his sternum—or maybe that was his heartbeat.
Annnnd there he was: Even though there were a hundred people crowded around the bar, Qhuinn was a neon sign to him, standing out from the rest. The fighter was sitting at the far end, his back to Blay, his elbows splayed on the black varnished wood, his head hanging low.
Blay exhaled a curse as he thought, here they were, back at the beginning. And yup, before he could even make it over, a woman closed in, her body sliding up to Qhuinn, her hand lingering on his arm, his head turning so he could get a good look at her.
Blay knew what was next. A quick up-and-down with that mismatched stare, a slow smile, a couple of drawled words—and the pair would go off to the bathrooms—
Qhuinn shook his head, and put his palm out in a stop. And though she was inclined to make a second appeal, it just got her a another round of talk-to-the-hand.
Before Blay could get moving again, a guy with hair down to his ass and a pair of sprayed-on velvet pants made an approach. His smile was brilliant white, and his lean body seemed made for acrobatics.
A sudden nausea blendered Blay’s gut—even as he reminded himself that after their last run-in, Qhuinn would not be looking for sex from him ever again—so why should he care who the fighter fucked. And God knew the male had a sex drive—
Mr. Lounge Suit with the extensions was given the heave-ho as well.
After which, Qhuinn just refocused ahead of himself.
An abrupt vibration went off in Blay’s pocket, his phone letting him know there was a text. Taking the thing out, he saw that it was from Beth: All good—Layla home safe. Just went for a joyride, and is going to watch some tube with me.
Blay texted back a thanks, and returned his cell to his inner pocket. No reason to stay and bother the fighter with what had been a nonevent…although this was a chance to do a little damage control on his H-bomb delivery from a week ago.
Blay walked over, wending in and out of the bodies. When he got within range, he cleared his throat and spoke up over the din. “Hey—”
That hand shot up above Qhuinn’s shoulder. “For the love of fucking God, I’m not interested, okay?”
At that moment, the person on the left decided to vacate with whatever drink he’d ordered.
Blay took the human’s place.
“I told you to get the fuck—” Qhuinn froze in mid-blow-off. “What…are you doing here?”
Okay, where to start with that.
“Is there something wrong?” Qhuinn said.
“No, no. Really, not anything…you know, wrong.” Blay frowned as he realized there was no alcohol in front of the guy. “Did you just get here?”
“No, I’ve been hanging around for…couple of hours, I guess.”
“You’re not drinking?”
“I did when I first sat down. But then…yeah, no.”
Blay studied that face he knew so well. It was so grim, with hollows under the cheekbones and a perma-frown that suggested the guy hadn’t slept in seven days, either.
“Listen, Qhuinn—”
“Did you come to apologize?”
Blay cleared his throat again. “Yeah. I did. I’m—”
“Right.”
“What?”
Qhuinn put his hands up and scrubbed his eyes…then stayed put with his palms covering himself from forehead to chin. He said something that didn’t carry, and that was when Blay knew something momentous had happened.
Then again, the poor bastard had probably come to the realization that Blay was in fact not a saint.
Blay leaned in closer. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Fair, after all, was fair. He’d sure as hell unloaded everything on his mind when they’d last seen each other.
“You were right,” Qhuinn said. “I didn’t know…I was…”
When nothing else came, Blay’s ribs tightened up hard, his brows shooting sky-high as the gist hit him. Oh…my God.
As shock went through his whole body, he realized he’d never expected the guy to come around. Even as he’d yelled those hard-core words, it had been more a function of finally snapping, rather than out of any expectation that they would sink in.
Qhuinn shook his head, those hands staying in place. “I just…all those years, all that shit with them…I couldn’t face another strike against me.”
Blay was more than aware of who the “them” was.
“I did a lot of things to make it go away, to cover crap up—because even after they kicked me out, they were still in my head. Even after they died…still in there, you know. Always in there with the…” One hand made a fist and started banging his brain. “Always in there…”
Blay caught that thick wrist and guided the male’s arm down. “It’s okay….”
Qhuinn didn’t look at him. “I didn’t even know I was bending everything. I wasn’t, like, aware of the shit in my mind—” That deep voice caught. “I just didn’t want to give them another reason to hate me, even though they didn’t fucking matter. What the fuck is that, you know? What the fuck have I been thinking?”
The pain that wafted out of Qhuinn’s body was so great, it changed the air temperature around him, lowering things until the hair on Blay’s forearms pricked from the chill.
And at that moment, faced with the abject misery in front of him, Blay wished he could have taken what he’d said back—not because it wasn’t true, but because he wasn’t the one who should have ripped off that Band-Aid. Mary, Rhage’s shellan, should have done it as part of a therapy session or something. Or maybe Qhuinn should have gradually become aware of it.
But not like this…
The devastation that was written in every line of Qhuinn’s body, in the hoarseness of his voice, in the barely restrained scream that seemed to be just under the surface, was terrifying.
“I never knew how much they got to me, especially my father. That male…he contaminated everything about me, and I didn’t even know it was happening. And it ruined…everything.”
Blay frowned, not following that part. But what he was clear on was the juxtaposition between his parents and Qhuinn’s—not that he needed yet another reminder: All he could think of was that hug in front of the stove, his mom and dad wrapping their arms around him, their acceptance openhanded, honest, and without reservation.
And here Qhuinn was going through this alone. In a club. With no one there to support him as he struggled with the legacy of discrimination he had been condemned to…and the identity he couldn’t change, and could no longer, seemingly, ignore.
“It ruined everything.”
Blay put his hand on that bunched-up biceps. “No, nothing’s ruined. Don’t say that. You are where you are, and it’s okay—”
Qhuinn’s head cranked around, leaving its cage of the hand that had remained, his blue and green eyes red rimmed and watery. “I have loved you for years. I have been in love with you for years and years and years…throughout school and training…before transitions and afterward…when you approached me and yes, even now that you’re with Saxton and you hate me. And that…shit…in my fucking head locked me down, locked everything down…and it cost me you.”
As the sound of screeching tires roared between Blay’s ears, and the world started to spin, Qhuinn just kept going. “So you’ll excuse me if I have to disagree with you. It is not okay—it will not ever be okay—and whereas I’m more than willing to live with the fact that I was a walking, talking lie for decades, the idea that it sacrificed what could have been between us…is absolutely, positively not okay to me.”
Blay swallowed hard as Qhuinn went back to staring at the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar.
Opening his mouth, Blay intended to say something, but instead he just ran that monologue through again from start to finish. Jesus Christ…
And then something dawned on him.