Snowed In (5 page)

Movement caught Quinn's eye and he looked at the guy still sitting at the breakfast bar. “I’m gonna go,” he said, sliding out of the stool and hurrying out the door.

For a moment Quinn wondered if he was going to catch up to Nate, offer him comfort. But then he shook his head, dismissing the thought. The guy had looked shocked, but thoroughly entertained before he’d left. Not a reaction he’d expect from someone who cared about Nate at all.

“That went well,” Brandon said when the door closed behind blondie.

Quinn groaned and fell back on the couch, his head rolling towards the ceiling. It had gone exactly as badly as he’d imagined.

Nate didn’t come back all day. Brandon tried to call him a few times but he always got voicemail. Quinn was restless. He refused Brandon’s invitation for food or TV or even a walk outside to clear his head. In the end, exhaustion took over and he fell asleep on the couch, his last thought of Nate and his angry, green eyes.

Chapter seven

QUINN WOKE UP when a door slammed in the apartment. He jumped from the couch, his neck cracking painfully from the uncomfortable position he’d slept in.

“He’s back,” Brandon said from the armchair next to him. He clicked the remote a few times, not really paying any attention to what was on the TV screen. “You hungry?”

Quinn's stomach growled in response. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and that was a long time ago.

“Alright, then. Let’s go see what we have in the fridge,” Brandon said, clicking off the TV and heading to the kitchen.

Quinn trailed behind, casting a nervous glance at Nate’s bedroom door.

“Should I go talk to him?”

“Nah. You’ll only make it worse,” Brandon said, taking food out of the fridge and closing the door with his hip. “You know he needs to process everything in his head before he’s ready to talk. He may kick and scream but in the end he’ll come around.”

“Hope you’re right.” Quinn sat on one of the bar stools and watched as Brandon set to making them sandwiches.

“We sprang this on him and blindsided him, Quinn. He’s probably still in shock from seeing you for the first time in two years. Let him sleep on it. You’ll have three days to talk when we hit the road.” Brandon opened a jar of mayonnaise and dipped a spreading knife in it. “This OK?” He asked, pointing at the mayo. Quinn nodded. “Sorry we don’t have anything more substantial, but we cleaned the fridge out yesterday. Didn’t want to leave any food in here for three weeks.”

They ate mostly in silence. Quinn didn’t feel like talking at all. His heart felt like it was peeled raw in his chest.

“Aren’t you going to take him something to eat?” Quinn asked when they finished their sandwiches, Brandon clearing the plates away.

“If he wants to eat he’ll have to come out. I’m not his maid.”

Quinn felt instantly guilty for making Nate feel like a prisoner in his own home. Sadness overwhelmed him and to his horror his eyes filled with tears. He craved to go into that room, gather Nate in his arms, and magically erase the past two years. Hating the thought of Nate alone and miserable in his room, he offered to go find a hotel for the night and meet them in the morning. Brandon was having none of it.

“Don’t give in an inch, Quinn. Or he’ll chew you raw and spit you out before you know it.” Brandon put a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a sad smile. “I’ll go get you a pillow and a blanket for the couch. Go take a shower if you want – there are spare tooth brushes in the cabinet over the sink, and clean towels underneath.”

Quinn thanked him and headed for the bathroom. After a few minutes under the hot water his muscles started to relax. His whole body was coiled like a tight spring and he decided to treat himself to a full body massage once they got to the hotel in Vegas.

Exhaustion hit him anew when he walked out of the bathroom. Despite the afternoon nap he’d taken, Quinn was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow Brandon had left for him.

*    *    *    *    *

Quinn woke up to strange sounds coming from one of the bedrooms. The apartment was dark but there was light seeping from underneath Brandon’s door, and someone was moving around in there. Reaching blindly for his phone on the coffee table, Quinn activated the screen to check the time – 3 AM. Why was Brandon banging stuff around in the middle of the night?

Quinn was just about to get up and go check what was going on when Nate’s door opened and he stepped out wearing only black boxer shorts. His hair was sticking out and he stopped in front of his room, looking around as if in a daze. Quinn held his breath and pretended to be asleep. He didn't want to scare Nate back into his room.

A loud bang followed by a series of curses came from Brandon’s room. Nate scrubbed a hand over his face and walked into his brother’s room without even knocking. When he closed the door, Quinn got up and tiptoed closer to it. It was quiet in the apartment so Quinn could hear them clearly. He felt guilty eavesdropping like that but he needed to find out what was going on without pissing anyone off.

“Why the hell are you packing a suitcase?” Nate’s voice could be clearly heard behind the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

There was a long silence before Brandon spoke. “Mom called. Faith was rushed to the hospital with contractions.”

