Before You Break: Between Breaths

by Christina Lee

  “No sweat,” he said. “It’s how I grew up. I didn’t know any different—unless I stayed with my aunt and uncle.”

  And that’s when I finally saw a wistful glint in his eyes. Or maybe it was regret.

  “My father’s a career politician, and for us, that meant another way of life,” he said.

  Before I could ask him exactly what he meant, he took the conversation in a different direction. “How do you say thank you in Polish?”

  Something unlocked in the very center of me. I’d tried teaching Joel how to say a couple of words to impress my parents, but he’d never seemed interested enough to try. Besides, he’d already known my family well enough from church and sports.

  I leaned across my seat to whisper it to him as gratitude and admiration lodged in the back of my throat. When my lips closed in on his ear, I felt him shiver. “Dziekuje. I’ll say it slowly for you. Jin-ku-yeh.”

  “Jin-ku-yeh,” he repeated two times, and it was the sweetest sound to my ears.

  Then he cleared his throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Abrams, jin-ku-yeh. This food was amazing.”

  The whole table went silent at his rough translation. My cousin Andrea’s eyes twinkled at me and my aunt Karina looked taken aback and pleased at the same time. She tapped my mother’s hand.

  “That’s a lovely thing for you to say, Quinn,” my mother said. “Prosze bardzo. You are very welcome.”

  Quinn smiled and then patted his stomach. “Gosh, I don’t think I’ve eaten this well in maybe, ever.”

  My mother’s eyes flooded with sadness. She could tell how sincere his thank-you had been as well as I could. She must have been already deciding how many different kinds of leftovers to wrap up for him. He had just opened up the floodgates for my mother to gift him with endless amounts of food and bakery items. I was never going to hear the end of it.

  “You come back anytime,” my father chimed in, rendering me speechless. “You hear me, son?”

  I knew my father had enjoyed Joel’s company and thought he was funny, but I could tell he thought Quinn was special. Sincere. Genuine. As much as I did.

  Having my father’s approval meant more to me than he’d ever know. Even if Quinn and I only remained friends. In his own way, my father was giving me permission to pave my own path, choose the people I surrounded myself with. My foot had stepped outside of his protective dome and he trusted me to explore the world a bit more on my own.

  We gorged on Aunt Karina’s cream pies and my mother’s powdered-sugar pizelles while we played two games of Mario Kart with my brothers in our basement rec room. Afterward, I helped Quinn carry out four containers of leftovers, including some dessert.

  My mother had gone as overboard as I’d expected her to, given the amount of Tupperware loaded in our hands. But I didn’t complain. I knew Quinn’s statement had touched her as deeply as it had me.

  “Now I see where you get your gaming skills,” Quinn said, carefully placing the containers in his backseat.

  “You mean my brothers?” I asked. “Nah, I taught them everything they know.”

  Quinn laughed. “Yeah, you probably did.”

  He leaned against his car, his keys dangling in his fingers, and I tried thinking of anything to say to prolong his visit. I wasn’t quite ready to let him go yet.

  “Hey, how far is Seymour Park from here?” he asked. “Used to have games there in high school. Sometimes we’d hang by that cool waterfall afterward.”

  “Not far at all, just around that bend.” I pointed down the street. “You could walk there from here.”

  “Seriously?” He straightened himself and glanced at the sidewalk leading in that direction. The park was a regular hangout for us in high school. It boasted a fishing pond, a miniwaterfall, as well as a playground, and a baseball diamond.

  “Would you . . .” He looked down at his feet, suddenly unsure of himself.

  But I didn’t let him finish. I didn’t want the night to end, either.

  “Yes. I’d love to take a walk to the park,” I said. “If anything, to work off this food.”

  As we started down the street, he reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. My palm tingled from the contact. So I didn’t question it—just let my heart lead me.

  “Ella?” I sucked in a breath when Quinn traced his thumb along my palm.

