All I See Is You

17. Wind Up Missin’ You

Chapter seventeen

Wind Up Missin’ You

Quinn

M y emotions writhed and clawed their way up my throat—anger so boiling hot and potent that if I let it out I was terrified of what would happen. But also guilt and fear. Guilt because I’m sure Hux thought to some extent I was just as bad as Georgette—guilty by association, right? And then fear, because even though he’d silently reassured me by grabbing my hand, now he was leaving.

How could Georgette have said something so horrible? Better yet, how could Dad be with someone so horrible?

I stood up after Hux, trying to decide what to do. Help him get out and apologize profusely, or go off on Georgette for her inexcusable behavior.

I glared at her from across the way, sipping the last remnants of her mojito like she hadn’t just insulted Hux. And maybe it was the ignorant smile she aimed my way, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer.

“I can’t even believe that you could say something so hateful and harmful. You should be absolutely ashamed of yourself.” My voice quaked, and it felt damn near impossible to get the words out. I hated confrontation. I hated starting it even more, but something needed to be said. I fixed my gaze on my dad. “I—” My words fell away, tears burning in my eyes. I didn’t even know what to say.

I was so far past disappointment I didn’t even know what emotion came next. So, I just shook my head and hurried for the back door Hux had just disappeared into. But not before my dad’s familiar voice echoed across the backyard. “Georgette, what the hell? That was out of line.”

I ignored her excuses. A blast of cool air and a string of angry, slurred curses greeted me as I walked into the house. Hux loomed a few feet in front of me, righting a chair I assume he ran into.

“Fuck,” he grumbled out, taking another swig of whiskey.

“Here,” I said softly, coming up to his side and reaching out a tentative hand. “Let me help you.”

He growled. Legit growled at me, but with an annoyed shrug he let me lead him through the house and out onto the front porch. I couldn’t even begin to possibly imagine how he felt. He’d been insulted time and time again by some dumb, ignorant bimbo who literally knew nothing about his condition or predicament.

Biting back tears, I whispered, “I’m so sorry, Hux.”

His body trembled beneath me like a mini earthquake—from rage or whatever emotions going through him, I could only guess. I honestly probably wouldn’t ever truly know. Hux didn’t seem like the type to talk about his fears and frustrations.

“It’s okay, Quinn,” he said tiredly. So tired it made my heart hurt.

I looked up at him, finding exhaustion and sadness and defeat carved into the brutally harsh features of his handsome face.

My heart cracked. “It’s not. I…I promise you I don’t think like her. She’s awful. I–I can’t even begin to tell you how angry I am at what she said.” Tears burned in my eyes so fiercely I couldn’t stop them as they dripped down my cheeks. “I just wanted to have a nice night with you. I’m sorry.”

Some of his anger seemed to melt away, though I still saw it clearly in the hard set of his jaw. I’m sure if I could see his eyes, they’d be blazing with silent fury. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not though. I’m sorry for saying something to my dad, and then not telling you I knew. I didn’t want you to feel pressured or ambushed like tonight, so I wasn’t going to say anything until you were ready to tell me.” I bit my lip, struggling to look at him. I felt so awful and guilty for everything that had happened. My vision blurred as more tears welled in my eyes.

Hux’s thumb brushed against the back of my palm, and I savored the feel of him. “I appreciate that,” he murmured, though his words were still a bit clipped, almost like he was talking through gritted teeth.

I glanced up at him. Yep, his jaw clenched and unclenched. Over and over. More guilt crashed into me, making me feel weak and sick. “I’m sorry,” I murmured once more. It was all I could say.

“Goddamn it, Quinn,” he snapped, dropping my hand. For a second, I thought he was going to throw the bottle of whiskey to the ground.

I flinched, a gasp escaping me.

