Free Through the Fire by Donna Hill Page B

surface everything looks great. But inside—” he poked his chest “—it’s empty. The melody is gone. Everything seems to lack meaning, any depth.”
    Her pulse raced as her eyes scanned his face. “Yesss,” she uttered, knowing his words had struck home, had found a real truth. “Yes.” Her eyes suddenly filled. “How do you get it back, Quinn? I’ve been fooling myself, fooling everybody into thinking that I was all right, better,moving on. I buried myself in my music, held on to the notes as if they were life preservers that would keep me from sinking. Surrounded myself with people and work, gigs and more work, because I was so damned scared. The music can be a wonderful place to hide yourself inside. It can cloak your fears, provide you with a false shelter. Do you know what I mean?” Tears streamed down her face unchecked.
    “Yeah, I do,” he replied softly, knowing that secret place quite intimately. Yet, almost jealous of her ability to find refuge there where he had not.
    Without further words, she found herself cocooned in Quinn’s arms, the strength of him warding off the ghosts that still haunted her, the ghosts that she’d valiantly kept at bay—until now. It felt right, natural. For a moment she could let her guard down, and allow herself to be comforted, protected by someone other than herself. Yeah, she was tired, too.
    How long had it been since he’d allowed himself to get this close, beyond the veneer of another person, and let it touch him? He held her and the overwhelming sensation of beingneeded again, sharing someone else’s vulnerability, seized him. It struck him in a totally unexpected way. In the past, seeing their pain without recriminations, without judgment was almost his undoing. That blind empathy often left him without any protective shell, left him without any defenses, opening him to the kind of pain that took years to recover from.
    For certain, he had worked hard at protecting himself from the world, from people, being sure that his guard was always up and in place. Maybe it stemmed from the life he’d lived on the street, the unspoken rules of keeping your feelings in check to ensure that they would not be used against you. The unspoken code was that your exterior should never betray your interior. Or as someone once told him, “No one should be able to look at your face and know a damn thing about you or your soul.” He had become very good at separating himself from the man he was inside. But how could he merge the two, and finally become whole?
    His sister, Lacy, had always seen through the facade. She knew who he was behind the mask, beyond the posturing. Nikita had tried todo that and for the most part succeeded. She was the first woman to win his heart, but only part of his soul. And that was something he would always regret. There was a part of him that was locked away in an iron box, for which even love, in all its power, didn’t have the key. At least that’s how it had always been. Now there was Rae, who’d snuck up on him like a mist, like a spirit, found a way to seep into his pores, make him start thinking beyond the moment—and about someone other than himself. But was that enough?
    Rae raised her head from Quinn’s chest and sniffed loudly. “I feel like such an idiot.” She sniffed again, thinking she may have revealed too much about herself too soon, and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. As many sisters often said, it didn’t pay to tell too much about yourself right away. Some brothers stored all of this info, knowing all of your weaknesses, and then hurled it back at you when the opportunity presented itself. Somehow Quinn didn’t seem to be that kind of man. She trusted him, maybe from the moment she first met him.
    Quinn reached for a napkin and handed it to her.
    “Thanks,” she muttered and blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry for what—being an idiot?” he teased lightly, lifting her chin with the tip of his