Nova and Quinton: No Regrets (13 page)

I shake my head, but calm down inside. “Nova’s just…” God, how do I begin to explain what Nova is to me? “I’m not even sure what Nova is.”

“How did you meet her?” he asks interestedly.

I shrug uneasily. “She was going through a rough time in her life and sort of wandered into the house I was staying at… in the beginning we spent a lot of time getting high, but then she got better.”

“So that’s why you don’t see each other anymore?” he inquires. “Because she got better and you’re still working on stuff?”

“No, that’s not it.” I rake my hand through my hair, struggling to put my thoughts into words. “It has to do with the fact that she saved me and I…” I trail off as I almost start talking about my feelings for Nova, ones I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with now that I’m sober. “It’s really fucking complicated.” And it is. Because I’m in love with her, something I realized in Vegas. But I can’t admit it aloud because then it’d mean I was accepting it—accepting that my feelings for Lexi have changed. That I’ve broken my promise to her. Let go. Replaced her.

He considers what I said as he flips the blinker on to change lanes. “What do you mean when you say saved you?”

My pulse is hammering as I recollect everything that Nova did for me to bring me fully alive again when I was walking the line between life and death. “When I was going drugs and stuff she came down to Vegas and tried to get me to stop,” I tell him. “She never gave up on me and she was there when I decided to leave the streets and get myself cleaned up—she never gave up on me.”

He takes in what I said with great interest. “She sounds like a good person.”

“She is,” I say, nodding in agreement. “Too good, probably, at least to be with me.”

“Ah, and there it is.” He points his finger at me with accusation in his eyes.

“There what is?” I ask, puzzled.

He glances at me and I see something in his eyes I don’t like. Understanding. “The reason why she doesn’t visit.”

“Yeah, so. It’s a good reason.”

“I completely agree with you.”

I’m stunned by his response and the frankness in his tone. “You don’t think I should see her, then?”

“Not until you’re one hundred percent ready for it.” He steers off the main road and drives down the side road toward my neighborhood. “Relationships are complicated and can be messy and, for people like you and me, dangerous. You need to make sure you’re ready to handle whatever comes from it, good or bad.”

I nod, not necessarily liking his advice, but understanding it. “So distance is good for now?”

“If you think so,” he says, slowing the truck down to make a turn.

I’m not sure if I do or don’t. Part of me wants to see her all the time. Be with her. But part of me is terrified of how it would make me feel and what it would mean, not just for me and her, but for the memory of Lexi. Would I be able to just do it? Let her go? I’m not sure if I’m ready to do that, not when I haven’t even begun to make up for what I did. I need to do more—I need to apologize to the people who lost loved ones during the accident, before I can even think of letting myself be in a relationship. And I need to keep doing good things to make up for the bad I’ve done.

“And what about you?” I ask.

He looks lost as he glances at me. “What about me?”

“Do you… are you in a relationship?” I wonder if it’s even possible.

He shakes his head. “No. No girlfriend.”

“So you’re not ready?” I can’t hide my disappointment because I was hoping he’d say yes and give me some sort of hope that eventually Nova and I could possibly be together.

“No, I’m ready,” he assures me. “I hate living alone, but I haven’t found the right person yet.”

That makes me feel a little better until we’re pulling up in front of my house. It seems like all my problems come crashing down on me all at once. My dad. Moving. The fact that I still haven’t been able to take the sketches or photos of Lexi down, even though everyone keeps telling me to. The fact that I’ve been sitting in this truck, wishing I could be with Nova.
I want her. I want her. So badly.

“So what did you think of today?” Wilson asks as he parks behind my dad’s car in the driveway, glancing at the neighbor’s Christmas decorations flashing brightly. In fact, almost all our neighbors have lights up, except for us, but my dad never did like to celebrate the holiday. Said it reminded him too much of my mom because I guess she loved this time of year.

“It was okay,” I tell Wilson, unbuckling my seat belt.

“Okay enough that you want to do it again?”

I think about it briefly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good, because we’re going to be starting on a new one next week.” He puts the truck into park and the engine backfires. “Call me this weekend and I’ll give you the info.”

“Thanks.” I grab the handle and open the door. “And thanks for the ride.” I want to say, “and for the talk,” but I can’t quite get the words to come out, mainly because the talk made me feel uncomfortable, but in a good way I think.

“Any time,” he says as I hop out of the truck. “And Quinton?”

I pause as I’m shutting the door. “Yeah?”

“Things will get better,” he assures me with an encouraging smile. “I promise.”

I want to believe him. I really, really do, but I can’t see how it’s possible. For things to get better. Still, as I head up to the house, I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe he could be right somehow.

