I dial her number as I sit down on the sofa. The call ends up going to her voice mail and I leave her a message. “Hey, you sent me that text to call you and now you’re not answering…I have something important to talk to you about…about our apartment, so call me back.”
I hang up and slump back in the sofa with the phone in my hand, staring out the window, hoping she’ll call me right back so I can get this over with. Landon’s house is just across the street and I remember all the time I spent in there, never knowing what to say to stop making him sad. Just like Quinton. How I woke up on that hill that night, a little too late. How I’m still not sure if I’m too late with Quinton because I have no idea where he is. I wonder if there will ever be a time when I’m not so wrapped up in the past. Yeah, I’ve been moving forward for the most part. I have plans to go to back to school. Continue with it. Graduate. Forward movement. But my past continues to haunt me.
As I’m dwelling in my thoughts, my phone starts to ring. I sigh, preparing myself to give Lea a speech about how we’d really be helping Tristan by giving him a place to stay.
I press talk and put the phone up to my ear. “So what’s up? And why did you tell me to call and then not answer?”
There’s a pause and I can hear someone breathing. “Is this Nova?”
My heart actually stops beating for a second and I forget how to breathe. Sucking in a large breath of air, I say, “Quinton.”
“Yeah…” He seems hesitant.
The fact that I’m hearing his voice and finally know that he’s still alive is the most amazing feeling ever, but at the same time so many questions run through my head. Like where is he? What’s he doing? “Are you okay?” I ask, leaning forward in the sofa, growing fidgety, needing to count, but I refuse to go to that place again. It damn near broke me back in Vegas and I’m realizing just how big an addiction it can become for me, like drugs.
“Yeah…” He pauses again and I have no idea what to do or say that will keep him on the line with me. I feel so desperate, so out of control. He could hang up at any moment and then what? He’s gone again. Missing again. “Sorry I called…I was just thinking about you,” he says. “And I dialed your number.”
“You were?” I get to my feet and start back toward the kitchen, biting my thumbnail as I pace the living room.
“Uh-huh…” He sounds out of it, and while I care, I care more about figuring out where the hell he is. “I was thinking about the quiet and how much we talked about liking the quiet and it made me think of you.”
“I’m glad you thought of me,” I say as I head into the kitchen. My mom takes one look at me when I enter and her expression falls as she drops the pan she’s holding.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, hurrying around the table toward me.
Quinton, I mouth as I point to the phone, and her eyes widen as she stops in front of me.
“I’m really not supposed to,” Quinton says with a worn-out sigh. “I try not to think about you but I can’t stop.”
“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I whisper. “I think about you all the time…where you are…what you’re doing…” God, I wish he’d tell me.
“I’m doing nothing,” he says. “And I’m nowhere. Just like I’m no one.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting back the tears burning at my eyes, feeling the loss threatening again because at any moment this conversation could end. “Yes, you are. God, I wish you could just see how much you matter…to me…”
He pauses again and fear courses through me, fear that he’s hung up. “I probably shouldn’t be talking about you, just like I shouldn’t be thinking of you,” he says. “But I’ve been living at our spot and it reminds me of that time with you…I never should have done that to you.”
My eyes shoot open and I almost drop my phone as I grab my mom’s arm for support. Oh my God, I know where he is. “Done what to me?” I try to stay calm.
“Everything…” His voice is sluggish and it frightens me. “Touched you, kissed you, been near you…fallen in love with you…you’re too good for me…”
Fallen in love with me? Holy shit. He loves me. Do I love him?
I quickly shake the thought from my head, needing to focus on the bigger picture. “No, I’m not,” I say, sinking down in a chair at the kitchen table, still holding on to my mom’s arm. She’s watching me with worry. Daniel’s watching me with worry. Yet it feels like it’s just Quinton and I alone in this room. “Quinton, is that where you are? Are you on that roof?”
“Yeah…” he says. “I can see those old buildings below…you remember the quiet ones, right?”
“I do.” I suck in a slow breath, feeling both relieved and terrified. “The ones I told you to draw.”
“Yeah…but I don’t draw anymore…”
My heart compresses in my chest and I fight to keep air flowing in and out of my lungs. “Quinton, you need to come home. Your dad’s been looking for you. Everyone’s worried about you. Me. Tristan.”
“That’s not true,” he says seriously and it rips my heart in half. “No one would ever look for me…well, except for you…you were always too nice to me…”
“Your dad is looking for you. I promise,” I tell him. “He’s put up flyers and everything. People care about you whether you think so or not.”
“Stop saying that.” His tone is suddenly sharp and clipped with anger.
I’m losing him. I can feel it. The finality of our conversation crackles through the air and I hate knowing that we may never talk again. “Quinton, please just…” I trail off as the line goes dead.
I grip the phone in my hand tightly. I want to scream. Throw my phone against the wall. Cry. But none of these things would get me anywhere. I need to do something. I check my phone screen, hoping that there’s a callback number. There’s not. The caller comes up as “Unknown,” but even if there had been a number, I doubt he would have answered. He cut the connection with me and only he can give it back.
But there is one other choice.
I rise from my chair. “I’m going to Vegas,” I announce to my mom, rushing for my bedroom before she can argue.