Saving Quinton

Chapter 17

August 19, day ninety-six of summer break

Nova

I’ve been watching the show Intervention lately because Tristan makes me. I’m not even sure why he does, except that he seems to think it’ll teach us a thing or two about how it goes down, just in case we ever do stumble across Quinton again. He likes to compare the episodes to what happened with him, how his parents confronted him in the hospital and his mother cried a lot. He said his dad was actually kind of a dick, but only because he cares—Tristan can see that now. I asked him if he thought that was what was wrong with Quinton’s dad and he said maybe, but we might never know unless a real intervention happens.

I’ve also started to pack for school, even though I don’t head back for a week. Lea and I have an apartment, the same one we lived in last year, we just have to sign the forms when we get there and put down a deposit. I’ve ordered all my books, enrolled for all my classes. Everything is set, yet it feels like so much is missing.

The sun is setting outside, another day come and gone, another day when I try not to think about Quinton, but I always do. The worst is when I close my eyes and see the look in his eyes when we kissed near the roller coaster and I stupidly believed everything was going to change. Sometimes I see the self-hatred I saw when he told me the accident was his fault. Sometimes I dream that I’m reaching out to him as he falls into darkness, but he won’t reach back and take my hand. Sometimes he turns into Landon as he’s falling and he starts to reach back but then at the last second he pulls away. I’m really starting to hate dreaming.

“Do I really need to take four classes?” Tristan asks as he scrolls through the list on my computer. He looks even healthier than he did during his first visit, his skin clearer and his eyes filled with a little less misery. He’s actually been hanging out with me a lot, mainly, he says, because I keep him out of trouble. I’m glad. I wish I could turn it into a job or something, although the breakdowns I have when things don’t go my way would probably happen a lot more frequently.

“The more classes you take,” I tell him as I fold up my clothes and stack them on my bed, “The quicker school will be over.”

He grins over his shoulder at me. “Now there’s some motivation.”

“Glad to be of service,” I joke as I put a stack of shirts into a duffel bag, the ones I’m not planning on wearing until I get to school.

“Have you asked your friend if she minds sharing an apartment with a dude?” Tristan asks as he clicks the mouse. “Especially when she’s seen me at my worst.”

“Crap, I forgot to bring that up,” I say, zipping up the bag.

“Forgot?” Tristan questions in a joking tone as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Or are you avoiding it?”

“Maybe a little of both,” I admit as I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The screen says I have one message and for a second my heart leaps in my throat. But that happens every time my phone shows a message or call, because for some reason I think it’s going to be Quinton, but it never is.

The message is from Lea, telling me to call her please!

I sigh and head toward the doorway. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Tristan, noticing that he’s left the campus website and has now opened a search engine. I don’t need to see what he’s searching for. He told me once that he reads through Vegas articles for information about where Quinton could be. He’s says it’s pretty much pointless, especially when Quinton might not even be in Vegas anymore, but he does it anyway because it makes him feel better—makes him feel like he’s doing something to help Quinton the way Quinton helped him.

I go out into the kitchen, where my mom and Daniel are, getting ready for the week-long camping trip that they’re leaving for tomorrow. They’ve got the tent, the sleeping bags, and a few Tupperware bins on the table and the floor that they’re packing with food, pans, utensils, and whatnot.

“Hey, sweetie,” my mom says as she drops a box of Pop-Tarts into one of the bins. “How’s the college thing going in there?”

“Good,” I say, stealing a cookie from a plate on the counter. “Tristan’s trying to figure out what classes he wants to take.”

“That’s good,” she says, opening a drawer. “It’s good he’s going.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agree and take a bite of the cookie.

She smiles at me but then frowns. “Nova, are you sure you’re okay with me taking off for this trip? I worry about you.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “You’ve seen me be fine for almost three months now.”

She looks wary as she takes some plastic spoons out of a drawer. “But you always look so sad all the time.”

“I know,” I tell her. “And I’m not going to lie. I’m sad sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I need you to stay home from your trip. Besides, I’m leaving for college in like a week.”

