Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
We were in a hurry to find Quinn.
The main event had already begun.
Oscar vs. Quinn. The Pro vs. the Young Stud. Brother vs. Brother.
Round one.
Bruises marred Quinn’s chest and ribs, which seemed to be confusing Oscar at the start. Days leading up to the match, Oscar kept telling me, “Get ready to see my baby bro knock my lights out.”
Quinn had always been the better boxer.
He let Oscar nail him in the face. He dropped his arms. He barely swung back.
I ran over to Farrow, pushing through venue security who asked to see my badge. I reached him at the base of the ring and ignored the whip of the cameras. “We gotta get Quinnie out,” I said hurriedly. “I don’t think he’s gonna fight him.”
But Oscar felt it too. He stopped, and Quinn buckled into Oscar, burying his face in his chest like a little boy to his older brother. Oscar held the back of Quinn’s head protectively, and Farrow and I climbed onto the ring, slipping under the ropes, and got them off the main stage.
No one needed to see it on TV.
“Coffee.” The flight attendant hands me the paper cup, partially waking me from my thoughts, but when she retreats, I blow on the steaming liquid and think back to Quinn.
We’d been backstage in a get ready room. Quinn sat on a flimsy fold-out chair, leg jostling while he tried to drink water with electrolytes. Oscar was pacing and trying not to strangle the figment of his brother’s abusive girlfriend.
Nessa wasn’t in the room with us. Just me, Farrow, and Frog.
“It’s not her fault,” Quinn said.
Farrow and I exchanged a pained look.
“It is her fault,” Oscar snapped. “That thing on your back? That’s from a fist, so don’t you dare tell me you fell into a fucking doorknob.”
Quinn stared up at Frog. She sat across from him on another flimsy chair. “Where’s Scooter?” he asked.
“We’re not talking about Scoot right now,” Oscar fumed. “We’re talking about what’s happening to you, bro.”
“Quinn?!” Nessa called from outside.
Quinn recoiled.
Farrow, Oscar, and I turned.
Frog stood.
But Quinn whispered back, “No, Frog. Don’t…” He had his hand out like he wanted her closer to him, so she dragged her chair beside his instead of leaving.
Farrow and I confronted Nessa. Oscar couldn’t do it. I think he would’ve said something he’d personally regret.
We stepped outside the room. Backstage hallway full of sound equipment and crew walking by.
“I know he’s in there,” she said. Her cheeks were beet-red. Not because of me. Farrow was looking straight through her, like her ugly insides were unzipped and exposed. She scrambled for words. “Please, I just want to see if he’s okay. I love him.”
“Think it’s probably better if you never talk to him again,” I told her.
“What?” she squeaked. “Quinn!”
“Look at me,” Farrow said pointedly.
She did.
“We know.”
Her chin quivered. “I-I don’t know what—”
“You’ve been abusing him,” Farrow said flat-out. “You don’t hurt people you love, so you can fuck off.”
She burst into tears. “QUINN!”
Farrow called security to get her out.
Back in the room, Oscar nodded to us in appreciation, but Quinn had his face in his hands. He was bent out of shape hearing her.
Even more so when Joana called Oscar on the phone, asking why we kicked Nessa out of the room like two big bad wolves. Apparently, she went crying to Joana and painted us out like monsters.
“Don’t tell our sister,” Quinn said to Oscar.
He held his hand over the receiver. “Jo will find out sooner or later, and if she does months from now, she’s going to be furious you let her defend that bat shit crazy—”
“I can’t do this,” Quinn gasped out.
“Take a deep breath,” Farrow said in his doctor voice. Though, he’d tell you he doesn’t have one.
“We can take that breath together,” Frog posed to Quinn, his bloodshot eyes lifting to her. “Me and you. Right now.”
Together, they inhaled big, exhaled bigger. Quinn held Frog’s gaze in a calmer second and said, “You end things with him, and I’ll end it with her.”
She said strongly, “Deal.”
“That fast?”
“I wish I’d been faster.”
He choked out, “Me too.”
Oscar, Farrow, and I glanced at each other, and we seemed to silently acknowledge how we were once there—grappling with relationships and messing up, trying to make sense of our mistakes. Righting ourselves and walking forward any way we could. It’s never-forgotten youth.
And even though Oscar’s married, Farrow’s married, and I’m in a committed relationship now, we might still find ourselves tripping once in a while—but that’s the thing about being surrounded by good people.
You never really fall too far.
The airplane rattles and dips, and out of instinct, I clutch the middle armrest. Ben pops his AirPod out as the pilot comes on over the intercom. “We’re heading into a rough patch of weather up ahead, so we’ll be turning the seatbelt sign on for the next hour or so and suspending beverage service for the time being. Thank you.”