Nova and Quinton: No Regrets (Nova #3)(63)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“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.”