“I know.” She drops the spoons into the bin. “But I just think about last summer and how I took off on a vacation when I knew you weren’t doing very well…when you were doing drugs.”

I wind around the table and walk over to her, stuffing the rest of the cookie into my mouth. “Trust me, Mom, this isn’t like last summer. I’m not doing drugs. I’m just sad about Quinton and I can be sad sometimes.”

“I know.” She sighs and then pulls me in for a hug. “I just wish things would have gone better for you—you’ve been through so much.”

I hug her back as tears sting at my eyes, but I remind myself that despite the people I’ve lost, she’s still here. Still breathing. Still alive. And so am I.

“I’m always here for you, Nova,” my mom whispers. Then she pulls away, heading over to the cupboards, and starts digging through them. I wipe away the tears in my eyes and go into the living room to call Lea. I figure someplace quiet is probably best, seeing as I’m going to have to talk to her about Tristan staying with us for a while. I know I’m taking a huge chance on him, but I want to help him get on his feet.

I dial her number as I sit down on the sofa. The call ends up going to her voice mail and I leave her a message. “Hey, you sent me that text to call you and now you’re not answering…I have something important to talk to you about…about our apartment, so call me back.”

I hang up and slump back in the sofa with the phone in my hand, staring out the window, hoping she’ll call me right back so I can get this over with. Landon’s house is just across the street and I remember all the time I spent in there, never knowing what to say to stop making him sad. Just like Quinton. How I woke up on that hill that night, a little too late. How I’m still not sure if I’m too late with Quinton because I have no idea where he is. I wonder if there will ever be a time when I’m not so wrapped up in the past. Yeah, I’ve been moving forward for the most part. I have plans to go to back to school. Continue with it. Graduate. Forward movement. But my past continues to haunt me.

As I’m dwelling in my thoughts, my phone starts to ring. I sigh, preparing myself to give Lea a speech about how we’d really be helping Tristan by giving him a place to stay.

I press talk and put the phone up to my ear. “So what’s up? And why did you tell me to call and then not answer?”

There’s a pause and I can hear someone breathing. “Is this Nova?”

My heart actually stops beating for a second and I forget how to breathe. Sucking in a large breath of air, I say, “Quinton.”

“Yeah…” He seems hesitant.

The fact that I’m hearing his voice and finally know that he’s still alive is the most amazing feeling ever, but at the same time so many questions run through my head. Like where is he? What’s he doing? “Are you okay?” I ask, leaning forward in the sofa, growing fidgety, needing to count, but I refuse to go to that place again. It damn near broke me back in Vegas and I’m realizing just how big an addiction it can become for me, like drugs.

“Yeah…” He pauses again and I have no idea what to do or say that will keep him on the line with me. I feel so desperate, so out of control. He could hang up at any moment and then what? He’s gone again. Missing again. “Sorry I called…I was just thinking about you,” he says. “And I dialed your number.”

“You were?” I get to my feet and start back toward the kitchen, biting my thumbnail as I pace the living room.

“Uh-huh…” He sounds out of it, and while I care, I care more about figuring out where the hell he is. “I was thinking about the quiet and how much we talked about liking the quiet and it made me think of you.”

“I’m glad you thought of me,” I say as I head into the kitchen. My mom takes one look at me when I enter and her expression falls as she drops the pan she’s holding.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, hurrying around the table toward me.

Quinton, I mouth as I point to the phone, and her eyes widen as she stops in front of me.

“I’m really not supposed to,” Quinton says with a worn-out sigh. “I try not to think about you but I can’t stop.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I whisper. “I think about you all the time…where you are…what you’re doing…” God, I wish he’d tell me.

“I’m doing nothing,” he says. “And I’m nowhere. Just like I’m no one.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears burning at my eyes, feeling the loss threatening again because at any moment this conversation could end. “Yes, you are. God, I wish you could just see how much you matter…to me…”

He pauses again and fear courses through me, fear that he’s hung up. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about you, just like I shouldn’t be thinking of you,” he says. “But I’ve been living at our spot and it reminds me of that time with you…I never should have done that to you.”

