Christina Lee - Before You Break

“Anyway, Quinn,” Amber said, bringing me out of my thoughts. “I liked you for you. Sure, Sebastian was a superstar—gorgeous and charming and good at everything he touched. But so were you—in your own quiet way. And there was something so attractive about that.”

I closed my eyes at the sound of her words. Because Gabby had been right. There was a glow inside of me, too. Incandescent. This entire time. I just hadn’t recognized it.

“Thank you for that.” I grabbed Amber’s hand and squeezed. “I hope we can start over and be friends.”

“Just friends?” Her eyebrow quirked up.

I nodded and dipped my head, hoping I wasn’t hurting her again.

“I could do that,” she said, and then smiled. It was a genuine smile that helped unraveled that ball of worry in my gut. “Let’s go.”

She threaded her arm through mine and we walked up the stairs to the building. This time, I held my head high and saw things a bit differently from the way I had a couple years ago. People greeted me and slapped me on the back. I didn’t see pity or disgust in their faces. I realized now that what I had seen back then was my own emotions reflected back at me.

We slid into the front row of seats near our parents, but not before walking past Bastian’s family first. This time I looked his parents in the eye. Really looked at them. And I saw their sorrow, their grief, their forgiveness shining back at me.

And I showed them the depths of my emotions, as well. Because that was the singular place we were joined. Connected. In our heartache over losing someone that we’d loved.

I found the empty seat next to my mother, faced the front of the stage, and straightened my tie, ready to take on the day. That’s when I felt a pair of small hands grip my shoulders.

I turned to look into the eyes of my Aunt Gabby. Uncle Nick stood beside her and he reached for her hand, his gaze never leaving mine.

“We came to support you. We figured you’d need it,” Aunt Gabby whispered in my ear. “Please stop shutting us out. We want you in our lives, Daniel.”

I nodded and allowed her to encircle me in a hug, while Uncle Nick clapped me on the shoulder. I felt something warm and wet slip down my neck onto my hand, so I looked up at her.

And that’s when I realized that the tears that had fallen were all my own making.

I’d been lying on the couch trying to get my thoughts in order about Quinn when my phone buzzed with a text. I hadn’t been able to sleep very well the night before, like there had been a dark shadow looming over me. Over my heart.

Quinn: Heading home from my parents’ house. Can I stop by?

My pulse thrummed in my veins. I was desperate to see him, if only to hold him again. I loved the weight and feel of his arms around me. And I was scared of the possibility that that would be all I’d ever get from him. That he’d only be able to show me how he felt through his touch, and with his body—and never with his words or his emotions. That I’d have to make the difficult decision to walk away. Before I fell even deeper.

Me: I’d like that. Don’t have to be at work for a couple of hours.

Quinn: See you in a bit.

I brushed my hair into soft waves, sprayed it, and then changed into the clothes I’ be wearing to work—a simple black skirt, a plain lilac T-shirt, and a chunky necklace.

When I let Quinn inside, he didn’t waste any time gliding his fingers around my waist and resting his forehead against mine. “I’ve missed you.”

My heart threatened to burst through my chest. “Me, too.”

I pulled away and headed toward the kitchen. “You hungry or thirsty?”

He tugged at my hand to sit next to him on the couch. “Only for you.”

Then his lips met mine and I felt something warm and comforting in the center of my chest. Something that felt a lot like coming home.

I raked my hands through his hair and his fingertips fluttered against my thighs. “I like this skirt you’re wearing. Your legs are so sexy.” His fingers teased farther up my thighs beneath the cotton material. I let out a sigh as he kissed my neck.

“So, how was your visit?” I asked between breaths, hoping he’d open up, but also hoping he wouldn’t—so his hands would keep working their way to my panties.

His fingers stilled on the undersides of my legs and he pulled his lips away from my jaw to look me in the eye. “It went okay.”

It was as if I’d doused him with a cold bucket of water. He sat back against the cushions and rested his hands in his lap. The air in the room has changed to something thick and suffocating. I tried to swallow but it was as if fear has replaced my saliva and I couldn’t wash it down. It infused my skin and saturated my bones.

