Nova and Quinton: No Regrets

Chapter 14

Nova

We spend the rest of the day exploring the city and I even stop at a few stores to buy a couple of last-minute Christmas presents. We chat while recording every moment, but only because I want to have something to remind me of this day. It’s hard, I’ll admit, to be walking around when there’s such a huge fear looming over my head. Death. It only gets harder when I get a text from Jaxon, one I feared was coming.

Jaxon: Did u seriously play with Lea’s band?

“Shit,” I curse as I read the text. We’re sitting on a park bench watching people go by and Quinton shoots me a puzzled look.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, putting his arm on the back of the bench behind me.

I shake my head as I read the text over again. “Jaxon found out I played with Lea’s band.”

“So? Tell him you did it because she’s your friend,” he says, the sunlight above shimmering in his eyes.

“I think he’s pissed,” I say, and then I text Jaxon back.

Me: I’m sorry, but she really needed me. I feel bad for doing it.

Jaxon: You know that’s like the ultimate betrayal. Nikko’s freakin pissed off as hell. He has this huge grudge against Braxton… says he stole a girlfriend from him a year ago or some shit.

Me: Tell him I’m sorry.

Jaxon: That’s not going to do any good at the moment.

I’m about to text back when another text comes through.

Jaxon: He wants to kick u out of the band.

Me: Please don’t. Tell him that I’m really sorry and that I’ll make it up to him.

“Or how about tell them to get over it,” Quinton says, and I realize he’s reading my texts over my shoulder. “Don’t let them push you around like that, Nova.”

“They’re not pushing me around. I promise,” I say, but it doesn’t feel like I’m being truthful to myself. “This is just how bands work.”

He brings his foot up on his knee and shakes his head. “Baby, you’re too nice sometimes. You need to be more assertive.”

We both freeze a few seconds later when we realize that he called me baby. I’m not sure if I like the nickname or not, but at the same time I like that he’s given it to me.

“Sorry about the baby,” he says, his fingers caressing the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean for that to come out like that… in fact, I’ve always thought it was a silly pet name or whatever you want to call it.”

My phone is buzzing in my hand, but I don’t look down at it. “It’s okay,” I say. “You can give me a pet name, but maybe just not baby.”

He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Then what do you want me to call you? Sweetie?”

I shake my head. “Too sugary. And I’m not sugary.”

“I beg to differ,” he says musingly. “But if you don’t want me to call you that, I won’t.”

“I’ve always liked when you call me Nova like the car,” I admit, wanting to throw my phone against the ground as it buzzes again. I should be more worried that my band is upset, but being here, and why I came here, have got me distracted.

The corners of his lips quirk. “That’s a really long nickname.”

“Well, how about this,” I say. “How about you just call me Nova, except for special occasions, like my birthday and yours, and then you’ll call me Nova like the car.”

He wets his lips with his tongue and it makes me want to kiss him again… never stop kissing him. “Sounds good to me,” he says, and then he leans in, brushing his lips across mine as if he’s read my mind or something.

It’s a quick kiss, though, and we end up breaking apart as my phone buzzes for the fourth time.

Jaxon: I told him u were sorry, but he’s still pissed.

Jaxon: Nova, I think we might really have to kick u out, at least for a while.

Jaxon: Nova, what the hell. Please respond.

Nikko: I can’t believe u played for another band.

I stare at the screen forever, wondering what to type. The more I think about it, the more anxious I get, which isn’t what I need at the moment. So in the end I put my phone away and rest my head on Quinton’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah, or at least I will be. I just need to relax and breathe for a while.”

He doesn’t argue, resting his head on mine, and we sit that way for the next hour. It’s probably one of the best hours I’ve had in my entire life, and if I could, I’d just stay this way, frozen in time, but I know I can’t. It’s part of my problem. Never wanting to let go. Fearing big changes. Fearing what will happen if I alter my life. Take risks.

Finally the sun starts to set and we get up from the bench and make our way home. But we stop at a construction site for Quinton to show me the house he’s working on. It’s not much at the moment, but I can see why he’s so proud. Putting a home together for a family that needs it.

“It’s amazing,” I say as I make a circle around the first floor, which doesn’t have walls. The floor is plywood. There are spotlights set up on the ground to light up the area as people work hard in the dark to get the house finished. “It’s like a real house and everything.”

