Games We Play by Dana Isaly

Chapter Fifteen

My chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself. The thought of Quinlan killing herself had almost stopped my heart. I squeezed her hand even tighter.

“My family was putting too much pressure on me to be perfect. I was putting too much pressure on myself to be perfect. I had to have perfect grades, a perfect body, and go to the perfect college. I was starving myself, trying to stay in the size twos my mom kept hanging in my closet. I was buying Adderall from the drug dealers at my school and paying them double just to keep them quiet. I needed it to stay up nonstop studying to get into Harvard or Yale.

“And then one day, I was home alone when the mail came. I had a letter from Harvard. Before I even opened it, I had decided that if I didn’t get in, I was going to end it. There was no way I could look my parents in the eye and tell them I didn’t get into another one of their prestigious schools. Yale had already turned me away, and the look on their faces was just…disgust.

“So I went to the kitchen, our big, white kitchen that had windows that overlooked the ocean, and grabbed a letter opener out of the drawer to the left side of the sink. It was silver and had these hydrangea flowers etched into the handle,” she said, looking over at me with a small smile before continuing. “I cut open the letter, pulled it out, and unfolded it.

“‘Miss Van Haas,’ it started out. ‘We regret to inform you that…’ But I didn’t continue. That was enough. I knew what it was going to tell me. It was going to tell me I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t smart enough. I wasn’t skinny enough. I wasn’t perfect enough. I wasn’t anything. I just wasn’t enough.” She took a breath and wiped furiously at her face.

“So I held that letter opener in my right hand and pointed the tip of it to the inside of my forearm. Down the highway, not across it, I could remember some idiot saying in class one day. I can remember,” she said, kind of trailing off, “that it didn’t hurt as much as I expected it to.”

It was hard for me to breathe just sitting there listening to her tell me all of this. My throat was burning, and I was blinking back my own tears. I had never known anyone that had attempted suicide until now. I wanted nothing more than to pull over on the side of the road and pull her onto my lap, attempting to leach every ounce of pain out of her.

“Anyway,” she said softly. “My parents found me there on the kitchen floor a few minutes later. They had come home from playing tennis and stepped in the puddle of blood that had started to seep into the rug under the sink. I was taken to the hospital, and I guess the rest is history. I was institutionalized for the rest of the school term and through the summer. I missed graduation, but I was honestly thankful for it. Nothing would’ve been worse than standing in front of my family and friends after that.”

“Quinlan,” I said softly and stroked her hand with my thumb. “I’m so sorry.”

“I got the help I needed,” she said, turning her head to look at me. I used my left hand to quickly shift down as we exited the highway and entered the suburbs where I lived. “I went through a lot of therapy and got on the right meds to help me through it. I still go to therapy once a week, and I’m on a delightful cocktail of medication to get me through the day.” She laughed softly.

“I’m so much better out here,” she said as we pulled into my driveway. “You can’t understand how suffocating it is living that kind of life until you get out of it. California is so open and sunny and just happy all the time. California is all yellows, oranges, and reds. New England was just grey and blues. The colors are brighter here. The wind is warmer.”

I turned toward her after I had parked and wiped the remaining tears off her cheeks. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

She smiled and nodded. “You’ve shared a lot with me tonight. I wanted you to have a piece of me to keep when I leave in the morning. Is that silly?”

I had thought her beautiful before. But with the vulnerability I saw in her eyes when she asked me that question? Breathtaking. Nothing, not even her face when she laughed with my friends or her chubby cheeks when she stuffed her mouth full of pizza or even her moans when she was writhing underneath me, could compare to how she looked in that moment.

I stared at her for a moment, drinking her in.

Tell her you want it to be more than a night. Nut up and tell her you want to see her again. Stop being a fucking coward.

“It’s not silly, Quinlan,” I finally answered.

She smiled and turned to open the door, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her back to me. I could taste the salty tears on her lips as I ran my tongue over them. She opened her mouth to me, and I invaded hers. I was softer with her than I had been before. I wanted this kiss to communicate something to her I was too afraid to say out loud.