He seemed distant and isolated and anxiety rolled off of him in waves.

This was it. The moment he’d finally tell me something. Maybe everything. It was like a boulder that sat wedged between us. One that needed to be pushed to the side so we could get to the path beyond.

I ground my jaw and tried to still my reaction. Nothing he told me could possibly make me react as badly as he’d imagined. I almost wanted to coddle him like a mother would a small child and tell him it would all be okay.

“Listen—” he began, but I cut him off.

“Wait,” I said, rolling out my shoulders, working up the courage. “Quinn, I love being with you. I want you to know how much I look forward to whatever comes next . . . for you and me. That is, if you want the part that comes next.”

I dipped my head, suddenly shy and anxious, like maybe I’d been presuming too much.

I heard how roughly he swallowed. “I’m pretty sure that next part is going to be up to you,” he whispered.

I grabbed hold of his hand, laced our fingers together, and gave him my full attention.

“Ella, I went home yesterday because my best friend from high school . . .” he said and then squeezed his eyes shut. “He . . . his parents dedicated a baseball scoreboard in his memory.”

“Oh.” I waited to see if he’d offer anything more. After another beat, I asked, “Did he pass away?”

He nodded, fingering the blanket folded on the arm of the couch.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “In high school?”

He looked up at me. “Right after graduation.”

I felt a stab of melancholy for his parents and those that loved him. Why did senseless things like that happen? And when they happened to someone young, in their prime, they felt even worse.

Was this supposed to be the big secret he was holding on to? “You must miss him a lot.”

“I do,” he said. His voice was raw and throaty, sending a shiver racing through me. I’d never heard him sound that way before and something in the back of my mind was niggling at me. A memory. One I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “I have many regrets.”

Regrets. So that’s what this was about. He felt remorse over something he’d said to him before he died. Maybe they had a fight. Or maybe he lamented not saying something to him.

“How . . . how did he die?”

And now his face contorted into something grief-stricken. It made my heart slam into my throat. “In a car accident.”

“Oh,” I said, and suddenly things began rearranging themselves in my head. Bells and whistles were going off. But still I didn’t know what it was that I was supposed to be remembering.

“Was he . . . was he alone?”

He shook his head violently and his eyes looked red and tortured. “We, um . . . we were at a party together. I was the designated driver.”

My stomach seized up as I tried to recall where I might have heard this story before.

The next part flew out of his mouth in a jumble of words and breaths and unease. “I drove Sebastian and his girlfriend, Amber, home. She was in the front seat and he was in the back, passed out. We sideswiped a truck, and Sebastian . . . He died instantly.”

And all of a sudden the sound whooshed out of the room. I couldn’t hear or see anything, only the memory washing through me like a déjà vu—this same conversation played out a couple weeks back on a hotline call. The exact story that haunted me, the identical voice that left me unsettled—and it all fell into place in my mind.

That poignant, agonizing, emotional voice was now here in the same room. I sprang up and backed away, unsure if my brain was messing with me.

My lips were immobile and I wasn’t sure how my features had arranged themselves. All I could notice was Quinn’s response to my reaction. His eyes were wide and afraid. Terrified, in fact. And then they transformed into something else. Sorrow and regret and dejection.

He bounded off the couch and then backed away from me.

“Just forget it . . .” He sounded like he was talking through a tin can. Like his brain couldn’t get his lips to form the right words. “Fucking forget everything.”

And then he was out the door and gone. Just gone.

And still I stood there and stared at the wall, at the ceiling, out the window, and only one thought was ticking through my brain. Quinn was Daniel?

Suddenly the sound rumbled back into the room—along with my breath—and I gasped and sputtered and almost puked right there on my floor.

“DANIEL IS QUINN!” I rushed for the door.

“Quinn!” I called, despite knowing he was long gone. I sprinted outside to my stoop and looked both ways down the street, tears already streaming down my cheeks.

I needed to find him. I needed to explain. He thought I was disgusted by him—just like he’d always feared. Fuck.