It takes him a moment to say anything. “Right now. In Seattle. At your house.”

“She’s at the airport.” I flip on the wipers and watch as they scrape off the rest of the frost. “I’m headed to pick her up right now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” he asks, yawning again.

“Because I didn’t know she was coming.” I turn the wipers off and buckle my seat belt. “She called me a few minutes ago and said she was at the airport… she sounded upset. And I need for you to tell me that I can handle this.”

“Do you think you can handle this?” He uses psychology on me like Greg does all the time.

“I don’t know… maybe…” I put the car into reverse and back out of the driveway. “I had all these pictures up on my wall.… ones of Lexi and my mom. I kept them there because they reminded me of everything I lost… to hold on… I just took them down.”

“When did you do this?” His voice is cautious.

“Like five minutes ago.” I turn the wheel and drive down the road, heading toward the freeway.

“And how do you feel?”

“Weird.” It’s the first word that comes to mind, but it seems fitting. “Wilson, I’m not sure I can do this… see her… I’m not ready…” I stop the car at the stop sign, wishing I could be happier about her being here, but I can’t. “Tell me what to do. Should I just tell her to go home?”

He contemplates what I said. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I just said I wasn’t ready… and the idea of seeing her is freaking me out.” I lower my head onto the steering wheel and stare at the floor. “And you told me not to get into a relationship until I was ready.”

“Just because she’s here, doesn’t mean you’re in a relationship,” he tells me. “And besides, it might be good for you to help her out with whatever she’s going through, since, from what I understand, she’s really helped you in the past.”

As soon as he says it, I know he’s right. I’m being really selfish at the moment, thinking about how her being here is going to affect me when really I should be thinking about what happened that she needed to get on a plane and come see me. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right,” he says arrogantly. “I’m always right.”

Right or not, it doesn’t make it any easier to drive to the airport. But I make it there. And even though it probably takes me a little longer than most people to actually get to baggage claim, mainly because my feet seem to weigh a fuckload, I do get there.

It takes me a minute to spot her because it’s the holidays and the place is pretty packed. But when I do, I swear to f**king God something changes inside me at that moment. Something good, I think, although I’m not 100 percent sure yet.

She’s got her hair pulled up and a backpack by her feet as she leans against the wall with her eyes shut, the crowd moving around her. But the longer I stare at her, the more the crowd doesn’t exist. I don’t even care how f**king cheesy that sounds. It’s just she and I and the past sort of washes over me. I start remembering everything. How she made me feel. How she refused to give up on me. How powerful it was just to be near her. She refused to give up on me. This girl saved me and I love her for it. I know that now. My heart knows it. My head knows it. Even my legs do, because they’re about to give out on me and I have to reach out and grasp the wall before I collapse. I can barely breathe as I work to stand up, the feelings inside me potent and overwhelming. I don’t know if I can handle it—feeling this way for her while I’m sober.

The fear only intensifies when she opens her eyes and her gaze sweeps the room. A heartbeat later she spots me. She doesn’t move. React. Neither do I. I want to, but I can’t. Luckily she manages to unglue herself from where she’s standing. She scoops up her backpack from the floor, swings it onto her shoulder, and heads for me. With each step she takes, her mouth turns up more, and by the time she reaches me, she’s almost smiling.

“Hey,” she says, and then without any warning she throws her arms around me, embracing me in hug that’s so tight, it feels like she’s trying to survive through it. The heat of her body courses and rushes through me. Regardless of how terrified I am to touch her, I find myself wrapping my arms around her and embracing her so tightly my arms start to tremble. I fight the immensely intense urge to fall to the ground, but it’s hard to stay up as adrenaline and emotions pulsate through me. I feel like I’m tipping sideways, falling off the tightrope. But she’s holding on to me so I don’t fall completely and I end up suspended in the air. I didn’t even know feeling this way was possible and it’s scary as shit.

I shut my eyes and breathe in the her scent. “Wow,” I whisper, breathless, as she presses her face into the crook of my neck, my hands shaking so badly I’m sure she can feel it.

“Yes, wow,” she agrees, placing a kiss against my neck. She does it over and over again and with each one, I calm down inside. Still.

Suddenly, coming here to get her doesn’t seem as terrifying as before. In fact, I’m glad I did. A feeling that grows when she moves away from me and, before I have any time to react, leans forward and kisses me right on the lips.

Chapter 12

Nova

I probably shouldn’t have kissed him. It’s not what I came here for. I just needed to get away from all the sadness and pain over Delilah and Tristan, and when I thought of the one place that I might be able to do that, being by Quinton’s side was the first thing that came to mind.

Just friends, I kept telling myself during the airplane ride. We’re just friends.

But seeing him in the flesh, healthy, honey-brown eyes more full of life than I’ve ever seen, it ignited something inside, and without thinking, I found myself placing my lips to his. I start to pull back when I realize I probably shouldn’t have done that, but to my surprise, he presses his hand against my back and crushes our bodies together, deepening the kiss. My body conforms to his as I grasp him, my lips willingly part as his tongue slips deeper inside my mouth. The longer the kiss goes on, the more intense it gets, and before I know it my legs end up latched around his waist as his hands explore my body while he backs us up against the wall. I can barely breathe, only coming up for air when my lungs feel like they’re going to explode. I can’t take it anymore. I seriously want to tear off his clothes and run my hands across every part of him while he does the same to me.

But then suddenly he’s pulling away and the noise around us washes over me and I remember that I’m in a very public place.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Quinton whispers, resting his head against mine, his breathing ragged, my legs still fastened tightly around him.

