I glowered at the guy behind the steering wheel, wishing like hell there’d been anyone but him sober enough to drive me home. His lips were pressed together and his jaw was tense, probably because I’d been repeating the same words more or less for the past thirty minutes.
He glanced in my direction and sighed, his mouth relaxing just a little. “Look, dude, I get it. You need to get home. But me breaking the law so we get stopped for a ticket, or worse, get into an accident, is only going to slow us down. So chill, okay? Put your head back and get some sleep. I got the address in my GPS, and I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
“I’m not going to sleep.” I growled the words. “I can’t. I—I just need to get to her.” Shifting a little, I stared out the window, not even seeing the passing landscape. It was just trees and shit, the same areas I’d been driving past all my life. None of it mattered now; nothing else was important except getting to Quinn as fast as I could. I looked over at the driver again. “What was your name? Sorry. I know you told me. I wasn’t really—it was a shock this morning. I’m still . . .” I ran my hand through my hair. “Processing.”
“Tate Durham.” He spoke with a kind of resigned exasperation, and I realized he must’ve given me this information more than once. “From Gatbury. I’m—”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “That I remember. You played ball for Gatbury, you met Matt at that passing camp last summer, and you kept in touch. He invited you down to the shore this weekend because you’re going to Carolina with us.”
Tate cocked a finger at me. “Bingo. I guess you were listening.”
“Kind of. It’s coming back to me now.”
“I’m surprised, actually. You were pretty much blotto from the time I got down there yesterday.”
“Blotto? Who the hell says that? What’re you, from the nineteen-forties?” My lips curled.
Tate didn’t seem to be offended. “I was raised by my grandpa, and yeah, that’s how he talks. Nothing wrong with a little retro slang, right? What would you rather I said? You were wasted? Drunk? Wrecked? Shit-faced? Bo—”
“Okay, I get it. Yeah, I was.” I turned my attention to the window again.
“So, not to be insensitive or anything, but seeing as how I’m your chauffeur just now, I’m going to let my curiosity get the best of me and ask. Who exactly died?”
Pain crashed over me again. “My girlfriend’s dad. He—” I choked a little as my throat tightened. “I was really close to him. I’ve known him my whole life.”
“Your girlfriend?” Tate frowned. “So that wasn’t the blonde in bed with you this morning, I’m guessing?”
Shit. “No. I don’t even know who she was. Quinn is—well, it’s complicated. She’s not technically my girlfriend. Not anymore.” But calling her that had happened without me even thinking about it. In my mind, Quinn was still mine, even though it had been over a year since we’d been together. “And just for the record, the chick in my bed? I don’t know how she got there, but nothing went down between us. I was alone in the bed when I passed out. That much I remember. She must’ve come in some time after I fell asleep.”
“Hey, none of my business.” Tate lifted one hand off the steering wheel and held it up. “I was just clarifying. So—Quinn, is it? She used to be your girlfriend?”
“Yeah. We’ve known each other our whole lives. Us, and Nate, our other friend. Our families are, you know, really close. If any one of us kids yelled, ‘Mom!’ growing up, all three of the mothers answered.” I managed a smile, remembering. “So losing Bill—it’s like losing my dad, in a way. I can’t believe he’s gone. And I can’t imagine how Quinn is going to deal with it.”
“You and Quinn are friends, but you also dated?” Tate slid a glance my way. “That must’ve been interesting.”
“It’s always been Quinn for me.” The truth rose easily to the surface, circumventing the muck and confusion of the last year so neatly that it felt simple again. “I knew it, but I never felt like I was good enough for her. Quinn has this . . . this rightness about her. Like she knows what’s good and she knows the way she should go, and she does it. She stands up for people who can’t stand up for themselves. Injustice—it just infuriates her. And she was never shy about pointing it out, either, even when it made her look bad.” I remembered her frequent run-ins with the cheerleaders, who’d resented Quinn for writing articles about the privileges they received at school. “Quinn sees the good in people. I guess I was always afraid if I got too close, she’d see there wasn’t that much worthwhile in me.”
