Nova and Quinton: No Regrets
Page 24

“I hope so,” I mutter, reaching for the phone inside my pocket as it starts to ring. I think it’s going to be Quinton, wishing me luck or something, but it’s my mom.
I answer as Tristan moves the seat forward and gets out of the car. “Hey, can I call you back?” I ask her, my fingers folding around the door handle. “I’m getting ready to play in about an hour.”
“Oh, was that tonight?” She sounds distracted and a little out of it, not like her usual self. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you back later.”
“What’s wrong?” I think I know, though, without hearing the answer.
“It’s nothing. I just… call me when you’re done.”
“Mom, I can’t wait now,” I say, growing more worried by the second. “Not when you sound like something tragic just happened… does… does it have to do with Delilah?” I hold my breath, remembering when I was twelve and I had to meet her in the waiting room at the hospital right after my dad died.
She was crying when she walked through the door, frantically looking around like she was expecting my dad to walk out from one of the rooms. Then she spotted me sitting in the chair by myself and she panicked.
“Oh my God.” She rushed to me, clutching her purse. “Are you okay?” She threw her arms around me and I can remember thinking how strange that was, since after all she’d just lost her husband.
“I’m fine,” I said in an eerily calm voice. “But Mom… Dad’s gone.”
She only pulled me closer, hugging me so tightly I had to stand up out of the chair. “I know, honey. And I’m so sorry.”
I wrapped my arms around her, even more confused over her worry for me. “I’m okay, Mom, but are you?”
That set her off and she started to sob onto my shoulder. I held on to her as she nearly collapsed to the floor, telling myself that I had to be the strong one. And I was, helping out with the funeral arrangements, calling up my grandparents and telling them what had happened. I was always better at that stuff, dealing with other people’s issues instead of my own.
“Nova, I’m going to tell you something, and yes, it’s about Delilah,” my mom says, bringing me back to reality. “But I need to know you’re not alone… is Lea around?”
I glance out the window at Lea, who’s saying something to Tristan in front of the car as she bounces up and down from the cold. “Yeah.”
“Good.” She lets out a breath of relief. “Because I need to know that you’ll have someone there for you.”
“I do.” My heart tightens, death in the air. “Delilah’s mom found her, didn’t she?” I say, gripping the steering wheel, trying not to hyperventilate. “And she’s dead.”
“She’s headed down to Vegas to… God, I don’t even know how to say this.” She pauses, looking for the right words, but what she doesn’t get is that they don’t exist. I’m familiar with the routine by now and nothing she says is going to change the outcome of the situation. “She’s going down to identify a body… see if it’s Delilah’s.”
I press my lips together, feeling the numbness flow through me as I fight to shut myself down. I’ve been through this before. I know what to do. Just like I know that in a few minutes I’m going to start assessing every single thing I did wrong, like the time I walked away from that apartment and left Delilah there sobbing, strung out, and with an as**ole of a boyfriend. God, this never ends. Death. Regret. Remorse. Guilt. It’s a stupid cycle and I want it to stop.
“Do they know how she died?” I ask in an uneven voice.
“Well, they don’t even know if it’s her yet,” my mom says, keeping her voice gentle in an attempt to soothe me, but there’s an underlying ache to it, one that leads me to believe that she’s pretty sure it’s Delilah. “Nova, are you going to be okay? You’ve got that tone—the one you get before you shut down.”
“I’m fine.” I sit up and extend my hand for the door handle. “Thanks for letting me know, but I have to go get ready to play tonight.”
“Nova, I—”
I hang up on her, not wanting to talk about it anymore. I’m done talking about death. I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t. Yet it keeps pushing its way into my life. And not just my life. Everyone’s, really. It haunts everyone and everything and I wish I had the power to make it go away so that no one would have to feel the ache, the cracking apart, the inability to process it because it doesn’t make any goddamned sense.
After taking so many breaths I become light-headed, I put my phone away and get out of the car. Lea immediately gives me a worried look, which makes me wonder what I look like at the moment. But before she can say anything, I head for the front door, calling over my shoulder to Lea and Tristan, “Are you guys coming?”
They quietly follow me, Lea boring a hole in my head, while Tristan seems a little oblivious. But it’s not his fault. He doesn’t know me like Lea, and I know that as soon as the night’s over, she’s going to corner me and start yammering questions. I wouldn’t even be surprised if my mom calls her and tells her what’s up, which makes me want to bail out somehow.
In fact, it’s all I can think about as Jaxon’s parents let us inside. There’s this awkward sort of exchange between Lea and Jaxon’s mom as she walks us to the garage, and Lea ends up talking to her while Tristan and I load up the trunk of the car and the backseat with my drums, my thoughts refusing to be quiet. I keep picturing scenarios of what happened and they mix with all the good memories I had of Delilah. Like the first time we actually hung out. I was sad and she made me laugh by making a joke about our English teacher having a mustache. It was the first time I’d laughed since Landon died. Then we went to college together, and while we weren’t always on the same page, things were still good. She still made me laugh. Forced me to go out into civilization once in a while. Forced me to try to live when all I wanted to do was let myself die inside.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Tristan comments as he puts my drumsticks into the backseat.
“I’m fine.” I shut the trunk and climb into the car as Lea walks out the front door, carrying a plate of cookies.
Tristan gets into the backseat and buckles his seat belt, watching me in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, and then remain silent as Lea gets into the car. I should probably tell him about Delilah, but I can’t bring myself to talk about it at the moment. I also worry about how he’s going to react when I do. I’m not sure how close they were, but they did live together and that has to mean he cared about her in one way or another.