My eyes shoot open and I almost drop my phone as I grab my mom’s arm for support. Oh my God, I know where he is. “Done what to me?” I try to stay calm.

“Everything…” His voice is sluggish and it frightens me. “Touched you, kissed you, been near you…fallen in love with you…you’re too good for me…”

Fallen in love with me? Holy shit. He loves me. Do I love him?

I quickly shake the thought from my head, needing to focus on the bigger picture. “No, I’m not,” I say, sinking down in a chair at the kitchen table, still holding on to my mom’s arm. She’s watching me with worry. Daniel’s watching me with worry. Yet it feels like it’s just Quinton and I alone in this room. “Quinton, is that where you are? Are you on that roof?”

“Yeah…” he says. “I can see those old buildings below…you remember the quiet ones, right?”

“I do.” I suck in a slow breath, feeling both relieved and terrified. “The ones I told you to draw.”

“Yeah…but I don’t draw anymore…”

My heart compresses in my chest and I fight to keep air flowing in and out of my lungs. “Quinton, you need to come home. Your dad’s been looking for you. Everyone’s worried about you. Me. Tristan.”

“That’s not true,” he says seriously and it rips my heart in half. “No one would ever look for me…well, except for you…you were always too nice to me…”

“Your dad is looking for you. I promise,” I tell him. “He’s put up flyers and everything. People care about you whether you think so or not.”

“Stop saying that.” His tone is suddenly sharp and clipped with anger.

I’m losing him. I can feel it. The finality of our conversation crackles through the air and I hate knowing that we may never talk again. “Quinton, please just…” I trail off as the line goes dead.

I grip the phone in my hand tightly. I want to scream. Throw my phone against the wall. Cry. But none of these things would get me anywhere. I need to do something. I check my phone screen, hoping that there’s a callback number. There’s not. The caller comes up as “Unknown,” but even if there had been a number, I doubt he would have answered. He cut the connection with me and only he can give it back.

But there is one other choice.

I rise from my chair. “I’m going to Vegas,” I announce to my mom, rushing for my bedroom before she can argue.

She cuts me off, stepping in front of me before I can make it to the doorway. “Nova, we’re not doing this again.”

“Mom, you don’t have any say in this.” I try to step by her, but she sidesteps and blocks me.

“Nova Reed, I won’t let you go down that path again,” she says in a choked-up voice that makes me feel guilty. “You tried saving this boy once before and you broke down.”

“I have to go,” I tell her. “I know where he is.”

She grabs my arm, making me stay put. “We’ll call his father and have him go down there.”

“He doesn’t know where to go and I do,” I say, pulling my arm away. “And Quinton needs to talk to Tristan and his dad—he needs an intervention from the people who care about him, which includes me.”

“Nova, he needs to go to rehab,” she says. “And his father can do that.”

“I know that, but he’s not going to go to rehab until we give him a reason to go. He needs a reason to keep on living, just like Landon needed, but I couldn’t give it to him! But if I—we all talk to Quinton and tell him how much we care for him and how much he’s hurting us then maybe he’ll consider it! Consider choosing life!” I’m shouting by the end but the kitchen has gotten really quiet.

Daniel is staring at me from over by the table and my mom looks like she’s on the verge of tears. I’m messing this up, because I don’t want to upset anyone.

“Is that what you think?” she asks quietly. “That Landon…that he took his own life because you didn’t give him a good enough reason to live?”

I shake my head, but it’s not quite the truth. “No, I just said that because I was upset.”

“Nova.” My mom’s tone is full of warning, telling me I better tell her the truth.

“Fine.” I give in, throwing my hands in the air exasperatedly. “Sometimes I think that, but not as much as I used to.”

She gives me a sympathetic look. “Honey, what happened to him isn’t your fault.”

