Puck The Halls | Jack Hughes

TWENTY THREE

QUINN HUGHES SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE BOY I fell in love with. He's hot as hell, a gentlemen who's carrying my overnight bag to the car, affectionate and sweet, as he holds my other hand in his, guiding me down the drive way, and thoughtful. He'd proved this multiple times throughout my growing up, and he was proving it now. He'd noticed Jack and I weren't exactly on speaking terms, but he didn't press, just accepted.

He stayed out of Jack's way, and made sure to create a barrier between us by placing himself in the middle of us in the car. Luke was in the front, America was meeting us there, and Jack, Quinn and I had the back. Quinn held my hand, rubbing circles over my knuckles with his thumb. It wasn't in any way romantic, it never was between us, but more of a silent gesture to keep me calm, let me know that it was okay. That whatever was going on between Jack and I, he wasn't going to be weird with me.

Jack, on the other hand, looked just about ready to explode. He keeps flickering his gaze to Quinn and I, his cheeks flaring and outrageous red and an angry blush reaching his ears and neck, but it's not the good kind of blush. I don't know why Jack is looking between his brother and I that way, he'd never done so before, and Quinn had held my hand countless times. But then I realise that Jack had also never openly admitted that he wanted me all for himself before. Maybe it had more to do with that.

Our eyes meet, and for a fraction of a second, there's an understanding that passes between us. Both of us know we're being stubborn, being complete idiots, that if we just spoke to each other, cleared things up, maybe tried a little honesty—we'd find out that we both want the exact same thing. But, both of us are stubborn and we won't do that. And so, I tear my gaze away at the same time he does, both of our skin burning with a blush at being caught by the other, both annoyed that we were still in this weird state of not really talking.

I missed him, more than I was willing to admit, but if it meant that we'd finally make up, that we'd be good again, I'd admit it. I spent the better half of half night crying my eyes out over him, the other half mad that he'd tried to claim me like that publicly without asking permission first.

I knew how Jack worked. When Jack wanted something, Jack got it, but this would not be one of those times. I refuse to be just another girl who succumbs to his flirtatious smile and dead-sexy voice. No. I had more pride than that.

We had an entire eight hour car ride ahead of us, and of course, I didn't want to spend it hating Jack, but if history told us anything about each other, it's that we were good at holding out on one another.

Quinn's hand untangled from my own, falling slack on my knee, and began tracing patterns on that instead. Jack tensed from his jaw all the way to his knuckles, glaring at the place Quinn absentmindedly traced his fingers on my sweatpants.

"Can you like, not?" Jack breathed, speaking to his brother under his breath.

Quinn gave him a quizzical look, raising a single eyebrow. "Not what?"

"You know what," Jack spits, still not letting his eyes move from Quinn's hand on my knee.

"Not sure I do," Quinn darts back, tone full of sass. He wasn't about to let his little brother get away with not admitting his feelings. It was about damn time.

"You fucking do and you know it," Jack snapped, earning the attention of everyone in the car.

"Language," Ellen warned, but it was pointless because when she Hughes brothers fought, they fought hard.

"Oh, fuck off," Quinn groaned, and I figured it was about time I moved my knee myself, not really wanting to be involved. I recoiled into the window, eyeing the boys cautiously. "I'm not even doing anything wrong."