  I peeked at him from beneath my eyelashes and reddened cheeks. “Yeah?” I wasn’t sure if he realized how his finger outlining my skin was affecting me. He seemed lost in deep thought.

  “Did . . . um,” he fumbled, hesitant to ask. “Did your brother Christopher used to play video games, too?”

  “A little,” I said. “He liked solo games more, like Skyrim.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s just . . . your family seems so tight. So I found myself wondering where he fit in.”

  “I think about that all the time. I mean, he and I were close, definitely. But there was this other side to him that he kept hidden,” I said. “That’s . . . that’s the only way to describe it. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I get what you mean,” he said, and I realized that Quinn probably shared that quality with Christopher. He kept things close to the cuff, whether he realized it or not. I wondered how much it would interfere with getting to know him, even as a friend. “So does that mean you, um . . . didn’t know . . . he was planning to do it?”

  “I definitely didn’t know. It’s probably one of those things that will haunt me for the rest of my life,” I said, and I felt his hand stiffen in mine. Maybe he had something he lamented, too. Or someone. “Guilt and regret are powerful things. But they can destroy your life. Somehow you have to learn to forgive yourself so you can move on.”

  Quinn stopped walking and turned to me. Sorrow laced his eyes. What was he thinking?

  “I’m sorry that this is a heavy conversation,” I said, concerned I had brought up some sort of painful memory for him.

  “No. I started it, remember?” he said, moving forward again. “So how is it that you . . . got past that?”

  “I got help. We all did. Grief groups, grief counseling, individual therapy.” It wasn’t something I was ashamed of. If I had been, how could I become a psychologist someday? It was part of being human. “I’m a pretty optimistic person, I’ll admit. One day it hit me that Christopher was somewhere looking down on us. And we were wasting all of this time. Always sad and quiet and crying. He must have been saying Move on already. So I did.”

  “That’s . . . impressive, really.” Quinn’s gaze was so intense, I had to look away.

  “Yeah, well. The pain never truly goes away, so you have to . . . file it away. And then get busy living your life.”

  He looked up to the sky, lost in deep thought, and then to the tops of the pines where the stars hung so low they were like the toppers of Christmas trees.

  I wanted to change the subject but I also wanted to ask him who was haunting him, too. I could see it in his eyes. But maybe he wasn’t ready to share it with me. For some people, it took time. I’d always been open about it, wanting to share, talk things through. I knew that it helped. But some people were more resistant.

  “So, here we are.” I motioned to the sign. “See how close it is?”

  As we walked through the park entrance and found the trail that led to the pond, I said, “Today wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  “Meeting your family?” We came upon the water’s edge and Quinn picked up a stone to skip along the water. “It was great, actually.”

  “I’m glad,” I said, letting out a breath.

  The pond was surrounded on all sides by tall pines lending to the feeling of privacy, outside of a couple of walkers across the way. I tossed a rock in the pond as well but could only hear its splash. The crickets chirped their nighttime lullabies and there was a gentle breeze in the air that did nothing to cool my heated skin.

  “My mom likes you,” I said, biting my lip. “I can tell.”

/>   “Yeah?” He turned to face me, his voice softening. “You think she can tell that I like her daughter?”

  My breath caught in the back of my throat. Something had shifted in the air between us. It was heavy and heated. Something so commanding I felt it down to my toes. My heart was thrashing so loudly against my chest, I was sure he could hear it.

  He moved closer than any two friends should rightfully stand and his spicy scent enveloped me. Oh Lord, if I didn’t get a taste of those full lips I would die on this very spot.

  Right this very instant.

  When I looked up into his face, his eyes had become hooded.

  Words were shouting inside my skull. And then they worked their way onto my lips. They were hanging there, dangling for dear life.

  Just take a chance, damn it. Take a gamble, Quinn.

  Kiss me and let’s find out what this magic is between us.

  But he’d been the one who’d held back that other night, so the ball was in his court.

