Blyssfully Undone: The Blyss Trilogy - book 3 (17 page)

My stomach grumbles, reminding me I didn’t really eat a decent dinner last night, and now it’s past breakfast time. I roll out of bed, use the bathroom, and then find an elastic hairband to put my hair up into a ponytail. I throw on a pair of Travis’ gym shorts, which are way too big, and roll the waistband over a few times until they stay put. I then find one of his t-shirts and slip it over my head. His cotton t-shirts are extra comfy, and I tell myself that’s the real reason why I’m wearing it, not because I can smell his scent still lingering in the fabric, or the fact wearing his clothes makes me feel closer to him somehow. I don’t bother with putting on socks and shoes. I already know I’m not going anywhere today.

I make my way downstairs, and as I round the banister on the last step, I hear the voices of the men carrying on. They’re having multiple conversations at once, one talking over the other. I’m not sure I’m ready to see Travis yet. As I approach the kitchen, I linger in the entryway.

All of the guys are sitting around the large kitchen table with a spread of both pistols and assault rifles, all disassembled. Tiny square cleaning cloths and other paraphernalia clutter the table. I watch as Chase picks up a can of some sort of gun cleaning solvent and sprays it onto a bristly brush. Instantly, I catch a whiff of the unique scent.

The sight of them cleaning their weapons turns my stomach. If I don’t see another gun for the rest of my life, it will be a minute too soon. Everyone looks up at the same time, except for Travis, whose back is facing me. The other guys fall silent, Travis being oblivious to my presence as he continues to ramble on about something, sounding upbeat and jovial.

I must be really sick in the head, because he’s a sight for sore eyes, and my body aches to be wrapped in his arms. Quinn clears his throat, interrupting Travis, and when he looks up at Quinn in question, Quinn nods in my direction.

When Travis turns his head, his genial mood is immediately wiped off his face as he shuts down, giving me that damn stone-walled expression. I die a little on the inside knowing it’s me who put the cold glare in his eyes. He has all his walls back up, and his fortress is locked down tight as he continues to penetrate me with his hard scowl. He then scoots back his chair in a dramatic fashion, making a loud scraping sound against the tiled floor as he stands to his full height.

“I’m out of here, guys,” he says heatedly, and with that, I feel like I’ve just been punched in the gut. His curtness and coldness has me feeling embarrassed, and I feel the heat of my humiliation turning the tips of my ears red.

“Where you going, man?” Stryker questions with a confused look on his face.

“Out. I’ll be back later.” As if he’s speaking to me personally, he continues, “If she tries to escape, tie her up, and lock her in the basement.” I choke on the air in my lungs, my hand pressing against my racing heart.

Chase speaks over the collective, shocked stares of everyone in the room, “Dude, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Travis whips his head around, and the tone of his voice sends a chill down my spine. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly, so let me rephrase. If she tries to cut loose and isn’t properly restrained for when I get back, someone’s head is gonna roll for it. You wanna oppose me now, let me know,” he snarls as his fists ball up, readying for a fight.

“Whoa,” Chase leans back in his chair and raises his hands high in the air in mock surrender, “I got your back, man. I’m on board.”

With those last words, Travis turns away from Chase and looks to Stryker. “Just leave my handgun alone. I’ll finish it when I get back.” He grabs his keys off the kitchen counter and doesn’t even brush past me to leave out the front door. Instead, he leaves out the set of French doors just off to the side of the kitchen, where the den is. I jump back, startled when he slams the door behind him.

The room goes completely quiet as I just stand here awkwardly, feeling more stupid by the second for wearing his clothes. As I look around the room, all the guys stare at me in silence with a bit of sympathy.

I bite my bottom lip out of nervousness, and I wonder if they’re all upset and blaming me for Travis’ bad mood. I’m seconds away from doing an about-face and running back to the bedroom to drown myself in self-pity and tears, but Quinn catches my attention. He shoves his seat back and gets up, quickly making his way toward me in a determined manner.

