Shutting my eyes, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I actually do have a favor to ask you,” I say.
He wraps his arms around me, alleviating a small amount of pain. “You name it and it’s yours.”
Snowflakes whisk around us and sting my cheeks. “I need you to tell me you’re going to be okay if I decide to take off for a little while.”
“Where are you going?” he wonders, confused.
I open my eyes and look up at him. “Remember that project I told you about? The one my professor is working on? Well, I think I want to do it.”
He’s silent for a while, snowflakes spinning around us so thickly I can’t see any of my surroundings but him. “I think you should do it,” he finally says. “In fact, I’m going to make you do it.”
I laugh for the first time in the last few days. “Oh yeah?”
He kisses my forehead, just a light graze of his lips. “Yeah, and you want to know why?” he asks, and I nod. “Because I think it’ll make you happy, and if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you, Nova.”
“But what about you and Tristan?” I ask. “Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly. “Wilson has a shit-ton more houses for me to work on and he’s even been trying to talk me into going on the road to help build.”
I still worry. About him. About Tristan. About everyone in the world who is struggling. “But what about Tristan? I worry that he’s going to get into trouble.”
“Tristan will be fine,” he says, but I detect a slight bit of sadness in his voice. But before I can say anything, he turns us around so we’re facing my yard with his arm around my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll talk him into joining Habitat for Humanity and hitting the road with me and Wilson. In fact, I think it might be good for him.”
“You think he should drop out of school?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know… but it’s an option, right? To keep him busy and out of trouble.”
I want to tell him that it’s a great idea. I want to believe that everything will be okay. That we’ll go our separate ways and everything will work out in the long run. But I’d be naïve to think that, no matter what, everything will turn out perfect. All I can do is hope and start living my life.
Epilogue
Six months later…
Nova
I’m nervous as hell. Not because in just a little bit I’ll be watching the documentary I helped out on for four months straight, but because I’ll be seeing Quinton for the first time in six months.
It’s not like we haven’t talked to each other. In fact, we probably talk more than most couples. At least three times a day every day on the phone, plus we text five to six more times on top of that. Being away from him has seriously been hard, but in the end, I think it’s been good for us both. Given us time to grow. Heal. Become our own people.
Quinton’s helped build so many houses, I’ve lost track, and listening to him talk about it is really amazing. He always gets really excited, especially when he tells me about the family who’s getting the house. He loves every second of it, just like I’ve loved every second of my journey. Professor McGell, or Dusty as I call him now, decided to put me in charge of the interviews we did with people. He said I had a knack for human compassion and for the most part I think he’s right. Quinton completely agrees with him, too, but Quinton thinks highly of me no matter what I say or do, even when I think I’m being mean.
I’m hanging out in my hotel room in Idaho, my clothes scattered across the floor as I decide what to wear to the viewing of the film. I’ve actually seen it before, a few times, but the fact that it’s going out to the world makes it feel brand-new and scary as heck.
I’m wrapped in a towel, my damp hair running down my back, when I hear a knock at the door. Grinning, I step over the pile of dresses I was deciding among and pad over to the door. I peer out the peephole and my grin expands as I open the door.
Quinton smiles back and then his honey-brown eyes widen as soon as he takes in the towel. “Wow, you’re getting straight to the point. Aren’t ya?”
I laugh, then grab his arm and yank him inside, kicking the door shut behind me. Then I turn around and take him in: his scruffy jaw, his short brown hair, his faded jeans and black T-shirt that look like they’ve seen a wash or two or twenty-five. He looks like a person who’s worked hard, which is good because, he says, the harder he works the better he feels. So he must be feeling pretty damn good right now.
“You look amazing,” he says after a minute or two goes by of us just staring at each other. I’ve been worried that after six months apart, just talking on the phone, being together is going to be awkward.
I tuck a wet lock of hair behind my ear, chewing nervously on my bottom lip. “So do you… you look manly.”
He snorts a laugh and then he’s moving in to kiss me. “God, I’ve missed you,” he says, and then his lips brush against mine.
It’s not a quick kiss. Not at all. In fact, it goes on for so long, my lips are raw and swollen and my body is so hot it feels like it’s melting. When we pull away, we’re gasping for air, our bodies pressed so tightly against each other, I can feel his chest moving with each intake of breath. Somehow his hands have managed to slip underneath the towel and he’s grasping my bare waist.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I whisper, smiling as he leans in to kiss me again.
Then he takes my hand and steers me toward the bed, kicking the clothes out of the way as he sits us down. “As much as I’ve loved the last six months,” he says, his hands wandering from my waist up my sides toward my chest, “I’m really glad it’s over. I can’t wait to spend time with you and get a break from Tristan and Wilson. As cool as they are, I’d much rather spend my free time with you.”
“How is Tristan doing? With everything?” About a month after Quinton and I went our separate ways, he told me that Tristan had found out he had hepatitis C and was struggling with it. He actually relapsed and disappeared for about a week when they were staying in Nebraska. Wilson and Quinton ended up finding him camped out in a hotel room, high on meth. They got him cleaned up, though, and put him back to work, and Quinton’s been assuring me that everything’s been okay since then—that relapses happen often.
“He’s good,” he says. “He’s actually been really into working long hours lately and doing nothing else.”