He watches me as he grips a beam above our head. “As opposed to a fake one?”

I laugh and then playfully swat his arm. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs and the sound is so breathtaking that I have to take out my camera and record it. “Smile for the camera, please,” I tell him, lifting my phone up and aiming it at him.

“Are you going to record everything?” he wonders as I zoom in on his face.

I lower the camera, frowning. “Sorry. Is it bothering you?”

He shakes his head, seeming genuine. “No, I just want to know. That’s all.”

“Oh.” I raise the camera back up and he appears on the screen again. “I’ll stop in a little while. I just want to remember all this… and recording makes me feel better.”

“Well, then record away while I give you the grand tour,” he says, releasing the beam, then proceeds to lead me around the home, introducing me to people here and there. He smiles so much as he points out everything, telling me which pieces he’s put together. He’s proud of his accomplishment and he should be. It makes me want to accomplish more myself.

“You look so happy,” I dare to say as we head up the stairs to the second floor.

His forehead creases. “I do?”

I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It makes me want to do stuff like this,” I say. “Well, not like this, since I can’t build, but help people in some way.”

“You help people more than you think,” he says, trailing off as we arrive on the top floor.

There’s a thirtysomething guy with a scruffy jaw, wearing a plaid coat, banging a hammer against a piece of wood. Country music plays on a stereo in the corner and a small light is perched in the center of things, illuminating the darkness night has brought on.

“And this is Wilson,” Quinton says as he approaches the guy with a sort of uneasy look on his face.

Wilson glances up at Quinton, seeming startled. “Holy shit, I didn’t see you even come in here.” His eyes drift to me and he lowers the hammer to his side. “Who’s this?” He asks it, but it sounds like he already knows who I am.

“This is Nova,” Quinton tells him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Recognition crosses Wilson’s face as he sets the hammer down on the floor, then brushes his hands off on the sides of his pants. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, approaching me with his hand extended.

I grasp it and shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Wilson glances over at Quinton with a cocky look on his face and Quinton rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Well, I hope good things,” Wilson says, returning his attention to me.

I nod, letting go of his hand. “Yes, always good things.”

Smiling, Wilson leans over to pick a bottle of water up off the floor. “Okay, so I just have to say that I love your name.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, glancing over at Quinton, wondering if he told Wilson the story behind it. “I was named after my father’s car.”

“I know,” Wilson says, taking a drink before setting the bottle back down on the ground beside a blue lunchbox. “Quinton told me, and I have to say that your dad had excellent taste in cars.”

He said had, which means he knows my father has passed away, which means Quinton’s been telling him stuff about me. I like the idea for some reason, that he would take the time to talk about me with Wilson, someone I know he looks up to, even though he hasn’t flat-out said it.

After we chat a little bit, Wilson asks if we want to help him for a while. Quinton starts to shake his head, but I say yes, loving the idea of doing something that helps others. Although I don’t really help out that much, since I have no idea how to build a house or anything, but I get tools for them when they need them. I start to notice a lot of things as I observe the two of them putting a house together, like how happy Quinton seems to be here. He keeps making jokes and every once in a while he comes over and gives me a kiss on the forehead or cheek, like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t he’ll miss his chance. It feels like we really might be boyfriend and girlfriend or at least close. The last time I was at this place was with Landon and I never thought I’d have that again, but I think I was wrong. I think I want what I had with Landon with Quinton, only better. I want us to be able to talk about stuff no matter what, even if it’s difficult.

“What?” Quinton asks at one point, his face masked with curiosity, and I realize that I’m staring at him with a big grin on my face.

I shake my head, unable to erase my smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just feeling better. That’s all.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He smiles back and starts hammering a nail while I return to watching him move, because I’m finding it fascinating. After he gets the board nailed into place he glances around confusedly. “Where’s Wilson go?” he asks.

I point at the stairway. “He muttered something about going to check up on the guys below and then wandered in that direction.”

“Shit, I didn’t even see him walk away.”

“That’s because you’re in the zone.”

He smiles at me, then turns to go back to hammering as the song on the radio switches to a slower one.

“It’s really pretty up here,” I say, looking up at the sky through a small section of the home where the roof isn’t up yet. “You can see so many stars.”

“You know, I remember the last time you and I looked up at the stars,” Quinton says, walking up to me. “In Vegas… we played twenty questions and then we danced.”

