Nova and Quinton: No Regrets

Chapter 12

Nova

I probably shouldn’t have kissed him. It’s not what I came here for. I just needed to get away from all the sadness and pain over Delilah and Tristan, and when I thought of the one place that I might be able to do that, being by Quinton’s side was the first thing that came to mind.

Just friends, I kept telling myself during the airplane ride. We’re just friends.

But seeing him in the flesh, healthy, honey-brown eyes more full of life than I’ve ever seen, it ignited something inside, and without thinking, I found myself placing my lips to his. I start to pull back when I realize I probably shouldn’t have done that, but to my surprise, he presses his hand against my back and crushes our bodies together, deepening the kiss. My body conforms to his as I grasp him, my lips willingly part as his tongue slips deeper inside my mouth. The longer the kiss goes on, the more intense it gets, and before I know it my legs end up latched around his waist as his hands explore my body while he backs us up against the wall. I can barely breathe, only coming up for air when my lungs feel like they’re going to explode. I can’t take it anymore. I seriously want to tear off his clothes and run my hands across every part of him while he does the same to me.

But then suddenly he’s pulling away and the noise around us washes over me and I remember that I’m in a very public place.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Quinton whispers, resting his head against mine, his breathing ragged, my legs still fastened tightly around him.

“Yeah, me too,” I whisper back, basking in the feel of him, from the warmth of his skin to the feathery touch of his breath.

We stay that way for a moment before, finally, he lowers me back to the ground and lets go of me. Then he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, observing me intently. “Do you need to pick up anything from baggage claim?” he asks.

I shake my head and then reach around and pat the bag on my back. “This is all I brought,” I say. “I was in sort of a rush and I’m not even sure if I remembered to bring deodorant.”

He stares at me with a quizzical look, his eyes skimming over me. “Do you… do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

I press my lips together and shake my head, refusing to think about what made me run. Not right now, when the moment is so good. “No, not yet, but later.”

He cups my cheek in his hand. “Tell me what you need me to do… anything you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“Even if I said I needed a unicorn?” I shake my head at myself. I don’t know why I crack a joke but I do.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. “That might be possible to be arrange, if I have some time,” he says. “But until then, what else do you need from me?”

My stomach grumbles in response. “How about breakfast?”

With a small smile, he nods and then takes my hand. “Breakfast it is, then.”

We walk out the door and head to the parking garage, holding hands, the clear sky above us. It feels weird but at the same time right. It feels like this is where I belong and I love the feeling, yet at the same time I hate it, because I know that I won’t be able to keep it this way. I have to start talking about what made me run.

“So you cook?” I say as he stirs some eggs in a pan. I honestly expected him to take me to a restaurant or McDonald’s to get breakfast, but instead he took me to his house, which is about as bare as a home can be, completely filled with boxes.

He shrugs, turning down the stove temperature as the eggs sizzle. “Yeah, I mean, nothing fancy.” He smiles at me over his shoulder. “But I can hold my own.”

I grin back at him from the kitchen table. “Can you make bacon, too?”

“So you’re picky,” he jokes with a chuckle. “But if anyone deserves to be, it’s you.”

My expression falters. “I’m not as great as you think.”

He grabs a plate from the cupboard. “Please talk to me.” He sets the plate down on the countertop and scoops up some eggs. “I don’t like seeing you sad.”

I trace the lines on the table with my head tipped down. “I’m worried if I tell you what’s going on… that it’ll upset you. And I don’t ever want to upset you.”

He doesn’t answer right away and when I hear him moving around, I force myself to look up. Our eyes meet as he sets a plate of eggs down in front of me. “Try me.”

I give him a wary look and then swallow hard. “Are you sure? Because it’s heavy stuff and I know you’ve been struggling with heavy stuff.”

Now he swallows hard as he sits down in the chair across from me. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He reaches across the table, his hand shaking as he gives my hand a soft squeeze. “I want to be here for you, and like I’ve said on the phone a hundred times, I’m not as fragile as you think.”

His touch makes it the slightest bit bearable to speak. “I’m not even sure where to start,” I say quietly. “It was like one minute I was completely okay and then all this stuff happened at once and I just needed to get the hell away from everything.”

“Life can be that way,” he says, letting go of my hand. “But I’m sure whatever’s happening with you, you’ll be able to handle it.” He offers me a smile as he picks up a fork. “You’re amazing with the heavy stuff.”

I poke at my eggs, deciding that the only thing I can do is rip off the Band-Aid. “I think Tristan might be doing drugs again.”

His arm muscles tense, his eyes widening for a split second, but then he quickly tries to compose himself. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure,” I mutter, playing with my eggs, feeling too nauseous to eat. “I’ve had my suspicions for a couple of weeks now, but last night some stuff happened and when I called him, he told me he was at a party and that he didn’t really care what happened to him, because life was shitty.” I leave out the kiss part. It’s irrelevant in my opinion because it didn’t mean anything to me.

Quinton doesn’t say a word, his fork still in his hand, his face masked with confusion. “Did he flat-out say he was doing drugs again?”