Quinn gasped. He knew about Faith’s difficult pregnancy, Brandon had told him. She was put on bed rest for risk of losing the baby a couple of months ago. She needed someone to look after her full time, but Brandon couldn't do that and work twelve hour days at the same time. He had two months left of his internship – giving up now would mean the last two years of their lives were for nothing. Faith refused to let him do that and moved back in with her parents instead.

“Isn’t it too early for that?” Nate asked.

“Yeah. She’s barely seven months pregnant.” Brandon’s voice sounded strained as he resumed moving around the room. “I have to go be with her, Nate. It’s bad enough I couldn't take care of her here, and she had to move back to Denver.”

“Bran, that’s not true...”

“Forget it. I don't want to talk about that now, I need to be at the airport in less than an hour or miss my flight.”

“You managed to get a flight?”

“Yeah. Maxed out my credit card and got the only seat on the next flight to Denver.”

“I’m coming with you,” Nate said, his voice sounding louder as if he’d moved closer to the door. Quinn took a few steps back, ready to run back to bed or head to the bathroom if the door swung open.

“No, Nate. You’re not.”

“I’m not going to leave you to do this alone, Bran!”

“I’m not going to be alone. Mom and Dad will be there and Faith’s family. I’ll be fine, I just need to be with her right now.”

“But...” Nate started protesting, but Brandon cut him off.

“I need someone to take my car back to Denver with all my shit in it, remember? And you also have a super expensive birthday present I dished out for waiting in Vegas.”

“I can’t go on a road trip and luxury spa hotel weekends when you’ll be in a hospital in Denver!”

“You can and you will. There’s nothing you can do if you come with me now. Besides, I got the last seat on the plane, remember?” There was a teasing note to Brandon’s voice, but Nate didn't reply. They were quiet for a few moments before Nate spoke again.

“I can’t do this with him.”

“You have to.”

“Why?” Nate’s voice was quiet and resigned, not the angry outburst Quinn was expecting.

“Because you’ve been angry for too long, Nate. You need to move on and you can’t do that without forgiving him.”

Quinn heard some sniffling and nobody spoke for a while. He’d decided he’d heard enough and he’d be intruding on their private moment if he continued to eavesdrop anymore. Tiptoeing back to the couch, he lied down and stared at the ceiling. He could still hear them talking but it was quieter now, and he couldn't make out what was being said. Brandon did most of the talking in a gentle, soothing voice, and Quinn hoped that when he woke up in the morning he wouldn't have to wrestle Nate into the car.

Because, god help him, he would if it meant spending the next three days alone with Nate.

Chapter eight

“RULE NUMBER one: do not talk to me,” Nate said, counting the rules out on his fingers. He was cute as hell when he was scowling like that. Quinn wanted to reach across the breakfast bar and pull him in for a kiss. “Rule number two: don’t do anything to annoy me while I’m driving, because I swear – even my legendary patience is wearing thin right now.” Quinn snorted, but tried to cover it by bringing the coffee cup to his lips. Nate gave him the evil eye again and continued to list his rules for the road trip. “When we get to Vegas it’s every man for himself. We have two nights at the hotel there and I really don’t feel like bonding over our gambling losses. I tried to book a separate room last night but the hotel is fully booked, so unfortunately we have to share. Which brings me to rule number three.”

“I thought the no bonding over gambling losses was rule number three.”

Nate stared at him, his eyebrows pulling down. “No, that was just giving you the heads up that you probably won't see much of me when we get there.”

Quinn made an ‘oh’ sound and waved at Nate to go on. Nate’s glare didn't ease as he continued. “Rule number three: don’t talk to me.”

“Wasn’t that rule number one?”

“It was. It’s also rule number three.”

“Is gagging you and tying you up in the trunk still an option?”

“Dream on.” Nate brought his own cup of coffee to his lips but not before Quinn saw the tiny smile he was trying to hide.

*    *    *    *    *

Quinn managed to follow rule number one and rule number three for about fifteen minutes. They hadn’t even left LA yet when he turned to Nate in the driving seat and said,

“How are you finding college? Is the art program any good at UCLA?”

Nate pursed his lips, his jaw muscles jumping before he replied. “It’s fine.”

Quinn ignored Nate’s obvious reluctance to chat and continued. “I’ve heard they have a pretty practical, hands on approach. Did you do any workshops in an actual animation studio yet?”

“Yes.” Nate’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter, his back rigid with tension.

“And? How did you like it?”

“It was fine.”

“Nate!”

“What? I told you not to talk to me.”

“This is ridiculous,” Quinn mumbled, turning to look out the side window. “We can’t spend the next three days not talking at all.”

“We can sure as hell try.”