I look up at him. “Yeah, and you promised me a redo. You know, I’ve really been dying to see your stellar dancing skills again. The ones your grandma taught you.”

“Yeah, I would never have told you that if I hadn’t been high,” he says, seeming a little embarrassed. “But anyway.” He extends his hand. “You want to dance?”

I glance around at the home with no walls, the sound of power tools filling the air. “Right here?”

He nods as I slip my hand into his and he pulls me toward him. Then he backs to the stereo in the corner and turns up the music so loudly that I can barely hear anything but the beat and lyrics.

“You know, I’ve never been a fan of country music,” I admit as he walks back to me.

“Ha, well, now I know something about music that you don’t,” he says, placing his hands on my hips. “Because I listen to it all the time.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “Are you a fan?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I know the lyrics to this song.”

“I wouldn’t be too proud of that,” I joke.

“No way,” he says as he starts to rock us to the rhythm of the song. “You are so music-superior, but this time I got you.”

“Yeah, you totally got me,” I say with an underlying meaning that I think he picks up on. But I don’t care. He has me right now, in this moment. I’m completely caught up in him and all the bad that was nipping at my heels has dissipated. And it continues to be nonexistent as we dance, laughing when he pushes me away and makes me do a silly little spin. And when he draws me back to him, I can’t help but smile as I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Quinton, thank you,” I say softly as I hold on to him.

“For what?” he wonders.

“For making me feel better today,” I say, his muscles going rigid. “I really needed it.”

He pauses and then he pulls me closer, resting his chin on top of my head. “You’re welcome, Nova like the car.”

We dance for one more song, and then Wilson walks up and catches us. He starts cracking jokes about always knowing Quinton was a softy, something Quinton pretends to be annoyed about, but I don’t think it really bothers him.

About an hour later, we leave to go back to Quinton’s house. I feel strangely content on the inside, walking under the stars with him. I’m really glad I decided to be impulsive and come out here. It’s late, though, and I know that in a few hours I’ll have to go to sleep and then when I wake up the magic of this day will be over as I head back home. But I try not to think about it and focus on spending time with him.

When we get back to Quinton’s house, his dad is still at work, so he fixes us dinner—grilled cheese and soup. After we’re finished, I help him clean up the dishes.

“So what do you want to do?” Quinton asks as he places the last dish into the dishwasher. He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a bit of dirt on his forehead, which I reach up and wipe away.

I glance down at the dirt on my arms and then sniff myself. “I feel really gross,” I say, scrunching my nose. “Can I take a shower?”

“Sure.” He shuts the dishwasher door. “Let me show you where it is.”

He takes me to the upstairs bathroom, then briefly lingers in the doorway, seeming like he wants to say something, before clearing his throat and leaving me to take a shower. After I pull my shirt off and slip out of my jeans, I turn on the water, then sit down on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to warm up, ready to dive in and wash up. It’s been a long day—that’s for sure. But it’s made me feel better and made me feel like, no matter what happens with Tristan, Delilah, and my band, I can handle it. I hope I’m right. I hope I don’t fall apart. I hope I’m strong enough to make it through whatever lies ahead.

I’m about to take my bra off when I hear a knock at the door. “Um, yeah,” I say timidly.

“It’s me,” Quinton utters from the other side of the door. “I brought you some towels.”

“Oh.” I glance down at my clothes on the floor, wondering if I should put them back on. Then, deciding I don’t want to be shy Nova with him anymore, I walk over to the door and crack it open. I stick my head out, ignoring the rush of heat that travels over me just from the sight of him. “Thanks.” I take the towels from him and our knuckles graze, causing blinding heat to throb through my veins, and I resist the impulse to shiver.

“No problem.” His voice is off pitch and I catch his gaze drifting downward to my exposed leg.

I think about stepping out of his line of sight, but then I realize that I don’t want to. What I want to do is open the door wider and step out into something new, something I’ve never experienced before, not even with Landon. I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want to hide anymore. Life’s too short to hide. I just want Quinton. Now. No more waiting, like I’ve done in the past.

His eyes slowly scroll back up to mine and he blinks like he’s forcing thoughts out of his head. “I should go,” he whispers, his voice strained.