“No, but he said he was about to,” I say, nibbling on my eggs. “He’s been acting so weird lately. Hanging out with this sketchy guy, and I was worried that if I called him out on it, he’d get mad at me.” I blow out a breath, drop my fork on my plate, and massage my temples with my fingertips. “There’s more, but you can tell me to stop if you need me to. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

He sets the fork down and rubs his hand down his face so roughly he leaves red marks on his skin. “No, I need to do this. I need to be here for you like you were for me.”

“Are you sure?”

He vacillates, then nods. “Yes. I’m positive.”

My stomach winds in knots and I hope that he can handle it like he says. “Remember how I told you about Delilah? And how she was missing and her mom was looking for her?”

He nods again and then his eyes enlarge. “Wait, did they find her?”

“I’m not sure.” I shut my eyes to keep tears from falling. “I got a call from my mom last night and she said that Delilah’s mom was heading down to Vegas to… identify a body… see if it’s hers.”

Silence surrounds us. I want to open my eyes and look at him, but at the same time I’m afraid. Afraid that I’ll see that darkness return to his eyes. Afraid that I’ll see the need to feed the darkness. But then I feel his hand on top of mine and the connection causes my eyelids to lift.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, his hand trembling on mine. Or maybe mine’s the one shaking—it’s hard to tell.

“I know it will be eventually,” I say. “Because I’ve been through this before… but I’m… afraid…”

A pucker forms at his brow. “Of what?”

“Of shutting down.” I slip my hand out from underneath his and place it on top of my erratic heart. “Of counting. Of going back to my OCD so I don’t have to deal with this.” I’m about to cry but I’m trying my hardest to suck back the tears, hold it all in, be strong. “Life was going so good and I just want it to stay that way.” But the tears start to slip out and stream down my cheeks.

“Hey,” he says, getting up from the chair and rushing to me. “Everything is going to be good still, even if it gets a little bumpy for a while.” He kneels down in front of me and touches his hand to my cheek, smearing some of the tears away with his thumb. “And you want to know how I know that?” he asks, and I nod my head as more hot tears spill down my cheek. “Because I’m here. With you. And we’re both sober.” He gives me a lopsided smile and then wraps his arms around me, pulling me toward him. “And we both can get through this together.”

My arms instinctively circle him and pull him closer as I rest my chin on top of his shoulders. “But what if it is her?”

His muscles spasm, but when he speaks his voice is calm. “Then we’ll deal with it together.”

“Can you… can you deal with it?” I wonder, looking him in the eyes. I honestly don’t know, if it comes down to it, if he can be there for me without it hurting his recovery. If it is Delilah’s body, will he be able to handle it? I don’t think they were that close, but death is death. It’s hard. Painful. And the weight of it grows with each person who passes, and never fully lightens again. Quinton’s lost a lot and I worry the weight of another death will push him down.

“I think so.” His voice falters, but he quickly recovers. “I will for you… but Nova, let’s not go to that place until we know for sure, okay?”

I nod, reaching up and wiping some more tears away with my fingertips. After I pull myself together, I lean back and look him in the eye. “You’re pretty good at this. You know that?”

He raises his eyebrows with a look of disbelief. “Well, if that’s true, then you can thank Wilson and his constant nagging words of wisdom.”

“Do I get to meet him?” I ask, changing the subject to a lighter tone. “While I’m here?”

“Do you want to meet him?” he asks in surprise, his hands resting on top of my legs.

“Of course. You’ve been talking about him nonstop for a couple of weeks now,” I say, but when he frowns, I add, “But you don’t have to introduce me if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” he replies with reservation. “It’s just that…” He scratches the back of his head. “It’s just that it makes things so real.” He gestures between us. “You and I.”

“It doesn’t have to mean that,” I say, hiding my disappointment. “We can still just be friends.”

His lips smash together as he holds my gaze. “I’m not sure if I can do that. Not when you’re here now.” He shuts his eyes and his chest rises and falls as he breathes in deeply and exhales. “Not after that kiss.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I apologize, even though I’m not that sorry. “I feel like I just put a ton of pressure on you by showing up here. I should have thought this all through a little better.”

He opens his eyes, honey brown and reflecting the light of the room. I remember when I first met him how much pain they carried and in Vegas how empty they looked. But now they’re different… he’s different—more alive. “No, I want to be here for you… you’ve been there so much for me.” He deliberates something with a lost look on his face. “Just tell me what you want to do and I’ll make it happen.”

I consider what I want, but a lot of impossible scenarios come to mind, like making it so Delilah will be okay, so I decide to settle on something simple. “I want to see the city,” I say. “I’ve never been here before.”

“How long are you planning on staying?” He gets to his feet and sits back down to eat breakfast.

“I have to go back home tomorrow… I have to work the day after Christmas and I promised Lea I’d spend Christmas day with her.”

I can’t tell if he’s happy about this or not, but then he smiles. “Only one day in Seattle. I know just the place to go.”

“Oh yeah? Where?” I dig into my eggs.

“It’s a surprise.” Then he winks at me and just seeing him happy makes me think that, despite all the darkness and wrong going on right now, everything’s going to turn out okay.