She presses her lips together, turns toward me, and then slips her fingers through mine. “Good. Because I don’t want you to give up. I need you here with me.” Then she stands on her tiptoes and kisses me and for a moment everything seems perfect. I’m not sure if I deserve it or not. If it’s right or wrong, but regardless I’m selfishly taking it at the moment because I want her, more than anything.

Chapter 14

Nova

We spend the rest of the day exploring the city and I even stop at a few stores to buy a couple of last-minute Christmas presents. We chat while recording every moment, but only because I want to have something to remind me of this day. It’s hard, I’ll admit, to be walking around when there’s such a huge fear looming over my head. Death. It only gets harder when I get a text from Jaxon, one I feared was coming.

Jaxon: Did u seriously play with Lea’s band?

“Shit,” I curse as I read the text. We’re sitting on a park bench watching people go by and Quinton shoots me a puzzled look.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, putting his arm on the back of the bench behind me.

I shake my head as I read the text over again. “Jaxon found out I played with Lea’s band.”

“So? Tell him you did it because she’s your friend,” he says, the sunlight above shimmering in his eyes.

“I think he’s pissed,” I say, and then I text Jaxon back.

Me: I’m sorry, but she really needed me. I feel bad for doing it.

Jaxon: You know that’s like the ultimate betrayal. Nikko’s freakin pissed off as hell. He has this huge grudge against Braxton… says he stole a girlfriend from him a year ago or some shit.

Me: Tell him I’m sorry.

Jaxon: That’s not going to do any good at the moment.

I’m about to text back when another text comes through.

Jaxon: He wants to kick u out of the band.

Me: Please don’t. Tell him that I’m really sorry and that I’ll make it up to him.

“Or how about tell them to get over it,” Quinton says, and I realize he’s reading my texts over my shoulder. “Don’t let them push you around like that, Nova.”

“They’re not pushing me around. I promise,” I say, but it doesn’t feel like I’m being truthful to myself. “This is just how bands work.”

He brings his foot up on his knee and shakes his head. “Baby, you’re too nice sometimes. You need to be more assertive.”

We both freeze a few seconds later when we realize that he called me baby. I’m not sure if I like the nickname or not, but at the same time I like that he’s given it to me.

“Sorry about the baby,” he says, his fingers caressing the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean for that to come out like that… in fact, I’ve always thought it was a silly pet name or whatever you want to call it.”

My phone is buzzing in my hand, but I don’t look down at it. “It’s okay,” I say. “You can give me a pet name, but maybe just not baby.”

He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Then what do you want me to call you? Sweetie?”

I shake my head. “Too sugary. And I’m not sugary.”

“I beg to differ,” he says musingly. “But if you don’t want me to call you that, I won’t.”

“I’ve always liked when you call me Nova like the car,” I admit, wanting to throw my phone against the ground as it buzzes again. I should be more worried that my band is upset, but being here, and why I came here, have got me distracted.

The corners of his lips quirk. “That’s a really long nickname.”

“Well, how about this,” I say. “How about you just call me Nova, except for special occasions, like my birthday and yours, and then you’ll call me Nova like the car.”

He wets his lips with his tongue and it makes me want to kiss him again… never stop kissing him. “Sounds good to me,” he says, and then he leans in, brushing his lips across mine as if he’s read my mind or something.

It’s a quick kiss, though, and we end up breaking apart as my phone buzzes for the fourth time.

Jaxon: I told him u were sorry, but he’s still pissed.

Jaxon: Nova, I think we might really have to kick u out, at least for a while.

Jaxon: Nova, what the hell. Please respond.

Nikko: I can’t believe u played for another band.

I stare at the screen forever, wondering what to type. The more I think about it, the more anxious I get, which isn’t what I need at the moment. So in the end I put my phone away and rest my head on Quinton’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah, or at least I will be. I just need to relax and breathe for a while.”

He doesn’t argue, resting his head on mine, and we sit that way for the next hour. It’s probably one of the best hours I’ve had in my entire life, and if I could, I’d just stay this way, frozen in time, but I know I can’t. It’s part of my problem. Never wanting to let go. Fearing big changes. Fearing what will happen if I alter my life. Take risks.