“Quinton, I…”

I’m not even sure who actually does it. Whether he pushes the door the rest of the way open or I pull it open, but suddenly it’s swinging and it bangs against the wall as I step back. I’m standing there in front of him in my bra and panties, feeling as though I should be embarrassed, but I’m not.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He extends his arm and places his hand on my hip, giving me a gentle tug so our bodies join together.

I manage to moan as his fingertips delve into my skin and the contact is so stimulating I almost collapse to the floor. He seems like he is in pain, torn about what to do next, but then he gives another gentle tug and seconds later our lips collide. I swear to God a year’s worth of emotions pour out of us as we grab each other, our tongues entangling, hands grasping each other. All the passion. Heat. Fear. Worry. Longing. Want. Desire. Need. Resistance. It all blazes through my body at once and nearly sends me buckling to the floor. But he holds on to me, his hand slamming against the wall to keep us both on our feet. His body heat is intoxicating, making me feel like I’m melting everywhere he touches me. And all I can think of is how much I want him. How much I’ve been waiting for this moment.

But then he’s pulling away from me, shattering the connection. “Nova, maybe we shouldn’t do this.” His breathing is ragged, eyes dazed, like he’s disoriented. “Not now, when you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset anymore.” My chest heaves, my hands on his shoulder blades, fingertips digging downward. “And I’m doing this because I want to do this… I want you, Quinton.” My cheeks heat as I say it, but I don’t want to retract it. I’ve never said that to a guy before.

He still seems conflicted, but when I slant forward to kiss him he doesn’t protest, his tongue willingly entering my mouth. Minutes later the shower is turned off and we’ve abandoned the bathroom and found our way to his bedroom, having managed not to break the lip lock.

The first thing I notice is the scent of him everywhere, cologne and cigarettes. It reminds me of a different place and time, one where I was lost. The memories are extremely intoxicating, but in a good way because I’m not in that place anymore, and the memories remind me of how far we’ve come—how far I’ve come.

Then I notice how bare his walls are and I pull away. “You took most of your drawings and photos down?” I ask, noting that there are only three remaining on his wall. One sketch of a girl I think must be Lexi, along with a photo of her, and one of a woman I think is his mom because her eyes resemble Quinton’s.

He nods with nervousness in his eyes as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I was actually doing it this morning right before you called… I woke up and just kind of decided that it was time.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but it is. It’s huge. I know because I’ve been through something similar with Landon’s photos.

Stunned, I return my attention to him. “You should have told me. You just took a huge step.”

He grazes my bottom lip with his thumb, a trace of a smile at his lips as he shakes his head. “Stop worrying about me, Nova. I’ll be okay… if they were still up then you’d have to worry.” His voice wobbles. “It was good that I took that step even though it was hard.”

“I know, but it still had to be hard for you… but I’m proud of you.” I slip my arms around his waist. “You’re doing so good.”

His breathing increases. “I hope I can stay that way.”

“You can,” I say. “I know you can.”

He swallows hard and then he deliberately leans in and presses his lips to mine, stealing my breath away. And just like that all my reservations disappear. Even when he unhooks my bra and slips off my panties, I barely feel my nerves. I only feel him as I help him slip his shirt off his head, then run my fingers across the ridges of his lean muscles, basking in everything about him. His warmth. The way his heart beats in his chest when I press my palm on top of it. The smoothness of his skin. The only thing that pains me is the feel of the scar and the sight of the tattoos and he winces every time I touch them.

“Are you okay?” I ask, withdrawing my hand from his scar.

His eyelids flutter up, terror filling them. “I’m fine… I’m just nervous.”

“Good. I’m glad I’m not the only one.” I don’t mean to say it aloud, it just sort of slips out.

He gives me a crooked smile as my cheeks start to heat, but then he starts kissing me again, slow and sensual, as if he’s savoring each second, each brush of his finger, each entanglement of our tongues. When he backs me up toward the bed, I move with him, letting him lay me down and cover my body with his. His fingers roam all over my body, not missing a single part of me, caressing my inner thighs before he slips them inside me and starts moving them. I grasp the blanket, trying to hold on to something as I get lost in a place I didn’t think existed. A place where nothing exists, except the two of us. It’s the most amazing feeling, one I haven’t felt in a very long time. All the stress and worry diminish. All the bad is temporarily gone. And as I cry out, something bursting deep inside me, I want nothing more than to hold on to this feeling forever. But seconds later, it slowly slips away and I have to return to reality.

