Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(63)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

I cover her hand with mine and she stiffens. My heart leaps inside my chest and nearly strangles me as desire pours through me—the desire to make her happy. I blow out a breath as I realize where my thoughts are headed. “What kind of fun were you thinking of for today?”

She perks up, the tears in her eyes receding. “Go out to the city. Ride some roller coasters. Laugh. Have fun.” She says it like it’s the easiest thing to do in the world.

I scrunch up my nose. “I’m not sure I even remember how to do that, unless I’m tweaked out, but I don’t think that’s part of the fun you’re referring to.”

“No, it’s not.” She flinches as I say it, wounded by my words. “And I’m going to show you how to without being high,” she says, letting it go as she holds out her hand like she wants me to take it.

“You know I’m high right now, right?” I hate to say it, but it’s the truth and I don’t like lying to her.

“I know, but maybe you could try not to do anything while we’re out.” I can see the nervousness in her eyes, the fear of rejection. I picture her crying in the car and how I never want to be the cause of that again, so I take her hand.

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise you anything,” I tell her straightforwardly, not trying to hurt her, but she needs to know where I stand. That despite the fact that I’m changing in other ways, I have no intention of quitting. That I’m just toning it down while she’s here to visit me. That if I were sober, I probably couldn’t even be around her because the memories of Lexi would drown all the air out of me instead of part of it. That I’d have to feel every emotional sting, feel what it’s like to live, breathe, let my heart beat exactly how a normal heart should. Let go of Lexi and choose to live.

She nods and I let her lead me out to the car. Our fingers only leave each other’s when we get into the car and I’m sober enough that I can feel the connection leave me and also sober enough that it hurts a little when I realize I want the connection back.

Nova immediately starts up the engine and cranks up the air conditioning. “You know, I bet the amount of people that go to the hospital for heat exhaustion is pretty freaking high around here.” She wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I feel like I’m melting.”

“Well, you look pretty melt-free.” I pause as she looks a little confused and I feel a little confused. Maybe I’m not as sober as I thought.

“I’m not exactly sure what you mean.” She reaches for her iPod on the seat. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.” She scrolls through the songs, searching for the perfect one. I’ve noticed this is her routine and if I pay really close attention, I can get the feel of her mood based on the song choice.

Music clicks on and I have to glance at the screen when she sets the iPod down because I’m unfamiliar with the song. “‘One Line,’ by PJ Harvey…never heard of her.” But I swear to God Nova’s trying to send me a message with it, a positive one about the kiss we shared in the parking lot.

“That’s because you’re music-deprived,” she teases as she reaches for her sunglasses on the dashboard and puts them on. I wonder how she can do it. Sit here with me and pretend to be okay with everything. I think about what she told me in the car, about her boyfriend, how she wants to save me like she didn’t save him. Maybe that’s why.

“I’m not that music-deprived,” I say, buckling my seat belt as she presses on the gas and drives forward. “I’m just not as awesome as you.” And now I’m flirting. Great. It’s going to be a very interesting day that I’m sure I’ll suffer for later when it all seeps into me.

She bites back as smile as she pulls onto the road. “You know, I’ve been getting even more awesome at my own music,” she says, maneuvering into the right line and heading toward the city just in the distance. “I’ve even started to make up some of my own beats.”

“That’s really awesome.” I drum my fingers on the door to the beat of the song to let some of my energy out in the most discreet way possible.

“And I’ve even played up on stage a few times.”

“Really?” I remember that time we stood in the crowd at the concert and I got lost in her getting lost in the music.

She nods, looking a little bit proud. “Yeah. I mean, it was hard at first, considering Landon bought me my first set of drums. But I worked through the pain, made new memories, got my love back for it.” She grins at me as she pulls the visor down. “And now I rock at it.”

“I bet you do.”

“You know, I still owe you a show.”

My eyebrow crooks upward. “A show?” Too many dirty images flash through my mind and it pushes a rush of adrenaline through me, or maybe that’s from the drip in the back of my throat.

“Yeah, I told you I’d play for you one of these times,” she says, tapping on the brake to stop at a stoplight. “And I haven’t yet.”

“One day, maybe,” I say, but I wonder just how far our future’s going to go, how long she can watch me like this. Even though I’m sitting here with her, I have no plan to change what I do. “How about today?” she suggests as the light turns green and she starts moving with the traffic again.

“You want to play the drums for me today?” I ask, glancing around at the sides of the streets and the tattoo parlors, souvenir shops, and secondhand stores that shift to casinos as we veer farther into the main area of the city.

She nods, flipping her blinker on to change lanes. “I mean, if you want to.” She moves the car over into the turning lane. “I have my drums stashed at the place where I’m staying.”

I make an excuse. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s going to be cool with a crackhead hanging out at their house.”

“The owner’s never home until after six,” she states, turning into a parking garage.

“What about your friend Lea?”

“What about her?”

“Won’t she be mad at you for showing up with me?” I ask, unbuckling my seat belt as she pulls into an empty parking space.

“She’ll be okay with it,” she tells me, pushing the shifter into park. “She knows how much I care about you.”

No matter how many times she says it, her words always strike me hard in the chest and knock the wind out of me. It’s like she senses it, too, because she quickly says, “Sorry, I’m being too meaningful already, aren’t I?”