Nova and Quinton: No Regrets (21 page)

“Braxton hates me,” I say to Lea, setting the last piece of my kit down on the floor.

She shakes her head, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. “He’s just upset because Spike isn’t here to play with us.”

“Spike?” I ask, rearranging the drum pieces to get them exactly where I want them.

“Yeah, our old drummer.” She adjusts the height of the microphone stand.

“Your old drummer was named after a character from
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
?”

She snorts a laugh. “Well, it wasn’t his real name. Just a nickname he gave himself because he hated his real name.”

“What was his real name?” I ask, picking up my drumsticks and twirling them through my fingers.

The corners of her lips tug upward. “Larry.”

I stop twirling the drumsticks. “Okay, I get the name change now.”

She starts to laugh again, but her laughter quickly turns to nervousness as Stella yells that we’re up. Seconds later we’re all ready to go, moments away from playing. Lea looks nervous as she stands under the lights, drumming her fingers on the side of her leg, and I feel the same way, but at the same time I crave the different feeling inside me, because it wipes out all the other stuff stirring within me.

“You’ll do fine, babe,” Brody says to Lea, giving her an encouraging kiss that seems to settle her down.

I think it’s then that I realize two things: one, Brody’s not so bad, and two, I really, really want to see Quinton. More than I ever have. I want to get lost in him. Hold on to him. Be held by him and just know that he’s there. Maybe if he kissed me, it could relax me. Or maybe it’s not necessarily him that I crave, so much as the need to just get out of here. Run away. Take a break.

I try to shake the thought out of my head the best I can and focus on playing. As soon as I raise my drumsticks, I sort of zone out as the bright lights wash over me. This is solitude. My peace. Nothing exists here but the music, and part of me wishes I could exist in this moment forever.

Seconds later the guitar and bass start playing, and the first notes of the intro blast through the amps. I get ready, waiting for the right moment to connect, waiting until I get swept away in the music. It gets closer and closer and I bring my sticks over my head. When I slam them down, Lea’s voice and the banging of my drums collide and flow out over the room.

I slam my foot against the pedal, pouring my heart and soul out with the rhythm, putting enough energy into it that I can barely breathe. I drown in the music as the sticks and drums collide. Beats. Notes. Vibrations. It overtakes me. Nothing exists in this moment but the music. Not Tristan. Not Delilah. Not even Quinton. This is just about me.

As the song picks up, so does my energy. I’m sweating, panting, fueling the song with every part of me. My foot slams on the pedal, in sync with my hands. Over and over again. The song ends, but another one picks right back up, “I Miss the Misery” by Halestorm. I keep going, draining all my energy, hoping it’s enough that when I stop, I’ll be too tired to think. Too tired to focus on my problems.

But as soon as we’re done playing the last song, a wave filled with all the pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life rushes over me The pain grows with every song we play, and after our set is done I can’t find Tristan anywhere. I finally take out my phone to call him, telling Lea I’ll be right back before walking out the back door to get some quiet.

“Hey,” I say after he answers. “Where are you?”

I can hear commotion in the background. “At a party.”

“Tristan.” Disappointment laces my voice. “Are you serious?”

“Does it sound like I’m serious?” he asks as someone shouts something profane in the background.

“Maybe, but I’m hoping you’re not.” I turn to the side and plug my finger in my ear as someone walks out the door, talking loudly. “Look, I get that things are a little weird between us, but just come home and I’ll try to fix it. You’ve been doing so well and I’m sure you don’t want to ruin that, right?”

“You can’t fix everything, Nova.” His tone lightens a little. “And besides, this isn’t even about you.”

I inch toward the side of the building, trying to get farther away from the door because people keep walking out and being noisy. “Then what is it about?”

“Life and how shitty it is and how it just loves dealing me the shitty-ass cards.”

“Why is it shitty? Because you’re sober?”

“No, it has nothing to do with that or with you,” he says, and then he sighs. “Look, I get that you want to help me. I get that I’ve been doing good. I get that what I’m planning on doing in the next ten minutes is probably going to fuck up my life, but you know what, I don’t really have a life anymore. Not a good one, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, and when he doesn’t answer I say, “Tristan, talk to me—” He hangs up on me.

“Shit.” I try to dial his number again, but it goes straight to voice mail. I try to text him, but he still hasn’t responded by the time I get into the car and am heading home.

