Nova and Quinton: No Regrets
Page 16

“Why are you being so pushy?” I ask. “You barely even know me.”
“But I do know you,” he insists, looking back at the road as the light turns green and he starts driving again. “You blame yourself for the accident and think self-punishment is a way to make up for the lives lost. You don’t have any friends or a girlfriend because you don’t think you deserve them. You did drugs because it helped you forget and because it was easier to deal with life when you were high. And maybe even because it was a way to slowly kill yourself.”
“Those aren’t the only reasons I did drugs.” I feel this compulsion to prove him wrong—to prove that he doesn’t know as much about me as he seems to. “And how do you even know all that? Did Greg tell you?”
He shakes his head. “Greg can’t tell me. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?”
What the hell? “Then how do you know?”
He presses his lips together as he watches the road, his jaw taut, his eyes hued with pain and penitence, and I swear for a moment I’m looking into a mirror. “Because I wasn’t describing you. I was describing myself about seven years ago.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say and I end up saying the first thing that pops into my head, which seems stupid after I say it. “Sorry.” Jesus, that was probably the stupidest thing I could have said. I know, because I hate when people say that to me. Sorry for what? That I made a huge, irreversible mistake and now I have to live with it forever?
“For what?”
“For flipping out.”
“You’re allowed to get pissed off sometimes. In fact, it’s good for you.” He pauses, pondering something as he slows down for the speed limit change as we get closer to a section of the city where stores line the streets instead of homes. “However, you could always tell me what’s up with the girl and that might make up for the bad attitude.” He grins at me.
I shake my head, but calm down inside. “Nova’s just…” God, how do I begin to explain what Nova is to me? “I’m not even sure what Nova is.”
“How did you meet her?” he asks interestedly.
I shrug uneasily. “She was going through a rough time in her life and sort of wandered into the house I was staying at… in the beginning we spent a lot of time getting high, but then she got better.”
“So that’s why you don’t see each other anymore?” he inquires. “Because she got better and you’re still working on stuff?”
“No, that’s not it.” I rake my hand through my hair, struggling to put my thoughts into words. “It has to do with the fact that she saved me and I…” I trail off as I almost start talking about my feelings for Nova, ones I’m still trying to figure out how to deal with now that I’m sober. “It’s really f**king complicated.” And it is. Because I’m in love with her, something I realized in Vegas. But I can’t admit it aloud because then it’d mean I was accepting it—accepting that my feelings for Lexi have changed. That I’ve broken my promise to her. Let go. Replaced her.
He considers what I said as he flips the blinker on to change lanes. “What do you mean when you say saved you?”
My pulse is hammering as I recollect everything that Nova did for me to bring me fully alive again when I was walking the line between life and death. “When I was going drugs and stuff she came down to Vegas and tried to get me to stop,” I tell him. “She never gave up on me and she was there when I decided to leave the streets and get myself cleaned up—she never gave up on me.”
He takes in what I said with great interest. “She sounds like a good person.”
“She is,” I say, nodding in agreement. “Too good, probably, at least to be with me.”
“Ah, and there it is.” He points his finger at me with accusation in his eyes.
“There what is?” I ask, puzzled.
He glances at me and I see something in his eyes I don’t like. Understanding. “The reason why she doesn’t visit.”
“Yeah, so. It’s a good reason.”
“I completely agree with you.”
I’m stunned by his response and the frankness in his tone. “You don’t think I should see her, then?”
“Not until you’re one hundred percent ready for it.” He steers off the main road and drives down the side road toward my neighborhood. “Relationships are complicated and can be messy and, for people like you and me, dangerous. You need to make sure you’re ready to handle whatever comes from it, good or bad.”
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!”
“I…” I stop in the middle of the road and turn around with him, because he doesn’t let go of me, and he stares at a lanky guy with brown hair who’s wearing a bright-yellow coat. The guy is walking toward us and he’s got this look on his face that I can’t quite place. Like he’s about to start some trouble and is glad about it, maybe.
“Hey man,” the guy says to Tristan with a chin nod. “You bailed so quickly after class I didn’t get a chance to discuss that thing we were talking about.”
I feel Tristan tense beside me and his arm suddenly falls to his side as he puts some space between us. “Yeah, I actually have a doctor’s appointment so I have to hurry my ass up.”
“You do?” I say, relieved he’s finally going to go get himself checked out. His cough’s gone away, but he’s been extra tired lately and it has me worried.
Tristan nods, glancing at me and then back at yellow coat guy. “Can I catch up with you later, man?” he asks edgily.
“Sure, but we’re still doing that thing, right?” the guy asks, discreetly glancing at me, then pressing a look at Tristan.
“Yeah, sure, of course,” Tristan replies nonchalantly.
The guy looks at me again with a wary expression on his face and it feels like he’s trying to read my vibe or something. “You cool?” he asks me.
I know he’s asking if I’m cool with drugs, which makes me want to shove Tristan down and beat some sense into him.
“Hey, let’s talk later, okay?” Tristan says through gritted teeth.
The guy nods, shuffling back onto the sidewalk, his eyes fastened on me until he turns around near the trees in the campus yard. Tristan hurries and grabs my sleeve to pull me out of the way as a car rounds the corner a little too fast.
After I get safely onto the sidewalk and start heading toward the apartment again, I ask, “So who was that?”
He shrugs, putting his hands in his coat pockets. “His name’s Jazz. He’s in my philosophy class.”
“Jazz? That’s an interesting name.”
“About as interesting as Nova.” He playfully prods my side with his elbow.
The ice on the ground crunches under my shoes as I walk quietly with my head down, deliberating if I want to ask him, if I want to take a risk that I might be wrong and piss him off. But I need to know, so…
“What did he mean by if I was cool?” I ask, even though I know. I’m hoping I’m wrong, though.