Nova and Quinton: No Regrets (Nova #3)(33)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

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.

Chapter 7

Nova

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!”