I winked at her. “Golden just like always. I’m just glad to be done. Glad this is over.”
“Graduation, you mean? Or high school?” My dad crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head.
“Both.” I managed a smile. “Let’s blow this joint, huh?”
“Yep.” My mother lingered, looking out over the field. “I know it sounds silly, but I feel like I’m graduating today, too. Leaving behind a whole era of my life. I’ve had a kid in these schools for . . .” She cast her eyes up, thinking. “God, twenty years. And now it’s over.”
Over. Yeah, that was the key word. It was all over. Finished. I followed my mom’s gaze to where Nate and Quinn stood with their parents, and I knew with certainty that she was right. I was leaving behind an era of my life, too. The Trio had been over for a long time, but today . . . this was the official end. I wondered if I’d ever see Quinn and Nate again. Even if I did, nothing would ever be the same again. I’d destroyed my friendship with them, and in doing so, I’d buried any chance I ever had with Quinn. I’d broken her heart. What she didn’t realize was that I’d done the same to my own.
“Let’s go home. Simon and Danny said they’d see you there.” My dad linked his hand with my mother’s, smiling down at her. “One era ends, and another begins.” He gripped my shoulder. “For you, too. Onward and upward, son. Time to tackle world.”
I took a deep breath and turned my back on the field, on my friends. The finality of everything sent pain knifing through me so deep and so ripping that I wanted to curl around it and groan.
Instead, I kept walking, moving farther away from the girl who I knew I’d always love and into a future that felt uncertain.
Alone.
There was an annoying buzzing somewhere near my head, and still mostly asleep, I frowned. The wrinkling of my forehead sent an ache through my head, and for a moment, I was pretty sure I was going to puke.
The buzzing sounded again. I’d thought it was a mosquito, but as awareness seeped in, I realized it was a telephone vibrating somewhere. Close to me? I couldn’t tell. A distant part of my brain considered moving my hand so I could grope around for the damn thing, but apparently some of the synapses had been damaged, because my hand didn’t do anything. After a few seconds, the buzzing stopped again, and I drifted back into some kind of pseudo-slumber.
“Taylor! You in there, dude?” The voice was loud and unfamiliar. I groaned and covered my head with one bent arm.
“Taylor. Leo. C’mon, man, you gotta wake up.” The guy I didn’t know sounded upset. And then he shook me, and bile rose in my stomach.
“Stop.” I ground out the word. “I’m going to fucking hurl on you, whoever the fuck you are. Get out of here.”
He sighed, and the sound held a world of banked anger. “Bud, I would if I could. But your mom is on the phone, and she’s been trying to call you all night.”
I opened my eyes, groaned again, and attempted sitting up. It wasn’t a good idea, since my head pounded harder and my gut roiled, but hearing that my mother was trying to get in touch with me kind of superseded all that. I knew my mom. She wouldn’t be calling me unless it was an emergency.
“Where’s my phone?” I fumbled around on the bed, and my hand hit soft, warm flesh. Blonde hair covered the side of her cheek, but shit. I had no idea who this chick was. I had a sinking feeling that this fact wouldn’t change even if I could get a look at her face.
“I don’t know where the hell your phone is, buddy, but your mom’s on this one.” The guy held up a black and green phone case that I recognized. It was Matt’s. My parents had his number, just as his had mine, from back during football season, when we’d sometimes share rides.
“Okay.” I held out my hand, and he gave me Matt’s phone. “Thanks. Sorry about that. Um . . .” I had no fucking clue what his name was.
He rolled his eyes. “Tate Durham. We met yesterday.” He paused, and when I didn’t say anything—I honestly didn’t remember him—he added, “I’m from Gatbury. We’re playing ball together this fall at Carolina. I met Lampert at a camp last year, and he invited me this weekend.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Okay. Well, sorry. I’m not at my best . . .” I glanced at the sleeping girl again. “Do you happen to know . . .?”