“I know that,” I say, because she’ll never understand what it’s like to watch someone sink into depression, sink further away from you until they’re gone. Just like she’ll never understand what it was like to run away to get my father help only to find him already gone by the time I came back. “Just like I know that what’s going on with Quinton isn’t my fault.” I turn for the doorway. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to go help him—I need to. Not just for him, but for myself.”

Her fingers enfold my arm before I make it out of the room, then she holds me in place for a moment with my back turned to her and I wonder how much of a fight I’m going to have to put up to get her to let me go.

“Fine, you can go,” she says so quietly I’m not sure I heard her right. “But I’m going with you and I’m going to call his father and get him down there as soon as possible.”

I glance over my shoulder at her. “You would do that for me?”

She nods. “Nova, I’d do anything for you to help you get over all the stuff…all the bad stuff that’s happened to you.”

I swallow hard, then turn around and give her a tight hug. “Thank you, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too, and you’re welcome,” she says, hugging me back, tears falling from her eyes and dripping onto my shirt. “But you will come back before school starts. You’re not going to mess up your life. I won’t let you.”

“Thanks,” I say again. “And I’m not going to mess up my life. I promise.” We’ve started to pull away when I add, “Wait, what about your camping trip?”

“We can do it later on,” Daniel says from near the counter when my mom looks at him. “You should go with Nova.”

“Thank you,” she says, and I nod, then turn back to my room, hoping that Tristan’s still in the same place he was three weeks ago—still ready to forgive. I feel weird for even asking him, but I have to. After I tell him what happened, he sits quietly for the longest time, swiveling in my computer chair.

“So that’s where he’s living?” he asks with wide eyes as I stuff some clothes in a backpack. “On the roof of that shitty motel?”

“Yeah, he took me up there once,” I tell him, heading over to my dresser and getting a brush. “And when he just called, he told me that’s where he was staying—he even described it to me like he was standing right there.”

He makes a disgusted face. “That place is worse than the apartment.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, throwing the brush into the bag. “Because I’m sure he’s still doing the same thing up there as he was at the apartment.”

He sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I zip up my bag and slip my arms through the straps. “So do you think you can come and talk to him? Tell him how you feel about when you…OD’d?”

“You want me to go to Vegas?” he asks, and I nod eagerly. “I’m not sure…my parents would freak out…and…I’m worried myself.”

“Because you’d be too close to drugs and you think you’ll relapse?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m just as close to them right now as I would be down there,” he tells me. “I can think of three places right now where I could easily get a hit or two of whatever I wanted. Plus, your mom would be with us and after hanging around here and hearing all the stuff she says to you, I’d know she’d be watching us like a hawk.” He glances up at me. “I’m just worried about talking to him about this. I don’t want to push him further in and make things worse. Everything has to go right, otherwise we’re going to fail and he’s going to run.”

I sink down on the bed, thinking about the few episodes of Intervention I watched where people didn’t get help and bailed out. “I get what you’re saying, but how can we help him if we don’t try?” My mood starts to sink as I think about how much I’ve tried and tried and how I just want it to work this time. I think he can see the hopeless feeling on my face, because he gets up from the chair and walks over to me. He sits down beside me and puts an arm around my shoulder.

“We’ll try,” he says. “Just don’t put all your hope into it, okay? You know things don’t always go how we plan.”

“I know that.” But honestly I am putting a lot of hope into this. Hope that forgiveness is what Quinton needs. Hope that he’ll stay in the same place. Hope that nothing will happen to him before we get there.

August 22, day seventy-six of summer break

Quinton

I think I can remember doing something stupid, but I’m not 100 percent sure. I swear to God I talked to Nova in the middle of the meltdown I’ve been having for the last few hours, but my memories are too hazy to be certain. Nancy bailed out on me a while ago. She’s been gone for hours, maybe days. I haven’t had a hit in a while and I think the smack is cleaning its way out of my system. It feels like my skin is melting away like candle wax and my mind feels like it’s going to explode into pieces. I have no money and only two choices: try to steal some drugs off someone or just end it. Throw myself off the roof and say good-bye to all this. I’m sitting on the edge right now, rocking back and forth, silently telling myself to just give in. Fall. Just go. It’s time. I’m alone. I have nothing. I’ve become nothing. I’m losing my mind. I’m no one. The person no one wants. The person who shouldn’t be here.