  “It’s not just me who feels this, right?” Quinn mumbled. His fingers curled around my neck, his thumb mapping patterns in the hollow of my throat. “I’m not crazy?”

  The words that had been so readily available just moments before had flitted away on the wind. I’d wanted this moment for days. Weeks. Maybe even years.

  “There’s something here, Ella. Between us,” he whispered. His lips were a breath away and I momentarily shut my eyes to gain control of my erratic breathing.

  “I don’t know what this is or what the hell might happen,” he said, rubbing his finger along the edge of my earlobe. “But I do know one thing.”

  Still, I couldn’t move or even speak. I was motionless—hypnotized by his eyes, his lips, his words. Finally, my hands became unstuck and I slid them up his chest to his shoulders as he shuddered against my touch.

  “I know I need to put my mouth on those pretty lips and kiss you,” he said with so much conviction, it felt like a swarm of butterflies had been let loose in my stomach. “Do you know that, too?”

  His eyes now held me prisoner and all I could do was mouth the word Yes.

  Then his lips closed over mine and I hummed against their warmth. His hands shifted upward and clutched at my hair, essentially holding me captive.

  We stayed that way—lips joined, gazes locked, and breaths stolen. As if the world had stopped spinning while we branded the memory of each other’s mouths and eyes and hands.

  And then his tongue fluttered against my lips, demanding entrance, and I was lost.

  Entirely over-the-moon lost.

  He groaned as his tongue slid past my lips, filling my mouth so completely, as he explored every inch in a languid rhythm.

  And he tasted . . . God, he tasted like the best kind of dessert. Like banana cream pie and fried dough mixed together. As he caressed my tongue, my teeth, the roof of my mouth, I was sure the rush I felt had nothing to do with sugar.

  I slid my hands down his biceps to his waist and pushed firmly against him. I wanted to get as near as I could in case this was the first and last time I’d have this opportunity.

  He released my mouth and dragged his lips along my jaw and then down to my neck. I felt his hot tongue against my skin as he bit and licked his way to my ear.

  His hands slid down my back to cup my ass. “Damn it, Ella. You’re sexy as hell.” He hauled me tightly against him and my entire body thrummed. We fit so snugly together that I could feel his arousal pulsing against my stomach.

  I couldn’t help the noise that erupted from the back of my throat.

  He paused in his perusal of my neck and looked up at me, his eyes dark. So damn dark.

  “You drive me insane when you make that sound.” Then his lips crashed against mine, hard and insistent, as my fingers clawed at his shoulders. His wet tongue probed the seam of my lips and I parted them so he could deepen the kiss.

  His hands released my ass and slid back up to my hair. “Did you even realize what you were doing to me that night in the bathroom?”

  He pulled my bottom lip into his mouth and sucked it hungrily as I whimpered against him. “Ella, you make me fucking crazy.”

  Then he gave me a melting kiss, his tongue slowing us down to its drugging rhythm.

  And this kiss. This one.

  It made me swoon so completely that I nearly turned liquid and slid onto the ground into a soggy mess. I knew we were in public but I didn’t even care.

  No guy had ever told me I was sexy. Made me feel this desirable.

  I was the sweet, cute, good girl.

  Never gorgeous. Beautiful. Sexy.

  But with Quinn, this reckless part of me had transformed into this vixen I had only ever dreamt of becoming. If he’d wanted to lay me down on the grass and rip off my clothes, I would have let him; that’s how incredibly turned on I’d become.

  But the saner part of me—the rational part—knew that we’d need to stop. Eventually. Before we put on an erotic show for the world to see.

  But for this singular, mesmerizing moment, as the moonlight filtered through the gleaming pine needles, I wanted—I needed—this final, toe-curling kiss.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Quinn

  “Suicide prevention line. This is Gabriella.”

  I tried finding my confident voice. “Gabby.”

  Even though I didn’t feel like driving headlong into a tree tonight, I still found it tough to dial this number. Gabby had sort of become a salvation for me, and for that I would be eternally grateful.