“That’s deep, man.” Tate flicked the turn signal and eased into the passing lane. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not, but it felt as though he’d picked up a little speed. “What changed?”
“I’d like to say it was me, but it was more like I gave up fighting how I felt. Gave in.” The memory of my lips on Quinn’s was almost palpable.
“Uh huh. So why aren’t you still together? Why were you down at the shore getting drunk and groping other girls?”
That was the million-dollar question. “Because I listened to bad advice from people who meant well. My dad asked me if I knew what it was going to be like, trying to have a long-distance relationship while I was focused on football in college. And our friend Nate convinced me that I was hurting Quinn by being with her. That I was changing her. I couldn’t deal with it. Plus, my mom was sick—” I broke off. “Those are all excuses. Truth is, I was stupid and scared. I gave up Quinn, and it just about killed me.”
“Huh.” Tate nodded. “I’m not an expert on relationships. Hell, I’ve never had one. But aren’t high school hook-ups supposed to have a short shelf-life? Isn’t that typical?”
“Maybe, but Quinn’s not typical. And this wasn’t a hook-up. It felt like it should’ve lasted forever.” I rubbed at my eyes. “I know that sounds lame. Sorry.”
“Actually, it doesn’t. It sounds kind of perfect.” Tate shrugged. “But then, I guess I’m not your average guy.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I was saved from having to reply by the smooth automated GPS voice instructing us to take the next exit.
Within a few moments, Tate was pulling up to the curb in front of the Russell house. I saw my mom’s car in the driveway, parked behind Nate’s parents’ van and the compact Quinn and her mother shared. For one fleeting moment, I wondered if Bill’s sedan was parked in the garage . . . and then I remembered. No, Bill’s car was gone, just as Bill was. Reality smacked me across the face once again.
“You okay, Leo?” Tate studied me, his face somber. “You ready to deal with this? It’s not going to be easy.”
I exhaled and closed my eyes, thinking how different this guy was from most of my friends. On my way out the door at the beach house, I’d tripped over Matt Lampert’s feet in my hurry. The guy I’d thought of as my closest friend for the past few years had blinked up at me in confusion.
“Dude, where you goin’?” He’d slurred the words, as though he was still wasted. Which maybe he was.
I’d paused. “I’m going home, Matt. Quinn—Quinn’s dad. He was killed. My mom was trying to get in touch with me, and I guess she finally called on your phone, and—” I’d shaken my head. “Never mind. I gotta get home.”
“Dead? Ser’usly?” Matt had struggled to sit up. “Dude, that sucks.”
Anger had swelled in my chest. “No, dude, it doesn’t suck. Dropping your phone into the toilet sucks. Missing a pass sucks. A man died. A man I loved like my own father, Quinn’s father, is dead. This is tragedy, Matt. It’s real life. God, sometimes you make me sick.”
I’d seen the recoil of surprise on his face, but I hadn’t taken the time to say anything else. I’d stalked out of the house without another word.
Now, though, I could almost feel Tate’s empathy, his understanding. I was suddenly ridiculously grateful that this stranger was the guy who’d driven me home.
“Yeah. I know. I’d give just about anything not to have to go in,
but you know . . . I have to. Me sitting out here isn’t going to change anything, is it?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t seem likely. You need help with anything?”
“No, but thanks.” I hadn’t bothered to pack up my bag before leaving the shore house. Matt would get my shit and bring it home, or he wouldn’t—I didn’t really care. “Listen, Tate—thank you. For doing this.” I leaned up and dug into my back pocket for my wallet. “Let me give you gas money.”
Tate put out his hand to stop me. “Nope. I don’t want it. Listen, I’m glad I could help you out. I’m sorry we met under these circumstances, but at least I could do this for you.” He twisted his hand around, presenting it to me to shake. “If there’s anything I can do, anything else, call me, okay?” He’d given me his phone number to text to my mom, so she’d be able to get in touch with us on our way home, since my phone had been charging as we drove. “Otherwise, guess I’ll see you in a month or so down south.”