December 11, day forty-three in the real world

“God, the last couple of days have been kind of downers,” I say to my camera phone as I leave campus building and hike across the campus yard, the leafless trees creating shadows over the screen as I walk beneath the branches. “I just finished up my film class for the semester, and turned in my film project. My professor asked me if I was interested in being part of his project. I told him I wasn’t sure. When he asked why, it took me a second to answer because what I really wanted to say was, ‘I do want to go. So, so, badly. Please let me be part of this.’ But instead I told him it was complicated. Which was my way of saying without having to say that I have people here who need me and who I worry about. He gave me the information and told me to think about it.”

I stop talking for a moment as a guy runs by to catch a Frisbee and I have to dodge to the side to avoid being run over. “But anyway,” I say, smoothing my wind-kissed hair into place, “I can barely focus on if I should go because I have so many things on my mind. The biggest one is Delilah. I can’t get her out of my head. I’m not even sure why. It’s not like she’s dead.” I pull the collar of my coat over my mouth because it’s colder than a Popsicle today. “But I keep thinking about the fire and the gunshot and how Dylan had a gun. I think about the few conversations we had in Vegas. How different she was from the girl I first met, how bitchy she was. How broken. Then there’s Dylan. I’d disliked him from the first time I met him, but I never did much but occasionally express that I didn’t like him. That’s it.” I stop talking as I reach the busy sidewalk where students walk to and from class. There are usually more people, but most of the classes have ended. “I wish I had someone to talk to about this, but Lea’s been busy with her secret stuff and Tristan and Quinton both get uncomfortable whenever I talk about it, so I always drop it because I hate pushing them… still, it’d be nice if just once I could call up Quinton and pour my heart and soul out to him.” I sigh and then decide to end the recording there, because it’s only bumming me out more.

I’m putting my camera phone into my bag, figuring I’ll wait until I get home before I start chattering away to it, when someone comes running up to my side. My body goes rigid as their body lines up with mine and an arm goes around my shoulder. Out of reflex I’m about to smack them away, but they catch my arm in midair.

Tristan starts laughing and I shake my head, breathing profusely. “Holy crap. You scared the living daylights out of me,” I gasp.

“Sorry,” he says, pressing his frozen lips together. They’re outlined with a bit of blue. He has a hat on, pulled low on his head, and his coat is zipped up to his chin. “I yelled your name, but you were talking to yourself and didn’t hear me, I guess.”

“I wasn’t talking to myself.” I tuck my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore that he’s still got his arm around me. “I was recording.”

“You really get into that stuff, don’t you?” He blows on his free hand, trying to warm it up.

“Yeah, I guess.” I round the corner and then step off the curb to cross the street.

“So what were you recording about?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder as someone hollers out, “Yo, Tristan!”

“I…” I stop in the middle of the road and turn around with him, because he doesn’t let go of me, and he stares at a lanky guy with brown hair who’s wearing a bright-yellow coat. The guy is walking toward us and he’s got this look on his face that I can’t quite place. Like he’s about to start some trouble and is glad about it, maybe.

“Hey man,” the guy says to Tristan with a chin nod. “You bailed so quickly after class I didn’t get a chance to discuss that thing we were talking about.”

I feel Tristan tense beside me and his arm suddenly falls to his side as he puts some space between us. “Yeah, I actually have a doctor’s appointment so I have to hurry my ass up.”

“You do?” I say, relieved he’s finally going to go get himself checked out. His cough’s gone away, but he’s been extra tired lately and it has me worried.

Tristan nods, glancing at me and then back at yellow coat guy. “Can I catch up with you later, man?” he asks edgily.

“Sure, but we’re still doing that thing, right?” the guy asks, discreetly glancing at me, then pressing a look at Tristan.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Tristan replies nonchalantly.

The guy looks at me again with a wary expression on his face and it feels like he’s trying to read my vibe or something. “You cool?” he asks me.

I know he’s asking if I’m cool with drugs, which makes me want to shove Tristan down and beat some sense into him.

“Hey, let’s talk later, okay?” Tristan says through gritted teeth.

The guy nods, shuffling back onto the sidewalk, his eyes fastened on me until he turns around near the trees in the campus yard. Tristan hurries and grabs my sleeve to pull me out of the way as a car rounds the corner a little too fast.

After I get safely onto the sidewalk and start heading toward the apartment again, I ask, “So who was that?”

He shrugs, putting his hands in his coat pockets. “His name’s Jazz. He’s in my philosophy class.”

“Jazz? That’s an interesting name.”

“About as interesting as Nova.” He playfully prods my side with his elbow.

The ice on the ground crunches under my shoes as I walk quietly with my head down, deliberating if I want to ask him, if I want to take a risk that I might be wrong and piss him off. But I need to know, so…

“What did he mean by if I was cool?” I ask, even though I know. I’m hoping I’m wrong, though.

Tristan doesn’t answer right away. “Nothing. Jazz is just weird like that.”