No one.

“Quinton.” The sound of her voice makes me wonder if I’ve fallen off the roof and haven’t realized it yet, if I’m dreaming, dead, and this is what I want to see and hear. Still, I turn around, pulling my legs to my chest, blinking several times, and realize that yes, I must be dead. I finally went through with it.

But no matter how many times I blink, Nova continues to walk across the roof toward me, taking cautious steps, like she’s afraid of me. My eyes are locked on hers and all I want to do is reach out and touch her, but I can’t. She’s untouchable. Unreal. Not really here.

“Nova, be careful. The roof feels like it’s going to collapse.” Tristan walks out from the doorway and he doesn’t look real either. He looks healthy and stronger than the last time I saw him. He looks better.

“It’s fine,” Nova insists, her eyes still fixed on mine. She puts her hand out as she stops just short of me and I’m not sure what she wants me to do. Take her hand? “We’re here to help you,” she says, reaching out to me. I catch her assessing my body and she swallows hard and her fingers start to shake. I figure she’s afraid of me but when she looks at me, her eyes are full of warmth, just like I remember them. “Quinton, come with me…we’re going to get you help.”

And then, as if things weren’t bad enough, I see someone I haven’t seen in a very long time step out onto the roof. A man who has the same brown eyes and hair as me, but who’s older and less burdened with death.

My dad looks really out of place up here, glancing around at the large signs around the rooftop, and then his eyes widen when they land on me. “Son,” he says in an unsteady voice. “We’re to help you.”

That snaps me out of my trance and wakes me right back up. “Shut up! All of you! You can’t help me.” I get down off the ledge, hurrying toward the other side of the roof, putting distance back between us. But even when I get as far as I can, it’s still not far enough, Nova’s heat and words and kindness smothering me from all the way over here.

Her arm falls to the side as her gaze sweeps around the roof, then she turns to Tristan and he looks at her with his brows furrowed. Nova whispers something to him and my dad says something to him as well. Then Tristan warily nods before he cautiously steps up beside Nova and they both start inching toward me. Together. I hate that they’re together.

“What the hell’s going on?” I ask, backing toward the edge, wishing they’d stop taking away my space. “Why the hell are you all here?”

Nova stops before Tristan does and my dad barely takes a few steps, and then stops beside a smaller sign, looking like he’s struggling to breathe at the sight of me. They’ve all stopped moving toward me, though, and I start to breathe freely again, but then Tristan starts walking toward me again, step by step, inch by inch. It’s driving me crazy, him being here, healthy, looking at me like he wants to fucking help me, too, when he was in my place once.

“Why the hell are you here?” I shout again with my hands balled at my sides. I don’t know what to do. Knock him down. Knock Nova down. Knock them all down and flee to the door or just back away and jump off the roof.

Tristan flinches at the loudness of my voice but keeps on walking until he stops right in front of me. “I came here to tell you something.” His voice shakes like he’s nervous, which I don’t understand. He’s never nervous around me. I’m the one that is because of what I did to him—what I took from him. He raises his hand in front of him and for a second I think he’s going to shove me off the roof. But instead he rubs his arm across his forehead and wipes some sweat from his brow. “I came here to say thank you for saving my life that day. For not letting me OD on the side of the road. For giving me CPR and calling the ambulance. For trying to help me with that whole Trace mess, when I caused it in the first place.”

His words are like a strike to the chest, hot, painful, sharp, like my scar is torn open and I don’t have anything to numb the pain. “I didn’t fucking do anything…and you were only there because of me! Because I killed your sister!”

“That’s not why I was there, man,” he says, taking a cautious step toward me. “Nothing about my life is your fault, just like Ryder’s death isn’t your fault. Or Lexi’s.”