Quinton

Feeling her like this… touching her like this… it’s more potent and intoxicating than drugs. If I could, I would stay this way forever, tasting her and touching her until my heart stopped beating and I took my last breath. The sight of her, with her head tipped back and her eyes glossed over with pure contentment, has me wishing I could pause the moment so I could stop and draw it.

“Quinton,” she moans, letting go of the blanket and holding on to me as if her life depends on it.

It’s one of the most terrifying feelings I’ve ever experienced. Having her want and need me this much and wanting and needing her this much. It’s unexpected. Undeserved. But unavoidable. I know this now. Whether I deserve this, if it’s wrong, if I’m being selfish because of this, letting Lexi go for a moment to be wholeheartedly with someone else, I can’t stop it. Nova owns my heart and I can’t get it back from her.

So I keep pushing her to the edge, letting her get lost, until she completely breaks apart in my arms. After she comes down, I dip my lips to hers and kiss her deliberately, my movements calculated as I explore her, memorizing every single inch of her. Her hands start to wander over my body and toward the button of my jeans. With a flick of her finger, she undoes it, then slides her hand down and rubs me hard. Part of me wants to stop her—slow things down—but I’m too far gone to pull back. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I push up from her to get out of my jeans. Then, after grabbing a condom out of my nightstand drawer, I return my body over hers, murmuring something about being sure she wants this. She nods enthusiastically and a few heartbeats later, I’m slipping inside her, with no hesitation. She winces, the pain in her body making her muscles tighten and her legs press firmly against the sides of my hips.

I pause, panting as I gaze down at her. “Are you okay?”

She nods, her hands sliding up my back, her gaze fastened on mine, her brown hair a halo around her head as she lies on my bed, peering up at me. “Yeah, just go slow.”

Nodding, I slowly rock inside her again and she grips my back and guides me to her. With each thrust she starts to loosen up and before I know it, she’s moving rhythmically with me. Heat builds inside me, my skin dampening with sweat as my heart races madly inside my chest, my attention focused on her and the lost look in her eyes as I push her closer and closer until both of us can barely hold on.

I never thought I’d experience this ever again. Never thought it would be possible to be with someone else like this and not feel pain and anguish, but for the briefest moment they’re gone and I am free.

“Quinton.” Nova’s eyes are wide as she gasps, clinging to me, lifting her hips to meet mine one last time before I lose touch with reality, drifting off into a place of contentment—a place that I’ve only been able to reach with drugs over the last two years. It breaks me and then puts me back together and for the briefest moment, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

After we both catch our breaths, I slowly slip out of her and then we lie side by side, our fingers laced together as we silently take in what just happened. I feel different. Changed. Confused. Content. Lost. Guilty. Happy. I’m not even sure what to do with the last emotion. I’ve sort of gotten used to the more complex, darker emotions that I’ve struggled with in the past. As I lie there struggling to sift through my emotions and trying to figure out how to deal with them, Nova rolls onto her side and faces me. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbow, the blanket resting over her bottom half. She self-consciously pulls it over her chest. “I need to know, otherwise I’m going to sit here worrying that you… that you regret what just happened.”

“What?” I gape at her. “Why would you think I regret it?”

“Because you’re being so quiet.” She bites her bottom lip with apprehension. “And I can’t read you right now.”

I roll to my side and then sit up, forcing her to drop the blanket from her chest, the sight of her bare chest and big eyes making my heart miss a beat. “I was thinking how amazing that was,” I say, tracing a line across her collarbone with my fingers. “And how…” It takes me a second to get enough strength to say it. “And how much I want to draw you right now so I can remember the moment.”

“Okay.” She’s breathless but doesn’t hesitate, surprising me, because I was honestly just talking and not really planning on doing it.

“Okay.” I repeat her word, nervously nodding as I realize that this is actually happening—that she and I are really happening. As I reach for my sketchbook, my fingers tremble with my nerves and I wonder, if they keep it up, just how well the sketch is going to turn out.

“Where do you want me?” Nova asks as I sit on the bed with the sketchbook on my lap and a pencil in my hand.

“Right where you are,” I tell her, my gaze skimming over her body, half covered by the blanket, her freckled cheeks flushed, her eyes filled with contentment. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

“Okay,” she says timidly, her muscles stiff.