“What party do you think he’s at?” I ask Lea as we make the short drive home. She was planning on hanging out with Brody, but she said their plans got canceled. I think she’s worried about me, though, and that’s why she decided to come home with me.

It’s after nine, the sky starry and the moon a crescent in the sky, and I can’t help but count the stars repeatedly, every time I have to stop at a red light. “Maybe we can track him down,” I say.

Lea seemed mildly upset when I told her what happened on the phone with Tristan, but she’s not freaking out as much as I am. “Nova, there’s no way you’re going to be able to track him down. It’s Friday night, for God’s sakes.”

“Lea, you didn’t hear him on the phone,” I say, making a right onto the main road, which is glossy with ice so I have to drive slowly. “He’s going to do something to ruin his sobriety. I can feel it.”

She lets out a slow breath, her head turned toward the window as she watches the Christmas lights strung across the trees to the side of the road. “Nova, we’ve been through this before. You can’t just save everyone, especially when they don’t want to be saved.” She looks at me with what seems like pity in her eyes, but I don’t know why she’s feeling that way toward me. “So just let it go. When he comes home you can see where he stands and go from there.”

I shake my head, tears about to pour out. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“What? Tristan? Or are we talking about something else?”

I have to work to keep my eyes open, the tears bubbling their way up as I turn into our apartment complex. “Tristan. Delilah. Quinton. Myself. I’m so sick of just sitting by and watching people fall apart.”

She reaches across the seat and gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Well, you have me.”

I know she’s right, but at the moment her touch only feels cold. I park the car and we head inside. She follows me, not saying much until we’re inside the apartment and I’m heading to my room.

“Nova, please, just stop fighting to save everyone,” she says. “You need to learn to just let some things go.”

I step into my room, turning to face her as I make to shut the door. “Do you know what happens when you let things go?” I ask, and she just stares at me. “People fall apart and die. And even though it might be a lost cause and you might think I’m crazy, I’m still going to do it, because no one else seems to be.” And with that I shut the door.

I think about calling Quinton and talking to him about everything, but I’m tired of talking to him on the phone. I just want to see him—want to hold him and know that through this entire mess at least he’s doing okay. I know it’s crazy. Selfish. Impulsive. I know that I have work and other things—life—and I can only go for a day. But I need that day more than I need anything at the moment. So before I can chicken out, I quickly start packing my bags, hoping that when I get there, he won’t send me away.

December 24, day fifty-six in the real world

I wake up in the middle of the night with the strangest feeling. I was dreaming about Nova and seeing her again. How she’d feel… the scent of her… how she’d taste. I flip on the lamp and lie in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how not, too long ago, I was staring at a different ceiling, one that was cracked and warped, but the one above me now is flawless. All because of Nova. She got me here because she never gave up on me and she talked me out of going back to a life of getting high all the time.

Nova… my thoughts are flooded with her… what she thinks… I’m struggling with my emotions all centered around her… how much I want her. I’m afraid, though. So afraid that I haven’t even opened the letter that she wrote me while I was in rehab.

Before I can chicken out, I roll over to my side and reach underneath my mattress and take out the envelope. My fingers are tremulous as I carefully tear it open and pull out the letter inside. Then, taking a preparing breath, I unfold it and start to read.

I stop reading it. She’s right. No matter what happens, I want Nova in my life. I never want to stop talking to her. Listening to her. I want her with me. I just need to make sure I create the sort of life that’s worthy of her being a part of. Can I do that for her? Let go and move forward toward a future with her? I glance around the room. Can I let all of this go for her?

Swallowing my nerves, I get up and circle around my room, taking in each sketch and drawing and feeling the powerful memories connected to them. How much time I spent drawing them or the moments captured within the photos. Then there’s my mom. I don’t want to say good-bye to any of this and maybe I don’t have to completely, but I can let go a little.

One step at a time.

Sucking up the full amount of strength I have in me, I start to take the photos and drawings down. One by one, holding them in my hands as if they were the most delicate things in the world. With each one that comes down, I feel different, as if I’ve stepped into someone else’s body, the body of someone I don’t know. Someone stronger, new. Reborn.

