Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(84)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“No, it wasn’t. None of this was your fault. Not Ryder. Not what happened to me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead,” he says, and this time his voice is firm, full of meaning, full of the truth.

And then my dad steps up. His voice is not so firm, but he says something I’ve been wanting to hear from him for a very long time. “Come home, Son,” he says, moving away from the signs and getting closer to me. “I want to get you help—want to get my son back.”

“You never had one!” I shout. “You’ve never liked me from the day I was born!”

He looks stunned. “What are you talking about? Of course I do.”

“No you don’t,” I say, but my voice is starting to fade, my willpower fading along with it. “You blame me for Mom’s death, just like you blame me for Lexi’s and Ryder’s.”

His skin goes white and he starts to walk quickly toward me. “That’s not true. Quinton, I—”

I stick out my hand, standing as close to the edge as I can. “Don’t come any closer or I swear to f**king God, I’ll jump.”

As soon as I say it, Nova starts to cry. No, not just cry, but sob hysterically. At first I can’t figure out what I’ve done, but then though my stupid strung-out brain, I remember. Her story. Her pain. And the fact that I’m about to make her relive it.

“Please just stop this,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes even though more spill out. She continues to cry and Tristan looks like he’s considering comforting her, but is a little unsure. Finally she stops trying to wipe the tears away and lets them pour out as her hands fall to her sides. “If you love me at all, then you’ll get off the damn edge of that roof!” she shouts, her sudden spurt of anger alarming me. “Because I can’t take this anymore…” Her shoulders heave as she cries. “I swear to God, if I lose one more person I love, it’s going to kill me.” More sobs. More tears. “Please, just get down off the roof and get help.”

Her words and tears slam me in the chest hard. I’m not sure what it is, Tristan’s words, my dad’s, Nova’s tears, anger, begging, or the fact that she said “love,” that make me step away from the edge. Perhaps it’s a combination of all those things. Or perhaps I’m just so f**king tired and strung out that I can’t find the energy to do anything else. As soon as I take a step forward, my legs give out, buckle. I collapse to my knees, not knowing what to do, what to say, what to think or feel. How to react to all of this. Part of me thinks this isn’t real. That I’m dead. Or drugged out. That none of this is happening.

I wrap my arms around my head, trying to curl up in a ball and disappear. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I can only feel. Everything. It’s too much. I’m drowning in emotion. Regret. Sorrow. Guilt. Pain. Anger. Fear. I’m so afraid. Of what lies ahead for me. The unseen future I just chose by stepping away from the edge.

No matter how much I fight it, I start to cry, soundless tears, my entire body trembling. I’m not even sure where the hell they’re coming from. Years and years of piling up maybe and finally they’ve burst out.

Seconds later I feel arms wrap around me. As soon as the scent and warmth of her reaches me, I know that it’s Nova. My initial reaction is to jerk away, but I’m too tired so I lean into her and cry and she holds me as I collapse.

Nova

I’ve been holding on to him like nothing else in the world matters, refusing to let him go, even when we leave the roof and get into my car. I hold him in the backseat, stroking his back as he keeps his face buried in the crook of my neck, his hands grasping my shirt, while my mom drives us to the hotel. He’s stopped crying by the time we get there and I can tell he’s about to pass out from exhaustion. Tristan tells me he’s crashing and that he’ll probably fall asleep until we head to the airport later tonight, which might make it a little bit easier for his dad to get him on a plane and to the rehab center in Seattle. If not, then Tristan says it’s going to be a pain in the ass and that we might have to give him something to keep him sedated, otherwise he might flip out.

It’s a lot to take in as we make our way up to the hotel room. Tristan and his dad help Quinton make it there by each taking one of Quinton’s arms and draping it over his shoulders so they’re walking on either side of him. I’m not sure how long it’s been since he’s eaten or drunk anything, but he’s in pretty bad shape, dehydrated, dry skin and lips. Sores on his body.

After my mom gets the room unlocked, they get him in and I lie down on the bed with him, front to front. I think he’s out of it, but then he scoots closer to me and entangles his legs with mine. Then he presses his head against my chest, breathing in and out as I wrap my arms around his head.

“I’m going to go get the bags,” Mom says, gathering the key and her purse. “Do you want to run down to the food place I saw downstairs and get some food and water?” she asks Quinton’s dad, who seems a little awkward with the parenting thing, unlike my mother. She nods at Quinton. “He looks like he needs some food and water.”

Quinton’s dad nods and heads for the door. “But are they going to be okay up here by themselves?”

My mom glances at me. “Are you guys going to be okay for a minute?

I nod, then she hesitantly leaves the room and Quinton’s dad follows her. She looks more worried than I’ve ever seen her. I don’t blame her. Quinton looks really bad. Like he’s reached the point where he should be dead. He’s filthy, he’s lost a ton of weight, he has no shoes or shirt on, and his eyes are sunken in. But the good thing is he’s here and still breathing and we’re going to get him help.

“I’m going out to smoke,” Tristan tells me, heading toward the sliding glass doors that go out to the balcony. He looks worn out and I don’t think he slept on the way down to Vegas. Plus, I’m sure what happened back on the roof had to be hard for him. To see Quinton like that. Be in this environment. Feel the emotion in the moment. I know it was hard for me. Painful. Raw.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, resting my chin on top of Quinton’s head and pulling him closer.

He nods, taking a cigarette from the pack, and opens the sliding glass door. “Yeah, it’s just a little intense being back here…too many memories…” He pops the cigarette into his mouth as he starts to step outside. “I’m just glad we’re going back tomorrow.” He pauses, retrieving a lighter from his pocket. “And that we got him this far.”