“Try to relax,” I say to her as I press the tip of my pencil to the paper, then waver for what seems like forever, because the last time I drew someone like this it was Lexi. It seems like it should feel more wrong than it does, but this feels different, because what’s happening between Nova and me feels different from what Lexi and I shared. More intense. More unknown. More unfamiliar.

Releasing the breath I have trapped in my chest, I start moving the pencil across the blank sheet of paper. Stroke by stroke. Line by line. Shading. Recreating her perfection the best I can. The curve of her neck. The fullness of her lips. The freckles on her nose, the ones I’ve wanted to draw for a while. Her amazing eyes that draw me in every time I look at her, because they carry the pain I can relate to, the life-changing loss, the heartbreak, the guilt, the weight of losing someone you love. We’re connected and I try to capture that connection with every stroke of my pencil.

When I’m finally finished, I put the pencil down and crack my aching knuckles, feeling the sting of the moment. It’s been a while since I’ve drawn so intensely and it’s almost unbearable to think that I’ve transferred that moment from Lexi to Nova, but that doesn’t mean I regret it.

“Can I see it?” Nova asks, sitting up with her hand out.

I nod, then hand her the drawing, watching as she assesses it. Her eyes light up more the longer she stares at it. “What do you think?” I ask.

She glances up, smiling. “I think it’s perfect.”

Unable to help myself, I lean down and kiss her, then lie beside her, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her closer as she holds on to the drawing. “What do you want to do for the rest of the night?” I ask.

She angles her head to the side. “I just want to lie here with you, if that’s okay? Until I fall asleep.”

“That sounds perfect to me.” I pull her closer, my chest tightening as I think about the times Lexi and I lay in my bed together. I glance over at the drawing of Lexi, saying a silent apology to her. I’m sorry I’m letting you go. I hope you can forgive me. I still love you. Always will. But I can’t seem to choose death. I’m so sorry.

Nova and I talk for a little bit until we start to doze. I’m a little afraid to close my eyes, fearing that when I wake up everything will have been a dream and I’ll be back in the crack house in Vegas, doped up on methamphetamine. Eventually I do doze off and end up having the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in the last two years. But it’s short-lived, like most peaceful things. That’s the one thing about perfection. It never lasts.

Nova

I’m drifting off when I get a phone call. It’s not too late, around ten o’clock Seattle time, but I get this bad feeling the moment I hear the phone ring. Maybe it’s because I know what’s coming; maybe I took off from Idaho so I could be here when I got the call.

“Hello,” I answer, Quinton lying to my side, his eyes open, looking tired.

“Nova,” my mom says. “Where are you? I called Lea… and she said you just took off—that you were upset.”

I rest back down on the pillow. “I was, but I’m feeling better now… I’m actually with Quinton.”

“In Seattle?” She’s shocked. “Why didn’t you let me know you were going?”

“Yeah, it was sort of a spontaneous trip.” A much-needed escape from life.

“Well, I hope you’re doing okay now,” she says. “I’ve been debating for the last few hours whether or not to call you.”

Something clicks. “Mom, why did you call Lea and not me?”

She sighs. “Because I have bad news and I wanted to make sure there was someone there for you. To make sure you were okay.”

She doesn’t have to tell me what it is. I know before the words leave her mouth. “The body was Delilah’s, wasn’t it?” I say, and Quinton tenses beside me, his fingers instantly finding mine and holding on.

“I’m so sorry, Nova.” She’s close to crying.

“How did it happen?” I squeeze Quinton’s hand, needing to hold on to something. “How did she die?”

“She was shot,” my mom says quietly. “They found her body near a ditch just outside of Vegas… they don’t know who did it yet, but the police are investigating it.”

“It was Dylan,” I say as Quinton scoots closer to me, his nerves buzzing off him and suffocating me. It’s hard to breathe and I have to concentrate on getting air into my lungs. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’ll survive this.

“Maybe,” she says. “But that’s for the police to worry about. Not you.” She pauses. “Nova, I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“Like what?” I think I’m in shock. My body numb. My emotions disconnected. And I can’t seem to breathe normally. I’m starting to get dizzy, the room spinning. “Go find Dylan and see if he’s the one who did it? I’m not a moron, Mom.”

“But you always want to fix things you can’t always fix,” she says, and I glance over at Quinton, his honey-brown eyes watching me with worry. “And you always blame yourself when you aren’t able to help people.”