“You know it.” I opened my door and swung my legs out. “Thanks again, Tate. I mean it.”
In one movement that was as fluid as I could manage, I swung out of the car, slammed the door and made my way to the front door. Quinn’s front door.
I didn’t knock or ring the doorbell. I never had; Nate, Quinn and I had grown up going in and out of each other’s houses as easily as our own homes. I paused only a beat before I turned the knob, my stomach churning.
The front hall of the Russells’ home led into a formal living room, which I couldn’t remember us ever using. But today, everyone was sitting there: my dad was the first person I saw, slumped in a deep green wing chair. On the sofa, my mother and Sheri, Nate’s mom, flanked Carrie, who seemed to have shrunk in the less-than-forty-eight hours since I’d seen her last.
Quinn’s mom wore yoga pants and a huge sweatshirt. As I stepped into the hallway, I recognized the shirt as one of Bill’s. Her hands were lost in the sleeves. Her sleek black hair, always so neat and styled, was tousled and held back from her face by a clip. She didn’t look up or even react when my mother cried out my name and stood, her arms reaching for me.
“Oh, my God, Leo. Thank God you’re here. You have no idea—” She bit her lip, casting a glance down at Carrie. “We were worried.”
“I’m sorry.” The response was automatic. I knelt in front of Quinn’s mother and laid my hand on hers, which lay loosely in her lap. “Carrie, God, I’m sorry. I wish . . .” I stopped at that point, because there wasn’t any reason to go on. Nothing I could say would change the horrible reality of the situation, and Carrie wasn’t hearing me, anyway. She stared down at the carpet, her lips slightly parted and her eyes glassy.
Next to her, Sheri sighed, the softest breath fanning Carrie’s hair. I looked at her and then at my mother.
“Where’s Quinn?”
My mother didn’t hesitate. “She’s upstairs. In her room. She hasn’t slept or eaten since—well, since yesterday.”
“And Nate?” The last thing I wanted to do was get into a knock-down, drag-out—figuratively speaking, since I’d never hit Nate—with the guy who made up the third part of our trio. Not today. Not in front of Quinn. But I knew, too, that no matter what, Nate wouldn’t be pleased to see me.
“I sent him home. Mark just drove him there.” Sheri met my eyes, hers full of understanding. “He hadn’t slept, either, and I convinced him that Quinn wouldn’t go to sleep as long as he was here.”
“Okay.” I turned to the steps, taking them two at a time. None of the parents tried to stop me.
The last time I’d been in Quinn’s bedroom, I’d snuck upstairs with her after Carrie and Bill had gone to bed. We did that sometimes, when we hadn’t had a chance to be alone together for a while. Climbing the steps with her hand in mine had felt, to me, like a preview of the future, a tempting glimpse of our eventual life together. Since she didn’t want to make her parents suspicious, Quinn would stick to her normal bedtime routine, and I’d lay in her bed, listening to her brushing her teeth in the nearby bathroom. And then she’d come back into the bedroom, smiling the way she only did for me, close the door behind her and crawl onto the bed, her eyes bright with desire.
I paused outside her door now and gave myself a little shake. Now was not the time to let these memories interfere with comforting Quinn. Or whatever it was I was going to do once I opened the door.
Turning the knob, I stepped into the room, my eyes going to Quinn right away. She was curled up in the center of her bed, but she wasn’t lying down. She was sitting up, back ramrod stiff and her arms wrapped about her legs as she stared straight ahead.
At the sound of the door, she glanced up and froze. For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to react at all, that she was going to ignore me and pretend I wasn’t there. And then her face contorted into rage and her hands fisted.
“What the hell are you doing here? Get out.” She hissed the words at me, rising up onto her knees.
I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Quinn. Mia. Baby, I’m so—”
“Shut up. Shut up. Get out of here. I don’t want you. I don’t need you.”
I chanced a step closer to the bed. “Quinn, come on. Let me . . . let me help you.”