“I don't want to.”

“I didn’t want you to leave, but you did, so I give exactly zero fucks about what you want, Quinn.”

“I can’t change the past, Nate. I’m here trying to make up for what I did, but you won’t even let me try. Why?” Quinn turned in his seat again, folding his leg underneath him. The seatbelt dug into his shoulder but he didn't care.

“Because I don't trust you anymore.” Nate said the words in a flat, low voice, barely loud enough to be heard over the radio.

“We can try changing that, too,” Quinn said softly, barely restraining himself from touching Nate’s hand.

Nate huffed, shaking his head, but didn’t reply. He relaxed back into his seat and they drove in silence until the first scheduled rest stop.

“Do you want me to take over?” Quinn asked as they finished their sandwiches and headed back to the car.

“Fine,” Nate said with a shrug and tossed him the keys.

Quinn was getting really fucking tired of the word fine.

*    *    *    *    *

The drive to Vegas took them a little more than six hours. It was a gorgeous sunny day and they took their time, stopping every couple of hours to freshen up. Nate’s hostile demeanour cracked a few times and he even laughed at some of Quinn's jokes, but quickly put his walls back together. It was like he was reminding himself to be angry with Quinn, but it was pretty obvious it wasn’t his natural state.

Nate could never hold a grudge. He’d explode over the silliest things, but then, soon, he’d have forgotten all about it. Quinn knew it wouldn’t be so easy for Nate to let go of his anger this time, but still – it was good to see Nate smile, the scowl he’d seemed to have permanently acquired since Quinn had arrived nearly gone.

“This is it,” Nate said, pointing at the hotel down the road.

“Wow,” Quinn replied, leaning forward in his seat to take a better look. He was nearly blinded by the letters spelling
ROME
in bright red lights above the hotel entrance.
Luxury Resort and Spa
was written in pretty cursive underneath. “It looks... big.”

“Yep. Brandon went all out on this one. He wanted us to have a good time, just the two of us, before the baby was born.” Sadness snuck in Nate’s words, and his brows pulled together again.

“I’m sorry he couldn't come, Nate. I know he was looking forward to it.”

Nate nodded, and as if on cue, Quinn's phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and saw a text from Brandon.

I made it to the hospital. Faith is still being held at the maternity ward for observation. They managed to stop the contractions, but the doctor said they can start again any time. They’ll do everything they can to delay the baby being born as long as they can... I’m scared, Quinn. It doesn’t look good.

“What is it?” Nate asked, just as Quinn was texting Brandon back.

“An update from Brandon. You probably have one, too, on your phone. You can take a look when you park the car.”

“Fuck that! Tell me what he says!” Nate turned to look at Quinn sharply, the car veering in the other lane.

“Watch the road!” Quinn yelled. Nate managed to straighten the wheel before they hit anyone.

Quinn wasn’t sure if Brandon’s text to Nate would say the same thing or not but it didn’t look like he had any choice. He read the message aloud before Nate lost his shit and crashed the car twenty yards from the hotel entrance.

“Fuck,” Nate muttered, hitting the wheel with the palm of his hand. “I should have been there with him.”

“And do what, Nate?”

“I don’t know! Just fucking be there.”

Quinn decided against arguing. He wished he was there for Brandon, too.

*    *    *    *    *

Nate fished his phone out of his bag and called Brandon the moment they walked into their hotel room. Quinn wanted to give him some privacy, so he headed for the bathroom. A long hot shower after all day on the road would be heavenly.

Taking his time, Quinn showered, trimmed his beard, and brushed his teeth, hoping he’d given Nate enough time to talk to his brother in private. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom. Nate was lying on one of the beds, an arm thrown over his face.

“Everything OK?” Quinn asked. Nate’s arm flopped on the bed as he turned to face him with a sigh.

His mouth opened to speak but then his eyes travelled down Quinn's naked body, zeroing in on the tattoo on his ribs. A tattoo of Aiden – a character Nate had created that had the same expressive green eyes and wild dark hair, and the same snarky sense of humor as Nate. A tattoo that made Quinn feel close to Nate even when they were worlds apart.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Nate swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, his eyes never leaving Quinn.

“Nate?” Quinn was glad he’d forgotten to take any clean clothes with him to the bathroom. The way Nate was looking at him right now, as if he was a piece of chocolate cake and Nate was on a diet, made his gut clench with desire.

“You had it done,” Nate said in a husky, low voice. His gaze travelled back to Quinn's face, his green eyes full of wonder.

“Yeah.

Realizing his cock began to thicken under Nate’s intense stare, and the towel would do nothing to hide it, Quinn crossed the room in three long strides and sat on his bed, hiding the evidence of his arousal.