When he reaches me, he holds out his hand for me to take in a silent gesture of amity. “You hungry?” he gently asks. Looking like a lost kitten, I nod, not saying a word. He gestures with his outstretched hand again, softening his eyes as he wills me to accept his hand in an act of kindness as he prods, “C’mon, I’ll find you something you can eat. We have a little bit of everything here.”

I tentatively slip my hand into his and he pulls me into his side, wrapping his arm around me in a comforting hug. His warm embrace settles me, reminding me of the brotherly love only Jake could provide. God knows it feels good to have someone show some empathy. I have to admit; I didn’t expect Quinn, of all people, to show any compassion. His exterior is always so Rambo-like, but come to think of it, so is Jake’s.

With his arm around me, he guides me to the refrigerator, and as he opens the door, he leans down to whisper in my ear, “Don’t take it personally. He didn’t get his beauty sleep last night. Had to sleep on the sofa with Ranger, who snored in his ear all night.” He tilts his head down to meet my eyes with a silly grin playing on his lips, looking to get a reaction from me. “Sometimes his hormones go all dysfunctional, and when they do, he’s worse than a houseful of women PMSing with no chocolate.”

Stryker overhears the conversation, and mumbles under his breath, “You fuckin’ got that right.” My lips curve into a small smile. I can’t help it, and Quinn’s goofy grin is a bit comical, along with Stryker’s comment. His bright, blue eyes twinkle with satisfaction when I return his smile, and he gives me an extra squeeze in what only feels like a brotherly hug.

“He’ll blow off some steam and get over it.” Quinn reassures me, and then gives me a playful wink. “Okay?” Still feeling shy, I nod my head once again.

“All right,” he says loudly, changing the subject with renewed determination to make light of a strained atmosphere, “how about a country style brunch? I’ve got bacon, eggs, and grits.” Another smile tugs at the corners of my lips. This is exactly like something Jake would do to put me in a better mood. Growing up, Jake would always distract me when I was having a bad day by making me something yummy in the kitchen.

“Ahhh, I can see I’m on to something here. Is that your morning poison?”

My lips twitch with a grin, and he raises his brow in question. “Cat got your tongue? Gotta tell me how you want this combo to go,” he cheerfully says as he lets go of me, grabbing the carton of eggs from the shelf. “Let me guess; a gluten-free, lactose intolerant southern girl like you takes eggs over easy with a slice of veggie cheese, and then mixes it all together in a bowl. Am I right?”

I will never know how he nailed that one. I’m simply amazed. “I’m impressed. You got it right.”

He stops to regard me with mock offense, his hands full of bacon and eggs. “Sweetheart, I’m never wrong. And as long as you can get that bit of trivia through your pretty little head, you might learn a thing or two.”

Unintentionally, a loud snigger bursts forth, and my hand flies to my mouth to cover the blunder. His eyes narrow on mine, but they're full of mirth, and his lips twitch in amusement.

“Dude, make me some too while you’re at it,” Stryker pipes in.

“Then get your lazy ass up here and help. This ain’t a bed and breakfast.”

After breakfast, I decided to stay busy and clean up the kitchen. The guys have made a serious mess in here, as dirty dishes are stacked high in the sink and the countertops are cluttered from last night’s dinner. I have nothing better to do anyway. As I load the dishwasher and wash the pots and pans, the guys continue to banter back and forth with each other while they finish cleaning their guns. It’s kind of funny to listen to them rib each other. I can tell just from this little bit of time I’ve spent with them that they have a camaraderie that’s unbreakable.

When I’m finished in the kitchen, I glance at the clock on the wall, and it reads almost noon. I look around, wondering what to do next to keep my mind busy. It’s bad enough all I can think about is Travis and how he left pissed off. My stomach twists into a knot thinking about it. I know with idle time on my hands I’ll just further confuse myself with my conflicted feelings. I turn around and notice Quinn is the only one left in the room with me. He most likely stayed behind on purpose to make sure I wouldn’t run.
Probably a smart thing to do.