“Well, sometimes I deserve to be blamed,” I tell her, turning onto my side to face Quinton as the tears finally start to flow from my eyes. Reality sinks in and crashes down on me. Hard. More death. More weight. I can’t fix this. What’s done is done. Delilah is gone. I can’t go back and try to help her. She’s gone. I have to accept that. “I have to go, Mom,” I say, and as she starts to protest I add, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hang up before she can say anything else.

“Are you going to be okay?” Quinton asks, sitting up and leaning over me.

I nod, not bothering to suck back the tears as they pour out. “I’ll be okay eventually, but I need a few moments.” Tears stream down my cheeks and drip onto the blanket below me. I don’t bother stopping them. It’d make things worse if I did. It’s something I’ve learned over the years, that suppressing the pain will only make it worse in the long run, but letting everything out doesn’t make it easier.

Quinton

I remember when I came back from the accident, when they revived me and I woke up. I asked my dad where Lexi was and all he said was, “She’s dead.” I wished he’d said more—that he were there for me. Like I need to be here for Nova now, if she needs me. But can I? Am I that strong?

More tears pour out of Nova’s eyes as her hand finds my arm and she grasps me, her nails piercing my skin. I don’t draw back. I let her take out her inner pain on me.

She chokes back a sob, her shoulders heaving as she battles not to lose control. “Quinton, it hurts so bad.”

“I know it does,” I say as I wrap my arms around her and hug her so tight against me I can feel her heart beating. I want to tell her it’ll be okay. That it won’t hurt forever. That it’ll get easier. But she won’t believe me at the moment. If anyone gets that, it’s me. There is nothing I can say to take her pain away or make her feel less guilty, so I do the only thing I can do. Something I wish someone had done for me in the beginning and what Nova did for me in the end.

I hold her as she drowns in her pain, making sure she doesn’t go completely under.

Nova

I’ve lost it. I can’t breathe. Think. Do anything but sob. I’m letting all the pain out, just like I should, but the ache inside my body feels like it’s going to kill me. Another person gone. More tears to shed. More good-byes. Coffins. Flowers. Mourning. It seriously feels like too much, but there’s one thing that keeps me from breaking apart completely and that’s Quinton. At first I fight it, worry he’s not strong enough for me to have a meltdown, but once I let it all out, I can’t seem to turn off the tears and emotion pouring out of me. And he lets me sob on his shoulder, allows me to cling to him for hours, smoothing his hand up and down my back and telling me it’s going to be okay.

“I should have done something more for her,” I whisper through the tears. It’s another thing that will haunt me forever. The fact that I should have said more—done more to help her.

“You did all you could,” Quinton assures me, kissing the top of my head. “Nova, you can’t save everyone… and you’ve done more good in your life than most people do.”

I press my cheek against his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. “It doesn’t feel that way… it doesn’t feel like I’ve done anything.”

“Look at me,” he begs, and when I don’t, he hooks his finger underneath my chin and tips my head back, forcing me to look at him. “It’s because of you that I’m here. If it wasn’t for you then I would probably be dead in a ditch somewhere, and you know what?” A pause. An intake of breath. Whatever he’s going to say is hard for him. “I’m glad I’m here.”

He’s admitting he’s glad that he’s alive. That I saved him. That he got clean. I know that has to be difficult for him. To let go of the pain and guilt enough to admit that he wants to be happy.

“It wasn’t just me, Quinton,” I say. “Your dad and Tristan helped, too.”

He shakes his head, eyes burning with intensity. “Nova, you didn’t give up on me no matter what. Do you know how many people would have just let me go? Hell, my fucking dad did until you got involved.”

“That was because of my mom,” I explain, pushing up on my elbows and looking down at him. “She’s the one that called him.”

“Yeah, because you made her get ahold of him,” he says, his fingers sliding away from my chin, and he cups my cheek in his hand. “It’s because of you and your refusal to give up on me that I’m here. And it’s because of you that I’ve stayed in this place and that I want to continue to stay in this place.” He brushes his lips across my forehead, before looking back at me. “You give me hope, Nova Reed. Hope that even though life is really, really hard—even if it fucking sucks sometimes—that it’s worth living.”

Deep down, I know he’s right. Life does suck, but it’s worth living, especially for moments like the one I just experienced a few hours ago with Quinton. But it’s moments like these, the ones when you have to feel the loss of life, that make it so hard to want to keep breathing.