I don’t know much about the disease, but I know enough to know that he probably got it from shooting up. It doesn’t really matter, though, how he got it. All that matters is his life is changed forever. “Tell me what I can do.” I lean forward and catch his eye. “What do you need?”
“There’s not much that you can do for me. You and I both know that.” He reaches for his pack of cigarettes, thinking. “Just take good care of Nova, if you end up with her.” He opens his pack and pops a cigarette into his mouth. “She’s one of the good ones—you’re f**king lucky to have her.” He offers me a cigarette and I take it.
I pull my lighter from my pocket, still stunned beyond words at what he just told me. All that time we spent in the drug world and I was able to walk away from it, while it’s going to haunt him forever. It feels so f**ked up.
“The roles should be reversed,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You should be healthy and with Nova and I should be the one who…” I can’t even say it.
“It doesn’t really matter,” he replies, flicking his lighter and lighting the cigarette. “You’re the healthy one. You’re the one Nova wants. You’re a lucky SOB, so be grateful and take it.”
He’s right. I am lucky. Lucky to be standing here healthy and sober after everything I’ve done. Lucky to be alive with all the death in the world, when so many people aren’t. Lucky I got to spend the time that I did with someone as amazing as Nova. And I make a silent vow right now to take my second chance and do something good with it. To change my life. Start doing things that matter. Stop being afraid and tell Nova I love her. Stop holding on to the past. It’s time to start moving forward.
Nova
The funeral was harder than I thought. I cried more than I wanted. Delilah’s mother was a wreck, barely able to walk into the church without falling down. My mom cried, too, and so did Quinton a few times. I hated seeing him so sad and I’d subtly tried to talk him out of coming, even though I wanted him there with me. But he came anyway and I think I might have fallen in love with him a little bit more because I knew how hard it had to be for him.
While I was there, I heard whispers among the people who attended the funeral. There were rumors of Delilah’s having being beaten. Raped. Some even said that Delilah’s mother was lying about her being shot and that she’d simply OD’d. But Quinton, Tristan, and I have our own theory. We saw how Dylan was with her—they knew he had a gun, which is what we told the police. Whether her death will ever be solved, I don’t know. But regardless, it’s a tragic story, one that I wish would never happen again.
After it’s all over, I can feel that familiar burn inside me, the one that wants to do something instead of sitting around and watching all the bad that surrounds me. I realize I need a change. Need to do the things I want to do in life and stop worrying about the what-ifs. Life’s too short to constantly be worrying about everything that could go wrong. And it’s time to start chasing my dream of helping people instead of thinking about it so much. But I wonder if I can do it. Give up school. My friends. My band. My job. Quinton.
This is what I’m thinking about as Quinton walks up the path to my house, bundled in his coat, his nose and cheeks reddened from the cold. I’ve been sitting in the porch swing for about an hour, chilled to the bone, yet I can’t seem to bring myself to go inside, frozen in place until I make the decision about which path I’m going to take in life.
“Hey,” he says as he reaches the steps. “How are you doing?” He shakes his head as he trots up the stairs, removing his hands from his pockets. “Never mind. Stupid question.”
“No, it’s not a stupid question,” I say as he takes a seat beside me and the swing sways beneath us. “I should talk about how I feel, and I feel like shit.”
He places a hand on top of mine as he rocks the swing back and forth. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel better. I want to make you feel better.”
“Build me a time machine,” I say with a sigh. “So I can go back and pull her out of that house.”
“Nova, you can’t torture yourself over this,” he says in an uneven voice, gripping my hand. “Trust me. It’ll ruin you.”
“I already feel ruined.”
“But this isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is.” I shake my head, sliding away from him. “You don’t get it. I knew Dylan was wrong for her since they first started dating a few years ago. Knew that he probably was abusive to her, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”
“You can’t stop everything,” he says. “Sometimes things just happen.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t make it any easier not to feel guilty.” I watch snowflakes swirl down from the sky and dance around us.
“I get that.” His voice softens, but I feel him stiffen beside me. There’s this long pause when it feels like maybe I should say something, but ultimately he’s the one to start talking. “That night… the night of the accident… Lexi was sitting up in the window of the car.” He pulls his hand away from my leg and folds his arms, staring straight ahead. “She was kind of crazy like that. Always pushing her limits and being way too adventurous.”
I’m not sure what to say. I don’t think he’s ever talked about this aloud before and I fear that if I speak at all, I might ruin this moment for him as he lets out what’s been trapped inside him for years.
“I tried to get her back in… that was actually what I was doing when the other car came around the corner.” His brows furrow as if he’s confused by the memory. “Whenever I think back to it, I just keep wishing I would have pulled over the car the moment she stuck her head out the window… but we were late and I didn’t want to get us into trouble. But we never even made it home… or Ryder and Lexi didn’t, anyway.”
“Quinton, that’s not your fault,” I say, putting my arm around him and hugging him close to me. “What happened… that was just a tragic accident.”
He looks at me, his eyes glistening with tears, so heartbreakingly beautiful it nearly knocks the wind out of me. “Accident or not, it’s something that will always haunt me.” He uncrosses his arms and turns to face me, placing his hand on my cheek. “But you make it easier to deal with it… and I want to be there for you like you’ve been there for me. It’s important to me. So please tell me what I can do, because it’s killing me seeing you like this.”