Travis still hasn’t returned to the house as far as I can tell. Quinn gestures for me to have a seat at the table across from him, and I hesitate. His look is serious, and I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say.

“C’mon and have a seat,” he says as he pats the wooden table with the palm of his hand. “I want to talk to you for a bit.”

I slip into the chair across from Quinn and sit down with nervousness. Not knowing what to say or do, I drop my chin to my chest and twist my fingers nervously.

“Hey, look at me,” he softly requests, and when I do, I’m met with the most brilliant hue of blue. His lips have turned down in a frown, and my heart skips a beat. I don’t like the sudden shift of mood, and it puts me on edge.

“I’m not one to babble on with bullshit, so I’ll just cut to the chase here.” Dread fills me from head to toe as I hold my breath, preparing for the worse. He lets out a loud sigh, and the next thing he says stops my heartbeat in its tracks. “Do you want to know about Adam?” he asks me point blank.

What’s the catch?
I glance to all four corners of the room, expecting…what, I don’t know. He’s acting covert, and it’s throwing me off. “Why?” I ask in a disbelieving whisper.

He leans forward in his chair as if he has some big secret to tell me. “I asked you a yes or no question,” he says bluntly, and lifts a brow as he waits for my response.

I swallow hard. The man knows how to play hardball, and hell yes I want to know about Adam. “You’ll let me call him?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I’ll show you.”

My brows lift high, taken aback with confusion. “Show me? I don’t understand.” Will he take me to him?

He stands up, walks over to my side of the table, and then gently takes me by the hand. “Come on. I just think you need to know.”

I let him hold my hand as he takes me down the hallway. With each step, my heart pounds loudly in my ears, and I don’t get a good feeling about this.

Still downstairs, we come to a stop at a set of closed doors, and I notice a small keypad affixed to the wall. Quinn punches in a sequence of numbers, and then turns the knob, opening the door to a huge computer room.

Holy shit! Who are these people?
Is this an extension of the facility in Atlanta? They’re equipped with state of the art electronics and gadgets I’ve never seen before. I can’t quite seem to soak in my surroundings. I’m too stunned to move, so he tugs at my hand, pulling me into the room. He guides me to a black computer chair and takes a seat beside me as he turns on one of the many computer monitors.

It seems like forever since I last looked at a computer screen. I turn to face Quinn, who isn’t paying me a bit of attention. Instead, he’s focused on entering things on the keyboard, shifting his gaze back and forth from it to the monitor. His brows furrow as he works on the task at hand, acting all businesslike.

He lifts his chin in a quick jerk, indicating I’m to look at something on the screen, and as I do, I see Adam’s name on a file. Quinn clicks on the blue folder to open it up, and suddenly a slew of pictures stream across the screen as he slowly clicks through them in a slideshow fashion.

My hand covers my mouth as my pulse spikes at the sight of Adam’s picture. My God, it’s really him. The familiarity of his personality and looks washes over me, causing my eyes to water. It feels like forever since I’ve seen him, a sight for sore eyes. The next picture that opens up confuses me, and instinctively, without realizing it, I place my hand over Quinn’s to stop him from clicking to the next picture.

Adam’s in this picture with another woman. A real woman…a beautiful one.
What the hell?
“What is this?” I whisper to no one.

“This,” Quinn says matter-of-factly, “is Mr. And Mrs. Adam Taylor.” My head goes all tingly, and I let go of Quinn’s hand. I couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“What did you say?” I hoarsely whisper as my world shifts, turns on its axis, and spins the other way.

He ignores my question and clicks to the next photo, one that speaks well over a thousand words. She’s in a wedding gown, and Adam’s in a tux. Thankful I’m sitting down, I begin to feel queasy. I thought I knew how deep his love for me went. “He’s…he’s married?!” I declare in disbelief. I lean in to get a closer look at the screen, not wanting to believe my eyes.

Quinn turns to face me, giving nothing away until he sees the shocked looked on my face. His eyes turn to concern for me, and then his features soften as if he’s remorseful. Quinn reaches out with his hand, pausing and unsure, but then decides to place it on my shoulder.