I stumble back. “Stop saying that, you fucking asshole.”

“Why? It’s true,” he says. “What happened…the accident…it was just that—an accident.”

“Yes it was.” My voice is sharp. I know he doesn’t mean it. He can’t. It’s impossible. No one can ever forgive me. “It was my fault and you know it, just like your parents know it.”

“My parents are messed up and need to blame someone,” he says, stepping toward me, his voice and steps growing steadier. “But the truth is, if they really looked at it, they know that accidents happen. That you were all just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Stop saying that…it is my fault. Everything is my fault!” I step back and my foot clips the edge of the roof. My weak legs wobble a little and Nova must think I’m going to fall because she starts to rush toward me, but Tristan sticks out his arm, stopping her.

“No, it wasn’t. None of this was your fault. Not Ryder. Not what happened to me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead,” he says, and this time his voice is firm, full of meaning, full of the truth.

And then my dad steps up. His voice is not so firm, but he says something I’ve been wanting to hear from him for a very long time. “Come home, Son,” he says, moving away from the signs and getting closer to me. “I want to get you help—want to get my son back.”

“You never had one!” I shout. “You’ve never liked me from the day I was born!”

He looks stunned. “What are you talking about? Of course I do.”

“No you don’t,” I say, but my voice is starting to fade, my willpower fading along with it. “You blame me for Mom’s death, just like you blame me for Lexi’s and Ryder’s.”

His skin goes white and he starts to walk quickly toward me. “That’s not true. Quinton, I—”

I stick out my hand, standing as close to the edge as I can. “Don’t come any closer or I swear to fucking God, I’ll jump.”

As soon as I say it, Nova starts to cry. No, not just cry, but sob hysterically. At first I can’t figure out what I’ve done, but then though my stupid strung-out brain, I remember. Her story. Her pain. And the fact that I’m about to make her relive it.

“Please just stop this,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes even though more spill out. She continues to cry and Tristan looks like he’s considering comforting her, but is a little unsure. Finally she stops trying to wipe the tears away and lets them pour out as her hands fall to her sides. “If you love me at all, then you’ll get off the damn edge of that roof!” she shouts, her sudden spurt of anger alarming me. “Because I can’t take this anymore…” Her shoulders heave as she cries. “I swear to God, if I lose one more person I love, it’s going to kill me.” More sobs. More tears. “Please, just get down off the roof and get help.”

Her words and tears slam me in the chest hard. I’m not sure what it is, Tristan’s words, my dad’s, Nova’s tears, anger, begging, or the fact that she said “love,” that make me step away from the edge. Perhaps it’s a combination of all those things. Or perhaps I’m just so fucking tired and strung out that I can’t find the energy to do anything else. As soon as I take a step forward, my legs give out, buckle. I collapse to my knees, not knowing what to do, what to say, what to think or feel. How to react to all of this. Part of me thinks this isn’t real. That I’m dead. Or drugged out. That none of this is happening.

I wrap my arms around my head, trying to curl up in a ball and disappear. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I can only feel. Everything. It’s too much. I’m drowning in emotion. Regret. Sorrow. Guilt. Pain. Anger. Fear. I’m so afraid. Of what lies ahead for me. The unseen future I just chose by stepping away from the edge.

No matter how much I fight it, I start to cry, soundless tears, my entire body trembling. I’m not even sure where the hell they’re coming from. Years and years of piling up maybe and finally they’ve burst out.

Seconds later I feel arms wrap around me. As soon as the scent and warmth of her reaches me, I know that it’s Nova. My initial reaction is to jerk away, but I’m too tired so I lean into her and cry and she holds me as I collapse.