Finally the sun starts to set and we get up from the bench and make our way home. But we stop at a construction site for Quinton to show me the house he’s working on. It’s not much at the moment, but I can see why he’s so proud. Putting a home together for a family that needs it.

“It’s amazing,” I say as I make a circle around the first floor, which doesn’t have walls. The floor is plywood. There are spotlights set up on the ground to light up the area as people work hard in the dark to get the house finished. “It’s like a real house and everything.”

He watches me as he grips a beam above our head. “As opposed to a fake one?”

I laugh and then playfully swat his arm. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs and the sound is so breathtaking that I have to take out my camera and record it. “Smile for the camera, please,” I tell him, lifting my phone up and aiming it at him.

“Are you going to record everything?” he wonders as I zoom in on his face.

I lower the camera, frowning. “Sorry. Is it bothering you?”

He shakes his head, seeming genuine. “No, I just want to know. That’s all.”

“Oh.” I raise the camera back up and he appears on the screen again. “I’ll stop in a little while. I just want to remember all this… and recording makes me feel better.”

“Well, then record away while I give you the grand tour,” he says, releasing the beam, then proceeds to lead me around the home, introducing me to people here and there. He smiles so much as he points out everything, telling me which pieces he’s put together. He’s proud of his accomplishment and he should be. It makes me want to accomplish more myself.

“You look so happy,” I dare to say as we head up the stairs to the second floor.

His forehead creases. “I do?”

I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It makes me want to do stuff like this,” I say. “Well, not like this, since I can’t build, but help people in some way.”

“You help people more than you think,” he says, trailing off as we arrive on the top floor.

There’s a thirtysomething guy with a scruffy jaw, wearing a plaid coat, banging a hammer against a piece of wood. Country music plays on a stereo in the corner and a small light is perched in the center of things, illuminating the darkness night has brought on.

“And this is Wilson,” Quinton says as he approaches the guy with a sort of uneasy look on his face.

Wilson glances up at Quinton, seeming startled. “Holy shit, I didn’t see you even come in here.” His eyes drift to me and he lowers the hammer to his side. “Who’s this?” He asks it, but it sounds like he already knows who I am.

“This is Nova,” Quinton tells him, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Recognition crosses Wilson’s face as he sets the hammer down on the floor, then brushes his hands off on the sides of his pants. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, approaching me with his hand extended.

I grasp it and shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Wilson glances over at Quinton with a cocky look on his face and Quinton rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Well, I hope good things,” Wilson says, returning his attention to me.

I nod, letting go of his hand. “Yes, always good things.”

Smiling, Wilson leans over to pick a bottle of water up off the floor. “Okay, so I just have to say that I love your name.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, glancing over at Quinton, wondering if he told Wilson the story behind it. “I was named after my father’s car.”

“I know,” Wilson says, taking a drink before setting the bottle back down on the ground beside a blue lunchbox. “Quinton told me, and I have to say that your dad had excellent taste in cars.”

He said had, which means he knows my father has passed away, which means Quinton’s been telling him stuff about me. I like the idea for some reason, that he would take the time to talk about me with Wilson, someone I know he looks up to, even though he hasn’t flat-out said it.

After we chat a little bit, Wilson asks if we want to help him for a while. Quinton starts to shake his head, but I say yes, loving the idea of doing something that helps others. Although I don’t really help out that much, since I have no idea how to build a house or anything, but I get tools for them when they need them. I start to notice a lot of things as I observe the two of them putting a house together, like how happy Quinton seems to be here. He keeps making jokes and every once in a while he comes over and gives me a kiss on the forehead or cheek, like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t he’ll miss his chance. It feels like we really might be boyfriend and girlfriend or at least close. The last time I was at this place was with Landon and I never thought I’d have that again, but I think I was wrong. I think I want what I had with Landon with Quinton, only better. I want us to be able to talk about stuff no matter what, even if it’s difficult.