“I really, really need a shower,” she said, breaking the kiss. She gave me another quick peck and then climbed out of the car. I laid my head back, running my hands through my hair, and sighed.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jack,” I muttered to myself before following her inside.

* * *

She was sleeping. I had slipped into the shower with her and washed her hair. Her face lit up with laughter when I washed her body and couldn’t stop soaping up her boobs. She rinsed off, and I made sure all of her makeup was off her face for her. I had kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck, her chest, and down her stomach, nibbling on her hips.

She had leaned back against the shower wall while I gave her her eighth orgasm of the night.

But who was counting.

I gave her one of my hoodies to put on even though she had protested, saying she would be too big for it to fit properly. I hated the little pieces of self-hatred she carried over from years ago. I had pulled the hoodie over her head and watched it engulf her, damn near swallowing her whole. It was just long enough to cover her ass, and I loved how it peeked out every time she lifted her arms to push her hair off her shoulders.

While she got ready for bed, I put fresh sheets on the bed and rolled them down for her. She ran and jumped into them and sighed, rubbing her legs and feet on the soft fabric.

And then she fell asleep, relaxed in my arms and on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. She was hanging on to me like a koala. I had planned for this night to last so much longer than it had. As I lay there, listening to her breathing and her phone playing white noise (she supposedly couldn’t sleep without a fan, and I had not a single one in the entire house), I wished I could make time slow down for the next few hours.

And not just because I wanted more of this, the sweet moments where she was quiet and calm. No, I wanted more time because I had so many more things I wanted to do to her body. Yes, I wanted more of her laughter, and I wanted her to share more pieces of herself with me. But I also wanted to hear her begging for it. I wanted to see how many other ways I could make her body hum for me.

This was a one-night-only thing, I told myself over and over again. You aren’t supposed to be letting her sleep the night away. You’re supposed to bring out all your toys and watch her break for you.

But there we were, lying in bed together, her sleeping and me pondering what the hell I had gotten myself into. I could have easily kept her up the rest of the night. I never went to sleep before the sun came up anyway. I was always streaming, working on shit for the clubs, or just watching TV.

Insomnia at its finest.

But she was tired. I had seen her eyes drooping on the way home, and she could barely hold herself up after she was done with her shower. It took her all of five minutes to fall asleep next to me. And because of that, I couldn’t keep her up. I didn’t actually want to keep her up if I was completely honest with myself.

My dick had fought me hard on that subject, but my sensible side had won over. Going into the type of rough play I wanted to partake in with her tired, raw, and probably still very emotional from the conversation in the car wouldn’t have been fair. She wouldn’t have been in the right headspace to enjoy it.

What she needed was rest and care.

I carefully reached over to the bedside table and grabbed my phone. I turned the brightness all the way down and checked my texts. Of course, each one of them had texted me since we left the club. They were worse than old women, constantly having their noses in everyone’s business but their own.

Wes: I swear to fucking god man if you let her walk out of your house in the morning for good I will never forgive you. I love her. Not to be dramatic, but I would die for Quin.

I snorted. Idiot.

Owen: Everything has been taken care of thanks to my quick thinking and very resourceful family. Tell Quin I say hello and that if she gets tired of your stupid games, my door is always open.

My eye twitched at that one. Little shit knew exactly what to say to push my buttons.

Hudson: You better have taken my advice because if I never see her again I’m going to be heartbroken. Wes and I are in love.

Greg: I imagine I agree with whatever everyone else is typing and sending to you right now. Don’t be a dick. We just want to see you happy, man. She matches your energy. And if she can put up with your shit, you better keep her.

I created a group chat with all four of them.

I’ll tell her.

Send.

Now fuck off. She’s sleeping.

My phone vibrated a few more times before I was able to sit it back on the stand, but I didn’t care. I would check it in the morning. And I already knew what they were saying.

I yawned and pulled the covers higher. Maybe I would be able to sleep after all. I closed my eyes and counted Quinlan’s breaths until sleep found me.