Tate smirked. “Nope. When I got here yesterday, she was sitting on your lap and you had your hands—well, let’s just say I figured you knew her pretty well. But I was never introduced.”
“Shit.” I looked at the phone in my hand, remembering too late that my mother was probably hearing this whole conversation. “Hey, Mom. Sorry about that, but—”
“Leo.” Her voice was rough and stuffy, like when she had a cold. “God, Leo, I’ve been trying to get through to you for over twelve hours. What the hell?”
“I’m sorry.” My own tone went up a few octaves. “I was—uh, sorry. I can’t find my phone. What’s wrong?”
“God.” For a few moments, she didn’t answer me, but I could hear her sobs through the line, and my fear ratcheted up a few notches. “It’s Bill. God, Leo, he’s dead.”
“Dead?” I repeated it stupidly, as though I’d never heard the term before. “Bill? Quinn’s dad? No, I saw him the other day at graduation. What’re you talking about, Mom? What—” Realization and horror began to creep in, finally seeping through the cocoon of alcohol. “What happened?”
“It was an accident. A horrible—oh, my God, Leo. He just went to pick up dinner for Quinn and Carrie. A truck hit his car head-on, and they said he was killed instantly.”
As wasted as I’d been five minutes before, I was stone cold sober now. “Mom—no. No. That can’t be right. Quinn—she’s going to—she can’t—she loves her dad. She’s always talking about him—and he said he was going to come see me play football. I saw him right after I got my letter from Carolina, and I told him—he said he was going to come see me play. I thought—after everything with Quinn, he wouldn’t want to. But he didn’t say anything but that he was going to come down.”
I was babbling, but I had to do it. I had to keep talking so I could drown out the sound of my mother’s sobs on the other end of the phone. But then there was nothing left to say, no other reasons I could offer for why my mom might be wrong. Or lying. Or . . . anything but what my mind was beginning to accept was true.
“What do I do, Mom?” My eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for the clothes I must’ve discarded the night before. “What should—how can I help?”
“You need to get home. Is there someone there—someone sober—who can drive you? I don’t want you to borrow anyone’s car. I don’t want you behind the wheel.”
“I’ll figure it out. I’ll find someone.” I thought of the guy who’d brought me the phone. What the hell had he said his name was? Didn’t matter. He didn’t look like he was drunk at all. “Don’t worry. I think I know someone who can do it.”
“Just come home, honey. Be safe, but come home. I need you, and—Quinn. She’s going to need you.”
I never remembered afterward what I said to my mother before I hung up, but it was probably more assurances. Once I’d hit the disconnect button, I sat there, Matt’s phone still in my hands, staring at it as though it might have answers—better answers. Answers that would make sense of what I’d just heard.
I knew I had to get moving. I had to find my clothes, get dressed—I sniffed my pits and almost gagged. Yeah, grab a quick shower and then get dressed. Find someone to drive me home. Get home, so I could be there. For Quinn.
Quinn.
This series has been a long time coming, and if you want to know its full history, I suggest you visit my website (tawdrakandle.com) and read all about it. Let’s just say it was inspired by a real-life set of circumstances, began its life during NaNoWriMo2011, and evolved into something wholly different over the last four and a half years.
It’s also very different from anything I’ve written before. As you’ve probably guessed, Quinn and Leo and Nate
(and some of their friends) still have quite a journey ahead of them. I hope you’ll come along.
Thanks to the fabulous Meg Murrey for the beautiful, sexy covers she’s designed for this series. She rocks my socks. Thank you to Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats for making this (many chaptered) book so pretty. Big hearts to you, my friend! Thanks for Kelly Baker for her superb proofing and editing, and for catching things I might not.
Thank you to Kara Schilling and Julianna Santiago, Temptresses Extraordinaire, for beta reading! You are fabulous, ladies.
Jen Rattie and Maria Clark, thank you so much for your patience, your grace and your humor. I adore you both. Also thanks to Dylan Clark for making sure I was up-to-date on high school football details. I appreciate it!
