Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(44)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

It gives me an idea, but it’s going to be a hard idea to pull off because it’s going to require me getting a phone number for Quinton’s dad. And I doubt he’ll give it to me.

Although I think I might know someone who will, if I can work it right. So after the meeting ends, I drive over to Quinton’s apartment. The sun is blaring down and the temperature has to be pushing 120 degrees. It’s so hot that I don’t even want to get out of the car, but part of that might be me avoiding going inside.

After a few minutes pass by, I force myself to get out and into the heat, keeping my sunglasses on to protect my eyes from the brightness. The apartment area is quiet as usual as I make my way across the vacant parking lot and up the stairway. That guy Bernie, who was passed out the first time I was here, is back at the table outside his door, awake this time and rolling a joint right out in the open, which reveals just how blasé this place is about drugs and makes me wonder what the hell goes on behind all the closed doors.

“Hey, sweetie,” he says to me as he checks me over with his bloodshot eyes. He’s not wearing a shirt and his thin chest is tinted red from the sun. “Where’d you wander over from?”

I have a black tank top on and denim shorts and his appreciating gaze makes me feel very vulnerable and exposed so I hurry, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Hey, if you’re lost I can help you find your way home,” he calls out with a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure the place you’re looking for is my bedroom.”

“Creep pervert,” I mutter, rushing past closed door after closed door, only breathing freely when I’m standing in front of Quinton’s. As I lift my hand to knock, I keep my fingers crossed that Dylan’s not the one who answers it, since he’s about as creepy as that Bernie guy.

Thankfully, after three knocks, Tristan opens the door, barefoot and with a cigarette in his mouth. His blond hair is a little ruffled, like he just woke up, and his gray T-shirt and jeans have holes in them. “Hey,” he says, seeming a little uneasy, glancing over his shoulder at the filthy living room with a nervous look on his face. “Quinton’s not here right now and he’s not supposed to be back until really late.”

“Actually I’m here to talk to you,” I tell him, trying to shrug off the fact that it seems like Tristan’s covering for Quinton and that Quinton might even be here but avoiding me.

His nervousness turns to befuddlement as he pulls the cigarette out of his mouth. “Why?”

“Because I need to ask you something.” I nervously peer over at the Bernie guy, who’s watching us as he smokes a joint, and then look back at Tristan. “Look, can we go somewhere and talk?”

He gives me a look that’s sort of harsh for the Tristan I used to know. “Just talk to me here.”

I suck in a slow breath through my nose, counting down backward in my head, telling myself to stay calm. “I’d rather talk to you somewhere more private.”

He stares at me with this bored expression like I’m annoying the crap out of him, so it surprises me when he says, “Okay.”

He flicks his cigarette over my shoulder and over the railing, and then he goes back into the house. He leaves the door cracked just enough that I can hear him talking to someone and it sounds an awful lot like Quinton. When he opens the door again, he has an old pair of sneakers in his hand and he steps out, shutting the door behind him.

He pauses to put the shoes on, glancing up at me as he ties one of the laces. “You know, despite what he’ll say later on, it’s going to hurt Quinton that you came here to see me,” he tells me, fastening the lace and standing up straight.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I say as we walk across the balcony. “I think he sort of wants me to leave him alone…in fact I think you’re covering for him right now.”

He glances at me with curiosity. “Do you really believe that? That it won’t hurt him that you came here to see me?”

“Yeah,” I tell him with honesty. “It does.”

“Well, it will,” he says as we head down the stairs. “But don’t tell him I told you that.”

I keep quiet until we reach the bottom of the stairway, processing what he just told me. “Why are you telling me this?” I ask.

Tristan gives a shrug, looking around at the bottom floor like he’s searching for someone or something. “I don’t know. Because it’s the truth and you deserve the truth.”

I’m not sure what to make of what he says and the more I examine him, the more I notice how agitated he is: drumming his fingers on the sides of his legs, his jaw moving all over the place. He’s high and it saddens me, but even though I hate to think it, I wonder if this will make it easier to get some information from him.

We head over to my car, not saying anything. The sun has heated the leather seats up, so when I climb in they burn the backs of my legs as I sit down. I hurry and turn on the engine while Tristan buckles his seat belt.

“So where are we going to?” Tristan rubs his hands together with a playful look in his eyes.

“I don’t know…is there somewhere you had in mind?” I place my hands on the steering wheel, but instantly withdraw them when it burns my hands. “Crap, that’s hot.”

He thinks about it briefly and then points to our left, where the city gets darker, more run-down, and that makes me uneasy. “Yeah, there’s a bar a little ways down the street that we can go hang at,” he says. I’m wary about going to a bar around here and it must show because he adds, “It’s totally low-key and safe. I promise.”

“Okay,” I reply, but I’m not sure I trust him or his massive pupils and spastic jaw. But I want answers about Quinton’s dad so I go with it, hoping I’m not making a big mistake. Hoping whatever lies ahead for me will be worth the risk.

Quinton

I think I made a mistake. Or at least that’s what my overriding brain is telling me. That I need to chase down Nova and tell her to stay with me, not go with Tristan, tell her that I’m really here and that I was just upset about the roof thing and had Tristan lie for me. The problem is, they’re already gone, because I hesitated. Torn between what’s right and what the drugs tell me I want.

I’m pacing the floor of the living room like a madman, wondering how things went this way. One minute I told Tristan to cover for me and tell Nova I wasn’t here because I didn’t feel like talking to her after the whole roof incident. In fact, I planned on never seeing her again.