“Yeah, me too,” I whisper back, basking in the feel of him, from the warmth of his skin to the feathery touch of his breath.

We stay that way for a moment before, finally, he lowers me back to the ground and lets go of me. Then he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, observing me intently. “Do you need to pick up anything from baggage claim?” he asks.

I shake my head and then reach around and pat the bag on my back. “This is all I brought,” I say. “I was in sort of a rush and I’m not even sure if I remembered to bring deodorant.”

He stares at me with a quizzical look, his eyes skimming over me. “Do you… do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

I press my lips together and shake my head, refusing to think about what made me run. Not right now, when the moment is so good. “No, not yet, but later.”

He cups my cheek in his hand. “Tell me what you need me to do… anything you need and I’ll get it for you.”

“Even if I said I needed a unicorn?” I shake my head at myself. I don’t know why I crack a joke but I do.

He smiles, his eyes crinkling, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. “That might be possible to be arrange, if I have some time,” he says. “But until then, what else do you need from me?”

My stomach grumbles in response. “How about breakfast?”

With a small smile, he nods and then takes my hand. “Breakfast it is, then.”

We walk out the door and head to the parking garage, holding hands, the clear sky above us. It feels weird but at the same time right. It feels like this is where I belong and I love the feeling, yet at the same time I hate it, because I know that I won’t be able to keep it this way. I have to start talking about what made me run.

* * *

“So you cook?” I say as he stirs some eggs in a pan. I honestly expected him to take me to a restaurant or McDonald’s to get breakfast, but instead he took me to his house, which is about as bare as a home can be, completely filled with boxes.

He shrugs, turning down the stove temperature as the eggs sizzle. “Yeah, I mean, nothing fancy.” He smiles at me over his shoulder. “But I can hold my own.”

I grin back at him from the kitchen table. “Can you make bacon, too?”

“So you’re picky,” he jokes with a chuckle. “But if anyone deserves to be, it’s you.”

My expression falters. “I’m not as great as you think.”

He grabs a plate from the cupboard. “Please talk to me.” He sets the plate down on the countertop and scoops up some eggs. “I don’t like seeing you sad.”

I trace the lines on the table with my head tipped down. “I’m worried if I tell you what’s going on… that it’ll upset you. And I don’t ever want to upset you.”

He doesn’t answer right away and when I hear him moving around, I force myself to look up. Our eyes meet as he sets a plate of eggs down in front of me. “Try me.”

I give him a wary look and then swallow hard. “Are you sure? Because it’s heavy stuff and I know you’ve been struggling with heavy stuff.”

Now he swallows hard as he sits down in the chair across from me. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He reaches across the table, his hand shaking as he gives my hand a soft squeeze. “I want to be here for you, and like I’ve said on the phone a hundred times, I’m not as fragile as you think.”

His touch makes it the slightest bit bearable to speak. “I’m not even sure where to start,” I say quietly. “It was like one minute I was completely okay and then all this stuff happened at once and I just needed to get the hell away from everything.”

“Life can be that way,” he says, letting go of my hand. “But I’m sure whatever’s happening with you, you’ll be able to handle it.” He offers me a smile as he picks up a fork. “You’re amazing with the heavy stuff.”

I poke at my eggs, deciding that the only thing I can do is rip off the Band-Aid. “I think Tristan might be doing drugs again.”

His arm muscles tense, his eyes widening for a split second, but then he quickly tries to compose himself. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure,” I mutter, playing with my eggs, feeling too nauseous to eat. “I’ve had my suspicions for a couple of weeks now, but last night some stuff happened and when I called him, he told me he was at a party and that he didn’t really care what happened to him, because life was shitty.” I leave out the kiss part. It’s irrelevant in my opinion because it didn’t mean anything to me.

Quinton doesn’t say a word, his fork still in his hand, his face masked with confusion. “Did he flat-out say he was doing drugs again?”

“No, but he said he was about to,” I say, nibbling on my eggs. “He’s been acting so weird lately. Hanging out with this sketchy guy, and I was worried that if I called him out on it, he’d get mad at me.” I blow out a breath, drop my fork on my plate, and massage my temples with my fingertips. “There’s more, but you can tell me to stop if you need me to. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

He sets the fork down and rubs his hand down his face so roughly he leaves red marks on his skin. “No, I need to do this. I need to be here for you like you were for me.”

“Are you sure?”

He vacillates, then nods. “Yes. I’m positive.”

My stomach winds in knots and I hope that he can handle it like he says. “Remember how I told you about Delilah? And how she was missing and her mom was looking for her?”

He nods again and then his eyes enlarge. “Wait, did they find her?”

“I’m not sure.” I shut my eyes to keep tears from falling. “I got a call from my mom last night and she said that Delilah’s mom was heading down to Vegas to… identify a body… see if it’s hers.”

Silence surrounds us. I want to open my eyes and look at him, but at the same time I’m afraid. Afraid that I’ll see that darkness return to his eyes. Afraid that I’ll see the need to feed the darkness. But then I feel his hand on top of mine and the connection causes my eyelids to lift.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, his hand trembling on mine. Or maybe mine’s the one shaking—it’s hard to tell.

“I know it will be eventually,” I say. “Because I’ve been through this before… but I’m… afraid…”

A pucker forms at his brow. “Of what?”

“Of shutting down.” I slip my hand out from underneath his and place it on top of my erratic heart. “Of counting. Of going back to my OCD so I don’t have to deal with this.” I’m about to cry but I’m trying my hardest to suck back the tears, hold it all in, be strong. “Life was going so good and I just want it to stay that way.” But the tears start to slip out and stream down my cheeks.