A heartbeat passed and he slowly lowered his hand, bending down to put the bottle on the ground. His lips softened from the scowl they were set in. “Fuck…now I’m the one who’s sorry. I ain’t mad at you.” He blew out a breath and tilted his head skyward for a moment. He looked so sad and broken and tragically beautiful that it hurt to look at him. “I ain’t mad at you,” he repeated, the words softer as he reached a tentative hand forward to brush against my fingertips. He didn’t grab my hand though. “I just…I’m mad at what went down, but not you. I promise… But I do think it’s time I left.”

I sighed, fighting and failing to hold back more tears. “O-okay, that makes sense. Can I w-walk you home at least?”

He shook his head. “No, I need some time alone. I ain’t fit to be good company right now.”

I nodded, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my free hand. “Well, here. Give me your phone and I can put my number in it. That way you can let me know when you get back so I know you’re home safe.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, all the while my nerves climbing higher and higher. “I can’t do that.”

My lip quivered, more tears spilling down my cheeks, confusion sinking its claws into my heart. “Why?”

“If I have your number, I’m gonna call you. And if I call you, I’m gonna come back around, and I can’t do that.”

His words hit me like a freight train to the chest. “What…why?”

“Look, I can’t even begin to explain the emotions I feel when I’m around you, darlin’, but it’s dangerous. You’re leavin’ in a few weeks, and I sure as hell am in no position to chase after you. Might as well stop this before it even starts. Because if I spend another night with you, I’m gonna end up missin’ you.”

My heart cracked at his words, shattering and falling to the floor of my stomach like a million broken shards. It didn’t make sense to feel this way, but here I was, feeling like I wasn’t just getting dumped by a hot stranger, but closing the door on one of the biggest moments of my life.

“Hux,” I choked out, the word little more than a sob. I didn’t care if he knew I was crying or not. If he thought me weak for it, oh well, it didn’t matter. He’d really called this—whatever it was—off?

He let out a breath, and then his hands somehow found my waist before trailing up to cup my cheeks. And damn, but I loved the feel of him. The scent of him. The warmth and sense of belonging I felt in his arms.

“Go find someone to breathe life into, darlin’. Someone deserving of you and your love.”

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t a soft, parting kiss. Or one that spoke of goodbyes or endings even.

It was the type of kiss from the movies where the music built and crescendoed while the rest of the world—every scent, every sense, everything faded away into the background.

It was a kiss of longing. Awakening.

A kiss that stole every ounce of air from my lungs. I could drop dead from the lack of oxygen and die content from that kiss.

And then he pulled away, shattering the perfectness of a moment like dropping a picture frame on the ground.

“Goodbye, Quinn,” he whispered against my lips before pulling away and walking off into the night.

I wish I could say that I pulled myself up by the straps of my super cute high-heeled sandals, fixed my makeup, and called Whit so I could go out dancing third wheel it and go out dancing with them, but that would be a lie. Instead, I decided to head to my room and try to go to sleep—even if it was only eight o’ clock and the sun had only just started to set. I wasn’t about to go hang out with my dad and Georgette, and chasing after Hux wasn’t really an option, so I was limited.

In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to slip out of the sundress I’d picked out for tonight. It was stupid and silly, but taking it off felt like I was fully putting Hux behind me. And I didn’t want to, goddamnit. I just wanted to get to know him.

Not that that was going to happen anymore.

With a sigh, I sunk onto the bed, snuggling up under the blankets as tears streamed down my cheeks. But sleep didn’t come…because my stupid bed sheets smelled like the musky scent of his cologne mixed with tobacco. One night with him, and even my bed couldn’t rid itself of his imprint. He’d left a mark on my soul, a stain on my heart, which might sound dramatic to most people, but it was true.

I didn’t even care if people thought it was insta-love. Or infatuation. It wasn’t. It was more than that. He meant something to me, and my feelings were valid, okay?

In the end, I ended up grabbing my phone and scrolling through Instagram—which led to clicking on his profile. And then his photos and reels. And then I watched like fifty-something of his most noteworthy rides.

Holy God, I was so, so, screwed.