I’m not buying it at all. “Tristan, you’re not…” I blow out a stressed breath and then tip my chin up to meet his eyes. “You’re not thinking about doing drugs, are you?” I search his eyes for a sign that he might be doing them already, but they look clear, haze-free, although they do carry a little annoyance.

“Wow, I’m glad you have so much faith in me,” he says, his tone as sharp as the icicles dangling from the rain gutters on the houses around us.

“I do have faith in you,” I try to assure him. “It’s just that that Jazz guy and you seemed to be… I don’t know… talking in code.”

“That’s just how he is.” Tristan steps to the side, moving away from me. “Jesus, Nova, I can’t believe you’re accusing me of anything. I’ve been good, you know, despite how fucking boring as shit this normal stuff is.”

That right there is what makes me nervous. The fact that he thinks normal life is boring—that he’s bored.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling bad, but also really concerned. “I just worry about you—about everyone, really. And I’ve been really stressed out over this Delilah thing.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “Why are you worried about Delilah?”

“I told you already, because she’s missing,” I reply, hopping over a patch of snow blocking the entry to the apartment complex. “And because of how things were the last time I saw her.”

“But you weren’t friends with her anymore, really. I mean, not since she moved to Vegas and you barely talked to her.”

“We were once, though, and I still care about her.” I try to explain how I feel, but I can tell he doesn’t get it.

“I’m sure she’ll be okay,” he says unconvincingly. “Disappearing is just part of the life of a crackhead, mainly because we’ll do anything and go anywhere to get our next bump.” He gazes off into the distance as if he’s remembering his time spent in that world. “It’s all that matters to us.”

“Don’t say
us
.” I loop my arm through his to bring his attention back to reality. “You’re not part of that group anymore.”

He nods, but there’s something in his eyes I don’t like. “Yeah, I know.”

“And you’re going to stay away from that group, right?” I ask as we hike across the parking lot and to the sidewalk.

“Of course, Mother.” He flashes me a grin, breaking the tension between us. “So,
Mom
, can you give me a ride to the doctor’s later today?”

“Why yes,
Son
,” I joke back, and then stick out my tongue. “You know, I should take it offensively that you call me Mom all the time when you don’t like your mom very much.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her,” he says, stopping as we reach the doorway to the stair entrance of our apartment. “It’s that my parents don’t like me.”

“How do you figure?” I ask as he opens the door and I step inside, slipping my arm out of his.

He shrugs, the door slamming shut behind us. “Basic observation.” We start up the stairs side by side. “Like for instance how they completely and utterly ignored me after Ryder died.”

“I’m sure they didn’t ignore you,” I tell him. “They were probably just distracted by their own pain, like my mom was right after my dad died.”

“Well, distracted or ignored, it was still hard, you know. I mean, it was like I was a ghost, and trust me, I tried to do everything to get their attention. Rebelled. Let my grades drop.” He pauses as we approach the second floor. “Did drugs.”

“Is that why you started?” I open the door and enter the hallway lined with numbered doors.

He shakes his head, following me down the hall. “Nah. I started getting high when I was fourteen. I just started doing more drugs after Ryder died and was a little more obvious about using.” He fidgets uncomfortably, tucking his hands up into his sleeves. “I guess you could say I pretty much stopped caring about stuff, just like they did.”

“Tristan, that’s so sad, but I guess I sort of get it—how easy it is to stop caring.”

“Yeah, it really, really is.”

We pause in the middle of the hallway. I don’t know about him, but my thoughts drift off to my past and how I stopped caring about everything at one point. Finally, after we stand there long enough that it starts to get weird, I blink myself out of my daze.

“Well, don’t stop caring ever again,” I say, waving my finger at him sternly. “Or else you’ll be grounded.”

“Got it,” he says with a smile and then shocks the bejesus out of me when he leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I have no idea what I’d do without you,” he says, heading for the door to our apartment, leaving me standing there with my jaw hanging to my knees. “You can always get me to smile when I feel shitty.”

I let out a nervous laugh as he unlocks the door and then pushes it open, stepping aside to let me enter first. I don’t really say much to him after that, telling him I’m going to go call my mom before I have to take him to the doctor. He easily lets me go, sitting down on the sofa to watch some television.

After I get into my room and shut the door, I let out a breath of relief. “I’m getting in over my head,” I mutter to myself, pressing my hand to my forehead. “I really am and I have no idea how to fix it.”

I slide to the ground and stare at the wall, wishing I could just walk out there and tell Tristan we should just be friends and to stop the flirting. And that he’d understand. Then I’d get a phone call from Delilah’s mother and she’d tell me she found her and that Delilah was okay.

“I just want everything to be okay,” I whisper, taking a deep breath and then another, wishing I had someone to talk to about my problems. I briefly consider calling Quinton and just letting it all out, like I’ve been wanting to, but I know I can’t overwhelm him like that, so all I can do is tell myself that everything’s going to be okay.

It has to be.