Nova

I’ve been holding on to him like nothing else in the world matters, refusing to let him go, even when we leave the roof and get into my car. I hold him in the backseat, stroking his back as he keeps his face buried in the crook of my neck, his hands grasping my shirt, while my mom drives us to the hotel. He’s stopped crying by the time we get there and I can tell he’s about to pass out from exhaustion. Tristan tells me he’s crashing and that he’ll probably fall asleep until we head to the airport later tonight, which might make it a little bit easier for his dad to get him on a plane and to the rehab center in Seattle. If not, then Tristan says it’s going to be a pain in the ass and that we might have to give him something to keep him sedated, otherwise he might flip out.

It’s a lot to take in as we make our way up to the hotel room. Tristan and his dad help Quinton make it there by each taking one of Quinton’s arms and draping it over his shoulders so they’re walking on either side of him. I’m not sure how long it’s been since he’s eaten or drunk anything, but he’s in pretty bad shape, dehydrated, dry skin and lips. Sores on his body.

After my mom gets the room unlocked, they get him in and I lie down on the bed with him, front to front. I think he’s out of it, but then he scoots closer to me and entangles his legs with mine. Then he presses his head against my chest, breathing in and out as I wrap my arms around his head.

“I’m going to go get the bags,” Mom says, gathering the key and her purse. “Do you want to run down to the food place I saw downstairs and get some food and water?” she asks Quinton’s dad, who seems a little awkward with the parenting thing, unlike my mother. She nods at Quinton. “He looks like he needs some food and water.”

Quinton’s dad nods and heads for the door. “But are they going to be okay up here by themselves?”

My mom glances at me. “Are you guys going to be okay for a minute?

I nod, then she hesitantly leaves the room and Quinton’s dad follows her. She looks more worried than I’ve ever seen her. I don’t blame her. Quinton looks really bad. Like he’s reached the point where he should be dead. He’s filthy, he’s lost a ton of weight, he has no shoes or shirt on, and his eyes are sunken in. But the good thing is he’s here and still breathing and we’re going to get him help.

“I’m going out to smoke,” Tristan tells me, heading toward the sliding glass doors that go out to the balcony. He looks worn out and I don’t think he slept on the way down to Vegas. Plus, I’m sure what happened back on the roof had to be hard for him. To see Quinton like that. Be in this environment. Feel the emotion in the moment. I know it was hard for me. Painful. Raw.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, resting my chin on top of Quinton’s head and pulling him closer.

He nods, taking a cigarette from the pack, and opens the sliding glass door. “Yeah, it’s just a little intense being back here…too many memories…” He pops the cigarette into his mouth as he starts to step outside. “I’m just glad we’re going back tomorrow.” He pauses, retrieving a lighter from his pocket. “And that we got him this far.”

I draw a line up and down Quinton’s bare back. “The marks on his arms…what does that mean? I mean I know what it means but…how much harder does that make it for him to quit?”

He gives me a sad look as he lights the cigarette. “Honestly?” he asks and I nod. “He has a fucking hell of a struggle in front of him, especially coming down. Maybe even one of the hardest things he’s had to do…he’s going to feel like he’s losing his mind. Plus, his body is going to freak out from withdrawals. But it’s not impossible to overcome.” He gestures at himself and then starts to shut the door as smoke enters the room.

“Tristan,” I call out.

He pauses with the door cracked. “Yeah.”

“Thank you.” I say it softly.

“For what?”

“For coming down here and helping him,” I say. “I’m sure it wasn’t the easiest thing for you.”

He stares at me quizzically, holding his cigarette between his fingers, and then his expression relaxes. “Thanks.” He shuts the door all the way and goes up to the railing to smoke and look out at the casinos glowing around us.

I lie with Quinton on the bed, afraid to move, to breathe, to do anything that will break apart this moment. I just want to hold on to it—hold on to him and never let him go. I want to know that he’ll be okay. And I want to cry, because he’s here, because Landon’s not here. Because this time I did something instead of standing by. No matter how hard I fight them, though, the tears escape. I try to keep quiet, but eventually it becomes too much and I start to sob. I’m not sure if he’s awake or he’s just moving around in his sleep, but his hold on me tightens.

I let the tears flow, feeling the slightest bit freer, feeling like I can breathe again.