“So, what did Brandon say?” Quinn asked, trying to divert the conversation away from the tattoo. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, and neither was Nate.

“Um, yeah. Everything’s fine, I guess.” Nate fell back down on the bed, his teeth worrying his lower lip. “Faith’s not out of the woods yet. Bran says they’re pumping her full of meds, but if the baby decides to come out nothing can stop it.”

“Her,” Quinn said.

Nate turned to look at him, his curls fanning on the pillow. “Yeah. Her.” His lips stretched into a lazy, happy smile. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an uncle.” Quinn smiled as well, and they kept looking at each other, grinning like idiots. Quinn imagined a world in which Nate had to babysit a two year old and his smile grew even wider.

“How’s Brandon holding up?”

“He sounded OK. They put an extra bed in Faith’s room for him so he’s not leaving her side.”

“Knowing Brandon he’d have slept on the floor and chained himself to her bed if they tried to remove him.”

“Yeah,” Nate said, his smile faltering as he bit his lip and looked away.

“There was nothing you could have done if you were there, Nate. He’s with her and you’d have been in the waiting room or in your parents’ house, pacing around and driving everyone crazy,” Quinn said, sensing where Nate’s thoughts had gone to.

“That’s pretty much what Bran said.”

“Let’s make a deal – you’ll stop moping around and start enjoying the trip Brandon planned for you, and I’ll...” What could he offer? Nate barely talked to him unless it was about his brother. What could he give him?

“You’ll stop walking around half naked,” Nate said, his voice muffled by the arm he’d thrown over his face again.

“Deal.”

Quinn beamed and flopped down on his own bed, reaching for the TV remote.

“Get dressed, Quinn.”

“Right.” Quinn jumped out of the bed and went to find clean clothes in his bag.

*    *    *    *    *

Despite Nate’s ‘no sticking together in Vegas’ rule, they went out to find something to eat together. The air was a bit chilly but lacked any serious bite to it.

Las Vegas around Christmas time was madness. The chaos of lights, sounds, and ridiculous decorations felt like an assault on the senses Quinn could never recover from. Everything, everywhere was about Christmas – the huge sculptures of blinking lights; whole ‘magical’ tunnels made of enormous candy canes; Santa figures in all shapes and sizes, singing, dancing, and smiling from every direction.

Quinn's head was spinning by the time they found a cosy Irish pub and settled on it, the casual atmosphere suiting them both. Nate seemed to have retreated back into himself, keeping mostly quiet and replying with a single word. The moment they’d shared back in the hotel room had been progress, Quinn was sure of that. Now if he could only make Nate open up to him, scream at him, tell him all the nasty things he’d been holding inside for two years. Brandon had been right – Nate couldn’t move on unless he let go of the anger, and to do that he needed to get it off his chest.

Quinn finished his burger and seeing Nate’s empty glass next to his, signalled the waitress for another round of beers.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass to Nate’s when the waitress brought them.

The evening was nice and cool when they left the pub. The streets were even more crowded with tourists, street performers and promoters, everyone talking at the same time and making Quinn's mind buzz with white noise. Just as he was about to tell Nate he was tired and was heading back to the hotel, hoping Nate would join him, a skinny guy – wearing golden hotpants of all things – in a tight t-shirt strutted towards them, handing them a flyer each. Nate took it and the guy beamed at him, his blue eyes wide and eager.

“You guys should definitely come,” he said, pointing at the flyer. It was for a gay strip club, and apparently there was a VIP show tonight that could only be accessed with that flyer. Quinn refrained from rolling his eyes and dragging Nate away, who was leering at the guy and had folded the flyer into his back pocket.

“Will you be performing?” Nate asked, waggling his eyebrows. Now Quinn did roll his eyes.

“Yes,” the guy said, taking a step closer to Nate. “At eleven,” he added, not so discreetly tucking what looked like a business card in Nate’s pocket. With a wink he pranced away, probably to find his next victim.

“The night just got interesting,” Nate declared, walking away.

Quinn gaped after him. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re not going to that thing, are you?” He had to run to catch up to Nate.

“Of course I am,” Nate said, the picture of nonchalance. “You made me a deal to have fun, remember?”

Quinn caught up to him and caught his upper arm, spinning him around. “You think going to some sleazy strip club is the best way to spend your evening?”

“What am I supposed to do, Quinn?” Nate pulled his arm away, taking a step back from Quinn. “Pace around driving everyone crazy?” He raised an eyebrow as he quoted Quinn's words back at him. “I need a drink. And some fun. I need to forget about Brandon, and Faith, and you bursting back into my life, at least for a few hours. It’s too much, all at once, and I can’t deal with it right now.”