When I’m finished, I haven’t taken all of them down, but enough that they don’t overtake my room. There’s one photo of my mom in a rocking chair, her belly big because she is pregnant with me, and a photo of Lexi and me sitting on her back porch, posing for the camera. There’s also a sketch of her… one I drew a few days before she died. That one I hold on to to remind me of her, because I may be trying to let go, but forgetting her completely isn’t right. She deserves to be remembered, never forgotten. Despite the fact that I’m choosing life, I don’t have to break my promise to her.

“I’ll remember you forever,” I whisper to the air, wondering if she can hear me. “No matter what. I promise… but I think I have to let go just a little…”

By the time I’m done saying it, I’m crying. Tears pour down my face as I take in the bareness of my room, the past no longer overtaking my future, just a ghost, distant memories, and it hurts, yet there’s this strange freedom in the pain because I’m feeling it, not running away from it.

I’m starting to sob, tears choking me, refusing to stop flowing, when my phone starts ringing. It’s five o’clock in the morning and I wonder who the hell would be calling this early.

Quickly pulling myself together, I wipe my tears away, then lean over to pick up my phone and check the glowing screen. When I see Nova’s name on it, panic slams against me as I worry that something might be wrong. “Hey, is everything okay?” I ask as I quickly answer it, worried she’ll be able to tell I’ve been crying.

“No.” She sounds strange. Not necessarily sad, but like she’s repressing something… numbing her emotions. I hate hearing it in her voice and immediately want to fix it, my problems at the moment shrinking inside me.

“What happened?” I ask. God, please don’t let anything be wrong.

“A lot of stuff really, but I…” Her voice catches, her emotions on the verge of spilling out. “I have to tell you something and I need you not to get mad at me.”

“Okay… what is it?” I ask cautiously. She doesn’t say anything right away and I can hear a lot of commotion in the background. “Where are you?”

“At the airport.” She sounds guilty. “The Seattle airport.”

A bundle of emotions rush through me all at once and I almost hang up on her. Nova’s here. In Seattle. This is bad. Really bad. I’m not prepared for this. And I wanted to prepare myself for the first time I saw her again. Wanted to be completely stable instead of sobbing my heart out because I just took a bunch of photos of my old girlfriend down.

“You’re here. In Seattle. Seriously?” I can’t conceal my shock or the fact that I’m on the edge of crying again, just from reliving the memory of taking down the sketches and photos.

“I know you said you didn’t want me to come here,” she says, sounding upset. “But some stuff happened and I just… I just needed to get away from it all, so I packed up my bags and headed to the first place I could think of.”

“You made the decision to come here tonight?” I ask worriedly, not just because she’s sitting in the airport by herself, upset, but because something made her upset enough that she just took off. “Just up and left. Just like that.”

“Yeah. I just really needed to get away before my head exploded. And it was either go to you or have a meltdown.”

“How did you even get a flight?”

“It was a pain in the ass,” she promises me. “I was on a plane for six hours and normally it’s like a two-hour flight.”

“I bet.” I’m not sure what to say to her because I’m still attempting to process that she’s here. Only miles away. “Are you just sitting at the airport now?”

“Yeah… I’m trying to figure out what to do next,” she says miserably. “I know what I want to do and that’s flag a taxi down and come see you, but I totally get it if you don’t want me to do that.”

I wonder what she’d do if I said I couldn’t see her. Would she just hang around in the city or get on a plane and fly back home? That’s probably the best option, since I’m still not as stable as I wanted to be when I saw her again.

But the idea of her being so near and my not seeing her makes my heart throb. “Don’t take a taxi,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’ll come get you.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

God, she’s killing me. Too nice for her own good.

“Yeah, of course I’m sure.” But I’m not. At all. Then again, I’m not sure I’ll ever be, but I guess I’m going to have to rip off the Band-Aid.

“Thanks,” she says, getting choked up. “And Quinton, I’m really, really sorry for springing myself on you like this.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” I say, opening my dresser drawer and grabbing a shirt. “Now stay put. I’ll be there in about twenty to thirty minutes.” I hang up, get dressed, then go into my father’s room to ask him if I can borrow the car. He’s hesitant at first, until I tell him why. He reluctantly gives me the keys and tells me he’ll take the bus to work. As small as the gesture is, it means a lot to me, and I wholeheartedly thank him.

I have to let the car thaw out for about five minutes and let the frost melt away from the windshield, so I climb in and dial Wilson’s number, cranking up the heat. After about four rings, he picks up, sounding extremely exhausted.