To all my readers, for their love, support and enthusiasm—my eternal gratitude.
When life shatters, it helps to have friends. I don’t know what I’d have done without Leo and Nate to comfort me, to hold me up and to keep me sane in face of sudden and terrible loss.
And if one of those friends happens to be the love of my life, the one guy I thought I’d never be close to again . . . I’m not going to complain. After all, in a vast sea of things that aren’t fair, being with Leo again feels like the only shining beam of hope.
I know there aren’t any guarantees for us. Leo’s heading south to play football, rocking a full-ride at one of the top colleges in the nation. Meanwhile, all of my plans have fallen apart, and I have to figure out what comes next. Having Nate by my side is more important than I could have imagined.
The next four years were supposed to be the most exciting time of my life. Instead, they turn into a rollercoaster of uncertainty, complete with breathtaking highs and lows that threaten to break my heart.
In the end, the decisions we make now could change everything for the three of us, forever.
This book is dedicated to my daddy, who shared with me his love of football, who taught me the all-important words GO ARMY, BEAT NAVY at a very early age, who watched college and professional football with me as long as I can remember, who never thought that teaching his daughters the ins and outs of the game was a trivial pursuit . . . and who, like Quinn’s dad, left this earth far too soon.
I love you, Daddy, and I miss you all the time—but especially on Saturdays and Sundays from September through January.
This would be a great year for a little heavenly intervention with the Army team. Also, the Eagles could use a hand, too.
“Quinn, can I ask you something?”
I rolled over onto my back to see Nate better. As usual when we studied together, he was sitting at my desk, but he’d turned in the chair to look down on me where I lay on the floor, my history notes spread in front of me.
I didn’t answer him right away. Since that day about a year ago when I’d told Nate that Leo and I had ended our relationship, Nate hadn’t mentioned anything about his own feelings for me. He’d done an excellent job of pulling back and being just who I needed—my best friend, with no hints of the crush he’d harbored for years. I’d been relieved, because I couldn’t stand to lose another friend.
Narrowing my eyes now, I examined his face. He’d let his hair grow a little longer this year, and the dark brown waves skimmed his forehead, just above his wide blue eyes. The new meds he’d been on this year had helped him gain a little much-needed weight, and it showed in his cheeks. He didn’t look heavy by any means, but the angular, almost-pointed look he’d had before had disappeared. The changes hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other girls at school either; although Nate never gave any of them a second look, I knew more than one of our classmates wouldn’t have minded if he had.
“Sure,” I answered finally, my voice sounding a little tentative and suspicious even to my own ears.
Nate frowned. “I was hoping you’d say no.”
A rusty and almost-unfamiliar bubble of laughter escaped my throat. “Then why did you ask me if you could ask me?”
He shrugged. “I guess I was thinking that just bringing—this—up gets me off the hook.” He frowned, his forehead drawing together. “I think I did something wrong, and that you’re going to be so pissed, you’ll never talk to me again.”
“Nate, seriously. I’ve known you since I was born. When have I ever stopped talking to you? Not even when you broke off Barbie’s head.”
“That was an accident. I was trying to pull on the stupid dress you always wanted on her, trying to help you out, and they never made the heads to stay on right.”
I lifted one hand and waved it in the air between us. “Whatever. Just spit it out. What do you think you did?”
He looked downright miserable, his brow wrinkled and his eyes dark. “I don’t think I did it. I know I did. At the time, it felt like the right thing, but now . . . I’m pretty sure it probably wasn’t.”
“Nate.” I closed my eyes and sighed. “What is it? Tell me. I promise I won’t be mad.”
“I told Leo that he should break up with you.”
The familiar stab of pain that hit whenever I heard his name silenced me for a moment. Nate mistook that for shock or anger, apparently, because he groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
“God, I knew I shouldn’t have told you. I didn’t do it because of—I did it for you. He was destroying you, Quinn. You were changing, and you were so unhappy. I was pissed. So the morning after you got drunk with the cheerleaders—”
“Yeah, thanks, I kind of remember that day. It stands out as being pretty shitty overall.”
