Nova and Quinton: No Regrets
Page 25

I smell the Jack Daniel’s on his breath as soon as he speaks, and then notice the glass on the counter. “You drank.” I sound horrified.
He rolls his eyes, like it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “I had one drink.” He holds up his finger. “And I’m a recovering drug addict. Not an alcoholic.”
Jesus, can this night get any worse? “Yeah, but you told me once that one can easily lead to the other. Remember?”
“I say shit all the time.” He dismisses my worry, turning to face me. Then he leans against the bar and puts his elbow on it, all casual and relaxed, but definitely not sober. “Besides, I only did it because of you.”
“Because of me?” I ask, confused. “Why? What did I do?”
“It’s not what you did,” he says, his gaze flicking to my lips. “But what you didn’t do.”
God, please don’t let this conversation go where I think it’s going. “I’m sorry if I forgot to do something,” I say, noting that he’s sort of acting like an ass, which is his telltale sign that he’s been doing drugs.
He lets out a soft laugh, his forehead furrowing. “You’re so naïve sometimes.”
“Hey, I am not,” I say, turning my back on him, offended because I’m not naïve. I know exactly what he’s talking about. I just don’t want to deal with it tonight.
He catches my arm and stops me from leaving. “Nova, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He draws me back to him and just like that my crappy night gets even worse. Because without warning, he kisses me, tasting like Jack Daniel’s and vulnerability and reminding me of our first kiss, only I was trashed then and there was a lot more tongue involved. This time it’s just on the lips, no tongue, thankfully.
When he pulls away, he mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “Wow.” Then he lets go of my arm and slants back to look me in the eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a few months now.”
“I…” I open my mouth to say something—anything—to salvage this situation, but I just struggle to find my voice.
As it starts to click that I’m not on the same page as him, his expression sinks. But before he can say anything, Lea shows up and interrupts us. “We’re on in like twenty, so we need to get your drums out of the car and into the back area.” She’s bouncy and buzzing with adrenaline and excitement.
“Okay.” I glance at Tristan. “Can we talk about this later?”
He shrugs, his expression cold. “Is there anything to talk about?”
“Maybe.” I scratch my tattoo, wishing there were an answer there in the words, a solution that would fix this. “Just please don’t go anywhere.”
He doesn’t answer and I end up walking away, feeling guiltier than I already did tonight. I worry about what he’s going to do, especially if he finds out about Delilah, and I’m going to have to tell him eventually.
Lea grabs my arm and guides me toward the back door, hissing under her breath, “What the hell was that about?” She pushes the door open and we step out into the cold, where she lets go of me. “The tension was so thick, I could seriously cut it with a knife.”
“I’ll tell you after we play,” I mutter as I hurry across the icy parking lot toward my car.
She shuffles after me, her heels clicking against the ice. “Why can’t you just tell me now?”
“Because you’re going to freak out,” I say, sticking my hand into my pocket to get my car keys out. “And your head needs to be in the game right now.”
After that, Lea and I start unloading the drums from my car. It’s late, the stars are shining, and I can’t help but think of the many times I spent staring up at the stars with my dad, Landon, and Quinton. At some point, I’ve lost them all. Quinton did come back, though, but at the same time he’s still distant. And now there’s another person gone and I swear my heart can’t take it anymore.
Knock it off, Nova. You don’t even know if she’s gone yet.
As we carry the last of the drums inside, Lea lets the door shut and then smiles at something over my shoulder. She raises her arm and waves at someone behind me. “Hey, we’re over here.” Then she whispers to me, “Nova, smile. You look like your dog just died.”
I prepare myself the best I can, trying to get my head into the game, and fake a smile as two guys walk up to us. One of them is taller, with spiky blond hair and colorful tattoos covering both his arms. The other guy is a little bit on the short side, but good-looking, with brown hair that hangs over his ears and forehead and these really blue eyes that match his shirt. He’s really stocky, too, and I’m guessing he’s Brody, the football player/guitarist.
Lea introduces us and I find out that I was right. Brody is the stockier one and seems nice enough, at least I’m guessing he is. I barely get two words out before Lea and he start making out behind the stage.
Braxton, the taller one and the bassist, seems a little uncomfortable, with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he glances around the bar, trying to avoid looking at the heavy amount of PDA going on beside us.
“Hey,” he finally says, looking at me. His eyes scroll up and down my body and he seems a little confused. “So you’re the drummer Lea’s been talking about?”
I smile, despite the massive amount of surprise in his tone. “Yep, that would be me.”
He gives me a look of annoyance mixed with disbelief. “Yeah, I think I’ll have to see it for myself because I’m not buying it, especially since you’re in a band with that Jaxon dude, who sucks.”
I glance over at Lea, who’s still in a lip lock, pressed up against the wall, then give a haughty look to Braxton. “Yeah, you will see. Trust me.” I’m not normally a mean person, but he’s being an ass and tonight I’m about to lose it. I can feel it.
“A little cocky, aren’t we?” he asks in a snide tone as he arches a brow at me.
“Only because you’re being a douche bag.” I feel like a terrible person as soon as I say it. “I’m sorry.”
“Braxton, knock it off,” Brody interrupts, still holding on to Lea. There’s lipstick all over his mouth and jaw and Lea’s is smeared. “Nova’s helping us out here and you don’t need to be an asshole.”
“Sorry,” Braxton mutters, and then Lea and Brody go back to making out. Braxton scratches at the back of his neck, looking over at the bar. “So do you want a drink? I could go get us a couple of shots and maybe we could try to chill out.” He sounds doubtful.
“No thanks. I’m not a big drinker and I don’t do shots at all.”