“This better be really important,” he says, and then he yawns. “Because I am not a morning person.”

“Nova’s here,” is all I say, staring up at the gray sky as the sun begins to rise and kiss it with a hint of orange.

It takes him a moment to say anything. “Right now. In Seattle. At your house.”

“She’s at the airport.” I flip on the wipers and watch as they scrape off the rest of the frost. “I’m headed to pick her up right now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” he asks, yawning again.

“Because I didn’t know she was coming.” I turn the wipers off and buckle my seat belt. “She called me a few minutes ago and said she was at the airport… she sounded upset. And I need for you to tell me that I can handle this.”

“Do you think you can handle this?” He uses psychology on me like Greg does all the time.

“I don’t know… maybe…” I put the car into reverse and back out of the driveway. “I had all these pictures up on my wall.… ones of Lexi and my mom. I kept them there because they reminded me of everything I lost… to hold on… I just took them down.”

“When did you do this?” His voice is cautious.

“Like five minutes ago.” I turn the wheel and drive down the road, heading toward the freeway.

“And how do you feel?”

“Weird.” It’s the first word that comes to mind, but it seems fitting. “Wilson, I’m not sure I can do this… see her… I’m not ready…” I stop the car at the stop sign, wishing I could be happier about her being here, but I can’t. “Tell me what to do. Should I just tell her to go home?”

He contemplates what I said. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I just said I wasn’t ready… and the idea of seeing her is freaking me out.” I lower my head onto the steering wheel and stare at the floor. “And you told me not to get into a relationship until I was ready.”

“Just because she’s here, doesn’t mean you’re in a relationship,” he tells me. “And besides, it might be good for you to help her out with whatever she’s going through, since, from what I understand, she’s really helped you in the past.”

As soon as he says it, I know he’s right. I’m being really selfish at the moment, thinking about how her being here is going to affect me when really I should be thinking about what happened that she needed to get on a plane and come see me. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he says arrogantly. “I’m always right.”

Right or not, it doesn’t make it any easier to drive to the airport. But I make it there. And even though it probably takes me a little longer than most people to actually get to baggage claim, mainly because my feet seem to weigh a fuckload, I do get there.

It takes me a minute to spot her because it’s the holidays and the place is pretty packed. But when I do, I swear to fucking God something changes inside me at that moment. Something good, I think, although I’m not 100 percent sure yet.

She’s got her hair pulled up and a backpack by her feet as she leans against the wall with her eyes shut, the crowd moving around her. But the longer I stare at her, the more the crowd doesn’t exist. I don’t even care how fucking cheesy that sounds. It’s just she and I and the past sort of washes over me. I start remembering everything. How she made me feel. How she refused to give up on me. How powerful it was just to be near her. She refused to give up on me. This girl saved me and I love her for it. I know that now. My heart knows it. My head knows it. Even my legs do, because they’re about to give out on me and I have to reach out and grasp the wall before I collapse. I can barely breathe as I work to stand up, the feelings inside me potent and overwhelming. I don’t know if I can handle it—feeling this way for her while I’m sober.

The fear only intensifies when she opens her eyes and her gaze sweeps the room. A heartbeat later she spots me. She doesn’t move. React. Neither do I. I want to, but I can’t. Luckily she manages to unglue herself from where she’s standing. She scoops up her backpack from the floor, swings it onto her shoulder, and heads for me. With each step she takes, her mouth turns up more, and by the time she reaches me, she’s almost smiling.

“Hey,” she says, and then without any warning she throws her arms around me, embracing me in hug that’s so tight, it feels like she’s trying to survive through it. The heat of her body courses and rushes through me. Regardless of how terrified I am to touch her, I find myself wrapping my arms around her and embracing her so tightly my arms start to tremble. I fight the immensely intense urge to fall to the ground, but it’s hard to stay up as adrenaline and emotions pulsate through me. I feel like I’m tipping sideways, falling off the tightrope. But she’s holding on to me so I don’t fall completely and I end up suspended in the air. I didn’t even know feeling this way was possible and it’s scary as shit.

I shut my eyes and breathe in the her scent. “Wow,” I whisper, breathless, as she presses her face into the crook of my neck, my hands shaking so badly I’m sure she can feel it.

“Yes, wow,” she agrees, placing a kiss against my neck. She does it over and over again and with each one, I calm down inside. Still.