“What’s with the cookies?” I ask as Lea balances the plate on her lap.
“Jaxon’s mom gave them to me… she also said how much her family misses me.” She sighs and then starts rambling about how uncomfortable that was as I drive to Red & Black Ink. I’m relieved by the distraction of her chatting, nodding and agreeing in all the right places. But as soon as we pull up to the back parking lot, I feel nauseous. Why didn’t I do something to help Delilah? Why is death always happening? Why? Why? Why?
I need to calm down somehow, because I don’t even know if the body is Delilah’s yet. But I can’t and things only get worse the longer the night goes on. I’m stronger than this. Tough. I’ve been through this before. Nothing works. Breathing. Counting. God, I’m counting everything, my mind racing a million miles a minute. But I can still feel myself about ready to fall apart the moment we step into the club and the madness surrounds me. My mind seeks structure but there’s nothing around me and I can feel myself falling.
“Nova, get your head in the game,” Lea shouts over the chatter of voices around us. We’re seated in a booth, waiting to go on. The whole place is decorated with red Christmas lights and the cheeriness of them clashes with the black walls and makes the place seem eerie. Tristan wandered off to the bathroom, but he’s been gone for over ten minutes and I’m wondering if he took a detour. I hope it’s to find a girl and not get a drink or something even worse. This place is making me uneasy because it’s crawling with temptation. I know because I’ve seen a few drug exchanges happen. Jesus, why did I let him come? Especially with all the sketchiness with that Jazz guy. I was so distracted by his overly friendly attitude that I forgot how this place was.
Lea waves her hand in front of my face and I flinch. “Earth to Nova.”
“Sorry.” I blink my attention from my glass of water and look at her. “I’m dazing pretty badly, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.” As soon as she says it, I glance at the crowd again, thinking I see Tristan, but it’s just another blond-haired, boy-band-member-looking guy.
Lea crosses her arms and assesses me from across the table. “Okay, what the hell is your problem?”
“Nothing,” I say, not ready to talk about it—say it aloud—deal with it. I wonder if Delilah’s mom will find out exactly how she passed away. I wonder if it matters, because in the end it doesn’t change anything. She’ll still be gone.
“I know when you’re lying,” Lea says sternly, and then she puts her hand on the table. “So just fess up.”
“It’s nothing,” I tell her, slumping back in the booth. “My mom and I just had a fight. That’s all.”
“Over what?”
“Over me coming home for Christmas.”
She takes a drink of her water. “I thought she was okay with you staying here for the holidays just as long as you came home for a few days around New Year’s?”
I scratch my tattoo, hating that I’m lying, but talking about Delilah isn’t an option yet. “Yeah, I thought so, too, but she changed her mind.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “You could always go home.”
I shake my head. “No, I have too much stuff to do with work and stuff.”
“Well, then cheer up, missy.” Lea points a finger at me. “Your mom will get over it, just like she does with everything you do. Besides, tonight’s going to be so awesome, you won’t even have time to think about being bummed out.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be a complete downer tonight.”
“Good.” She smiles and then turns in the booth to look at the dance floor. “I wonder where Brody and Braxton are?”
“Maybe they got cold feet,” I say. “And it’ll just be you and me.”
She turns around and scowls at me. “Stella would never allow that. You know she hates when people try to do solo acts.”
“It wouldn’t be a solo act.” I stir my ice with my straw. “But I’m sure everything is going to be okay… I’m sure they’ll show up.”
She considers what I said and then takes her phone from her jacket pocket. “I’m going to call them and see what’s up.”
I zone out as she yammers on the phone with Brody. I can tell by the way she keeps laughing and twirling her hair that she’s really happy right now. I need to make myself cheer up and be a better friend, like I wasn’t with Delilah. So I sit up straighter and put on my best happy face as she hangs up the phone.
“They’re running late,” she announces as she picks up a few fries from a basket between us. “But they’ll be here in just a few minutes.”
I grab a handful of fries. “You seem happy, when you’re talking to Brody, I mean.”
She pops some fries in her mouth. “I am happy.” She grins from ear to ear. “He makes me really happy, Nova.”
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“It’s about damn time you asked,” she says, wiping her fingers on a napkin.
“Hey.” I frown. “You’re the one who kept the secret from me. How was I supposed to ask questions about him when I didn’t even know about him?”
“Yeah, you’re right… still, you barely seemed interested in him, even after I told you.” She scoops up another fry and dips it in the cup of ranch. “But that’s okay. You’ve been sad lately.” She pauses, the fry in her hand, dripping ranch on the table as she waits for me to say something, probably for me to give an explanation as to why I’ve been so sad.
“I’ve just been bummed out over silly things,” I lie, afraid that if I start talking about everything, I won’t be able to stop. The floodgates will open and I’ll lose it, right here in the bar. “Work and school stuff.” I sit up straighter in the booth. “But I’ll try to cheer up, and I want to hear about Brody.”
She seems unconvinced, but says, “Well, I’ve been seeing him since the middle of September.”
“That long?” I ask, and she nods. “Jesus, how did I not know this?”
She rotates in her seat and points at Tristan, who’s standing at the bar, chatting with the bartender. “Because that one’s had you distracted, along with the sad, brown-eyed one you spend all your time on the phone with.”
“Dammit,” I curse, getting out of the booth and shoving through the crowd toward Tristan. Why does he have to choose to drink tonight of all nights, when I’m already cracking apart?
When I arrive at the bar, Tristan’s laughing at something the bartender is saying.
“Hey, I was just talking about you,” he says, smiling at me.