“Okay, I guess that’s cool.” He pauses and I can tell he’s struggling for something else to say. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “So how long have you been playing the drums?”
“A few years,” I say, and he nods with vague interest, staring over at the tables, where a waitress is bent over, her dress so short she’s flashing the entire room.
Things get quiet after that. I think about leaving, but I’m worried that the moment I step away, we’ll be called to go on. Finally, after a very painful twenty minutes, Stella comes back and tells us to “Get your asses up there.”
“Wait, we need to decide what song we’re going to open up with,” Lea says as Brody picks his guitar up off the floor and starts heading for the stage area.
“You guys haven’t picked out your lineup?” I ask, ready to get this show on the road, ready for a break that only my drums can give me. I just need to clear my head for a moment. Think about music. Forget about all the crap that just hit the fan. Braxton shakes his head and then the three of them start arguing about what cover would be the best one to start with. I try to stay calm as I lean back against the wall and watch Stella get impatient with their lack of organization. I know she might very likely kick them out of the lineup and so I finally step forward and offer what I think would be a good song to start out with.
“How about ‘Tears Don’t Fall,’ by Bullet for My Valentine?” I suggest, because I want to really beat my drums up at the moment.
“That’s a dude’s song and Lea’s a girl.” Braxton gives me the hardest look I’ve ever seen.
“I’m sure she can handle it.” I look to Lea for help. “Can’t you?”
She gives me a smile. “I think that’s the perfect song. Great choice, Nova.”
Braxton utters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like “Stupid bitch.” I take a deep breath and brush it off because it doesn’t really matter. Not when so much other stuff is going down. Then Lea and I go up onto the stage and set the pieces of the drums down at the back, so they’re organized perfectly just behind the microphone, while Braxton and Brody plug their guitars into the amp.
The lights shine down on us and the people sitting at the tables below, and over at the bar, are barely paying attention to us, but there are still enough people that it gives me butterflies. But I like the feeling. In fact, I welcome it. That’s what drums are to me. A distraction. From everything going on around me. All my problems. The aching inside. The confusion. My thoughts.
“Braxton hates me,” I say to Lea, setting the last piece of my kit down on the floor.
She shakes her head, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. “He’s just upset because Spike isn’t here to play with us.”
“Spike?” I ask, rearranging the drum pieces to get them exactly where I want them.
“Yeah, our old drummer.” She adjusts the height of the microphone stand.
“Your old drummer was named after a character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”
She snorts a laugh. “Well, it wasn’t his real name. Just a nickname he gave himself because he hated his real name.”
“What was his real name?” I ask, picking up my drumsticks and twirling them through my fingers.
The corners of her lips tug upward. “Larry.”
I stop twirling the drumsticks. “Okay, I get the name change now.”
She starts to laugh again, but her laughter quickly turns to nervousness as Stella yells that we’re up. Seconds later we’re all ready to go, moments away from playing. Lea looks nervous as she stands under the lights, drumming her fingers on the side of her leg, and I feel the same way, but at the same time I crave the different feeling inside me, because it wipes out all the other stuff stirring within me.
“You’ll do fine, babe,” Brody says to Lea, giving her an encouraging kiss that seems to settle her down.
I think it’s then that I realize two things: one, Brody’s not so bad, and two, I really, really want to see Quinton. More than I ever have. I want to get lost in him. Hold on to him. Be held by him and just know that he’s there. Maybe if he kissed me, it could relax me. Or maybe it’s not necessarily him that I crave, so much as the need to just get out of here. Run away. Take a break.
I try to shake the thought out of my head the best I can and focus on playing. As soon as I raise my drumsticks, I sort of zone out as the bright lights wash over me. This is solitude. My peace. Nothing exists here but the music, and part of me wishes I could exist in this moment forever.
Seconds later the guitar and bass start playing, and the first notes of the intro blast through the amps. I get ready, waiting for the right moment to connect, waiting until I get swept away in the music. It gets closer and closer and I bring my sticks over my head. When I slam them down, Lea’s voice and the banging of my drums collide and flow out over the room.
I slam my foot against the pedal, pouring my heart and soul out with the rhythm, putting enough energy into it that I can barely breathe. I drown in the music as the sticks and drums collide. Beats. Notes. Vibrations. It overtakes me. Nothing exists in this moment but the music. Not Tristan. Not Delilah. Not even Quinton. This is just about me.
As the song picks up, so does my energy. I’m sweating, panting, fueling the song with every part of me. My foot slams on the pedal, in sync with my hands. Over and over again. The song ends, but another one picks right back up, “I Miss the Misery” by Halestorm. I keep going, draining all my energy, hoping it’s enough that when I stop, I’ll be too tired to think. Too tired to focus on my problems.
But as soon as we’re done playing the last song, a wave filled with all the pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life rushes over me The pain grows with every song we play, and after our set is done I can’t find Tristan anywhere. I finally take out my phone to call him, telling Lea I’ll be right back before walking out the back door to get some quiet.
“Hey,” I say after he answers. “Where are you?”
I can hear commotion in the background. “At a party.”
“Tristan.” Disappointment laces my voice. “Are you serious?”
“Does it sound like I’m serious?” he asks as someone shouts something profane in the background.
“Maybe, but I’m hoping you’re not.” I turn to the side and plug my finger in my ear as someone walks out the door, talking loudly. “Look, I get that things are a little weird between us, but just come home and I’ll try to fix it. You’ve been doing so well and I’m sure you don’t want to ruin that, right?”
“You can’t fix everything, Nova.” His tone lightens a little. “And besides, this isn’t even about you.”
I inch toward the side of the building, trying to get farther away from the door because people keep walking out and being noisy. “Then what is it about?”