  “Daniel,” she said, her voice laced with worry. Maybe she thought I was holding a damn revolver to my head or something.

  “Hi.” I had driven out to the cliff again tonight and now sat perched along the edge.

  “Hi.” I heard her swallow. “How are you feeling tonight?”

  “That’s kind of why I’m calling.” This time as I looked down into the shadowy water below, I didn’t feel the urge to jump.

  “Okay,” she said. “Go for it. I’m here to listen.”

  “The last time we spoke, I told you what happened that night,” I said. “The night that changed my life. Changed a lot of people’s lives.”

  “Yes, of course. I remember,” she said and it sounded like she took a sip of something. Coffee, soda, water.

  I didn’t know anything about her. What she looked like, how old she was, where she lived. Only that she was this calming voice. This peaceful force that permitted me to spill my guts. Spill my soul. There was something about her that felt so familiar to me, but it may as well have been her gentle demeanor, her insightful advice that made me feel so comfortable.

  “I’ve been thinking about the power I held in my hands that night,” I said. “I mean, I shift my car one way, crash into a truck, and everybody’s world is turned upside down.”

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  “Powerless.” I took a deep breath. “It’s so crazy, but that’s exactly how I felt. Because of everything going on inside of me. And inside of the car.”

  There was a long silence as Gabby considered what I’d said.

  “You were just trying to get your friends home. And struggling to figure out how you felt about a certain girl. Typical stuff that happens in a teenager’s life,” she said. “See, Daniel. That’s why you’re a good person. You couldn’t help everything that happened; it was just an accident. You weren’t trying to mess with anybody’s life.”

  This time when she told me I was good, I didn’t even flinch. I didn’t try to fight it. I’d thought about it long and hard since the last time she’d told me the same thing.

  She paused and I heard her chair squeak as she adjusted herself. “If your best friend had been in the driver’s seat, how would it have gone differently?”

  “Maybe he would have had more control,” I said. “Of his emotions, of the car.”

  “You’d never know that for sure,” she said. “Even if someone appears to have it all together all the time, you can never
predict the other factors that come into play. Road conditions, state of mind, others drivers’ actions. Everything comes together to create those circumstances. That’s what makes life so mysterious, so fragile, so precious.”

  I thought about how many times I’d driven with Bastian when he’d had one too many. It was the exact reason why I’d started laying off the booze and become the designated driver. I was afraid he’d kill us. And instead, I’d been the one to kill him. And I wasn’t even drunk.

  “Is that what bothers you—the fact that you lost control of the car?” Gabby asked.

  “The uncertainty of what happened in that moment is probably what kills me the most.”

  “Uncertainty keeps a lot of people up at night,” she said. “Tell me what you mean.”

  “My passenger . . .”

  “The girlfriend.”

  “Yeah. She said that she noticed the truck veering close to our lane as we got on the freeway. So maybe it was my fault. I didn’t notice or react in time,” I said. “For days after she blamed me, screamed at me, that her boyfriend was dead.”

  “It’s natural for a person to direct his or her anger somewhere in a time of grief. Even you did that—you directed yours inward,” she said, and I realized how right she was.

  Still, I couldn’t tell her that my parents had paid off the truck driver, that he’d admitted his guilt, because it didn’t matter. I couldn’t believe any of that was true. “It all happened too fast. I got on the freeway, the truck was in the lane next to me, and we sideswiped each other.”

  “What else do you remember, Daniel?”

  “I remember seeing the truck in my peripheral view. But I also remember her fingers interlaced in mine and how that felt. And just being on automatic, driving along, and then boom,” I said as my stomach clenched and the tears loomed at the corners of my lashes, threatening to splash down my face. “The impact. Our heads swinging forward and the car spinning. Her screaming . . . hitting the guardrail and the sound of glass shattering . . . metal crunching.”

  My throat closed up and my voice became ragged as I tried to suck in air through my teeth.