“Help me? Are you fucking kidding? Just how the hell are you going to help me, Leo? You going to bring my father back to life? You going to reverse time so he doesn’t get into the car to go get us dinner last night? Or maybe you’re going to make it so he leaves a little later, or a little sooner, just enough of a difference so that the truck that hit him is already through the intersection before he gets there? If you can make anything like that happen, then I’m willing to listen. If you can’t, get the fuck out of my room and leave me alone.”
“God, don’t you think I wish I could change it? If I could do it, I’d make sure nothing happened to your dad. I’d give anything to keep him from being in that accident. Don’t you know, Mia, there’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do to keep you from being hurt?”
She sank back to sit on the bed, snorting. “Oh, really? Beg to differ, Leo. I happen to have a pretty good memory, and the day you decided I was in the way of your precious football career? Yeah, I remember that day. You sure as hell didn’t mind hurting me then.”
I ventured nearer to her, moving until the front of my legs hit the edge of the mattress. “I didn’t break up with you because of my football career. I did it because—because I was already hurting you. I was forcing you to become someone you’re not, and I was afraid you’d give up what was important to you because you loved me.”
“Break my heart then, or break my heart later. That was the choice, huh?” Quinn rolled her eyes. “Did it ever occur to you to actually talk to me about it? Did you think maybe if we’d discussed it, like we used to do everything, we could come up with a solution that didn’t fucking tear me apart?”
I shook my head. “No. Because I know you, Mia. Everything you do is for other people. You’d have sacrificed for me and never even blinked. You would’ve chosen me over you, and I couldn’t let you do that.”
“You took away my choice. You walked away, turned your back on me, like I didn’t mean anything to you.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, rolling down her pale cheeks. “Like I meant nothing.”
I dropped to my knees next to the bed and reached out my hand to find one of hers. “You are everything to me, Mia. You always have been. I was stupid and scared, and I listened—” I shook my head. I wasn’t going to blame anyone else for my own idiocy. “I regretted it every minute of every day.”
“Then why didn’t you do something about it? I didn’t exactly disappear. Day after day, you walked right past me like I wasn’t there.” She dropped her forehead down to her knees, but she didn’t pull away her hand from mine.
I gripped her fingers a little tighter. “Because for once in my life, I was trying to do the right thing. To do something for you, even though it was killing me.”
Her shoulders shook. “He s
aid . . . my dad . . . he said I’d probably find out someday you had a reason I couldn’t understand now.” Her words were barely discernible, gasped out between sobs. “He always told me . . . it was more than I thought.”
I closed my eyes, choking back my own tears. “God, Quinn. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” I lifted her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. When her fingers tightened around mine, I took a chance and climbed onto the bed, crawling to her. “Baby, let me hold you.”
She hesitated, and for a minute, I thought she was going to push me away. And then she lifted her tear-streaked face to me, and her full bottom lip trembled. Sliding her hand free, she touched the side of my face before moving her fingers to my neck and curling them around, bringing me close to her.
“Leo, I don’t know . . . I don’t know how to breathe anymore. I don’t know how to keep going on.” She bridged the short distance between our mouths, so that when she spoke again, her lips moved against mine.
“Love me again, Leo. Show me how to keep living. Make all the hurt go away.”
She didn’t have to ask me twice. I circled her waist with both my arms and tugged her against me, dragging her into my lap. Feeling her there again felt so right, as though I were re-attaching a limb I’d chopped off over a year ago. Her body shuddered, and I held her tighter.
“It’s okay, Mia. It’s going to be all right.”
She shook her head, her dark curls swirling around us both. “No. Nothing is ever going to be the same. I can’t—he’s gone. I’ll never see him again. I’ll never hear him laugh or call me kiddo or tell me how good his cooking is—God.”
A fresh bout of tears erupted, and I wanted to cry with her. “I know. He was the best.” I stroked her hair back from her face. “Do you remember, when we were kids and we couldn’t wait for something to happen, and it felt like it was taking forever, he’d say, ‘Oh, you can—’”
“‘—stand on your head for that long!’” Quinn gave a half-laugh that morphed into a sob. “And I used to tell him I couldn’t stand on my head at all.”
The Keeping Score Box Set Page 32