He went on as though I hadn’t spoken. “That day, I went to his house and laid it out. I told him he was being selfish and stupid—and I guess I thought he might just, I don’t know. Stop being an asshole to you. Man up.”
I shook my head, rubbing it against the soft carpet. “No, you didn’t. You wanted him to end things. That’s why you did it.”
“No, I—” Nate began to protest and then fell silent. “Maybe. But now I wonder. I thought you’d be happier. But you’ve changed even more, Quinn. You’re not who you were before—before you and Leo.”
“Before we were us.” The tears were long gone. I’d cried a bucketful over Leo, and sometimes I still did, late at night. He’d left a T-shirt at my house, in my bedroom, on one of the many nights he’d snuck into my room after dark. I remembered that particular instance with perfect, painful clarity. We’d been apart from each other for four days because he’d gone with the football team on what they called a team-building trip, spending the night over in Philadelphia and listening to a bunch of coaches and former players from around the country speak. Before he’d gotten back, I’d gone to New York for two nights with my mom to see a play and visit her best friend from college, who worked at a news magazine in the city. We’d gotten home too late for Leo to risk coming over.
So when he finally did slip upstairs the next night, we were ravenous for each other. Leo had fallen on me with wild kisses, stripped off my clothes and made love to me with a brand-new abandon. We’d worked hard to keep quiet, giggling together when I had to turn up my television to muffle anything my parents might overhear.
Afterward, I’d lain in his arms, drowsy but not willing to let him go yet. I’d told him in whispers about the city, about how I was pretty sure my mother had taken me to make sure I remembered that I had goals and plans beyond just having a boyfriend. Leo, in turn, ran his fingers through my hair, touching his lips to my temple, my ear lobe and my neck as he murmured about football and how amazing it had been to hear his favorite players speak.
That night, he’d worn a long-sleeved button-up shirt over a gray T-shirt, and when he left, I teased him, refusing to give him the T-shirt.
“It smells like you. I want to sleep with it under my pillow.” I’d buried my face in the soft material. “If I can’t have you in my bed all night, at least leave me this.”
Leo had smiled, his eyes softening the way they did when he looked at me. He’d kissed me hard. “If I can’t stay in yo
ur bed all night, at least my shirt can hang around.” And then he’d snuck out, creeping down the steps and out the back door. He knew which creaking boards to avoid from nearly eighteen years spent running around my house.
I’d lain in bed, listening, his shirt bunched up to my chin, and I’d drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a night when he didn’t have to leave me . . .
A week after that horrible day when Leo had ended us, I’d found the T-shirt tucked under my bed. At first, I’d been tempted to cut it into tiny pieces or burn it, but then I’d lifted it to my nose, sniffing in his scent which still lingered. And I hadn’t been able to do anything but stuff it under my pillow again.
So now when I was having a particularly hard day and found myself crying over Leo again, I pulled out the shirt and used it to blot my tears. It felt fitting, somehow.
Still lying on the floor, I opened my eyes, staring up into Nate’s worried face. “I already knew, Nate. Or at least I suspected. Gia said something a while back about you being so angry that day, and I guess maybe I put two and two together.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been dying by inches for months, afraid you’d find out and freak at me.”
I lifted one shoulder. “It didn’t really matter, did it? At first I was a little annoyed. But then I thought . . . there had to be something else, right? I mean, you didn’t hold a gun to Leo’s head. You didn’t blackmail him, did you? He had a choice. He didn’t have to listen to you.” I paused. “My dad said something to me a few months ago. I guess he’d been talking to Leo’s father, and he says he thinks Leo’s parents were worried about the two of us getting too serious too soon. Joe might have said something to Leo, too. Maybe he talked him into ending everything.” I swallowed hard. “So you need to stop feeling guilty, because this wasn’t your fault, Nate. I don’t blame you.”
The Keeping Score Box Set Page 30
