by Eli Lang
“I didn’t want to leave him. I . . .” I sighed. God, I was tired. I hadn’t realized I could be more exhausted than before, but having emotions was draining. “I proved that too, didn’t I? That I’d leave again, tonight. I mean, he was the one who made me go, but the whole conversation, everything I said . . . I panicked. And I didn’t know how to tell him.”
“Did you actually want to tell him? Or did you want to run?”
I shot them a sharp glare. “You’re disturbingly perceptive. Anyone ever tell you that?”
They smiled. “A few people. Gets me in trouble.”
“So what do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t know. Not this. I don’t want it . . . to be like this.”
They pushed themselves up and stood over me. “Then talk to him. Just . . . talk. It’s not a promise of anything. It’s only a conversation.”
I sank down further on the couch. “What if he doesn’t want to talk?”
They shrugged. “That’s his right. But I think he will. Maybe let him have a few days, first.” They walked over to the lamp and flicked it off. I didn’t know how they could see in the dark, but they didn’t seem to have a problem. “Now get some rest. Talking won’t do any good if you turn your brain to mush from lack of sleep.”
They left without another word—and without bumping into anything. I didn’t think, until after they’d gone, to wonder why they were here, at the studio, instead of in their own house. I pushed it from my mind for the moment and closed my eyes and, although I thought it might still be impossible, drifted off to sleep.
When Nick arrived the next morning for recording, he avoided me. We all had lunch together that afternoon, like we’d been doing most days, and Nick sat at the other end of the room and seemed like he was trying not to look at me. Bellamy kept shooting me glances, looking back and forth between the two of us with his eyebrows raised. I just shook my head. I’d tell him everything later, maybe. When it made more sense to me.
Nicky could have seemed petulant, childlike, and I could have felt worn down by how upset he was. But I kept thinking about what Ty had told me the night before. How I probably wasn’t the only one who was scared. How I wasn’t the only one protecting myself from being hurt. And instead of feeling guilty, or angry, I was sad I’d been the cause of that. That somehow, Nicky and I, two people who seemed to genuinely like each other, had managed to hurt each other so much.
I wanted to talk to him. And I didn’t. I didn’t know where to start, or what to say. Rest in Peach wasn’t going to be in the studio much longer, so this was my chance to be in the same place as Nick, and I needed to take it. But I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t know what to say that would reassure either one of us. And frankly, I still wasn’t convinced that I was capable of caring for someone, of starting a relationship, despite what Ty and I had talked about.
Ava solved it for me, like she’d been solving my problems all week. After lunch, everyone drifted away in little groups, and I stood up to . . . do something. I still wasn’t sure what. Ava caught me in the hallway and pulled me aside.
I looked back to the kitchen, where Cara, who had flown in yesterday, was still sitting at the table. I’d said hello to her, but I’d been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to be much company.
“Don’t you want to be with Cara?” I asked, hoping to escape or something.
Ava ignored me. “What’s going on with you and Nick?”
I shrugged and rubbed the back of my neck. “We had a fight, I guess.”
“You guess? Over what?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Over what we talked about, you and me?”
“Sort of?”
“Jesus, Quinn.” She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, making her bangs stand up. “I didn’t think you were going to take what I said and use it to break up with him.”
“I didn’t! I . . . You were right, about it being a big responsibility. Not only Josh, but Nicky. And thinking carefully about whether I wanted to do that and everything.”
“I was thinking about myself.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t . . . Yeah, it is a big responsibility, and yeah, it is a big decision, even at the beginning of a relationship, but god, you’re made for that. You take care of all of us, and you’re good at it. And I think it makes you happy. I hope it does. Because you make all of us feel safe, all the time. You’re our rock.”
My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. I liked it when Ava was blunt, because I couldn’t misconstrue what she was saying. But it meant when she said something like that, something that good, I had to believe it.
“Nick and Josh would be lucky to have you in their lives. Whether or not it works out between you and Nick in the end. And I know you, despite how fucking hard you work to keep yourself all bundled up inside. You’d be lucky to have them too, both of them, and you’d love it.” She lowered her voice. “You’ll love him and his kid. I can see it in your eyes when you talk about it, so don’t bother telling me I’m wrong. Maybe it’s not love yet, but I think it could be, if you give it time.”
I closed my eyes so she couldn’t read anything else there, but I answered her with the truth anyway. “You’re not wrong.”
She shook her head at me, as if I was absolutely exasperating. “Then why aren’t you trying to apologize to him right now? Or talk to him?”
I wanted to joke and ask her what made her think I was the one who needed to apologize, but I couldn’t do it.
I didn’t answer her question, either. “I didn’t think . . . you needed me anymore. You or Bellamy or Tuck or Micah.”
Her brow scrunched up into a confused frown. “You mean, like, as our manager? Because we’re definitely not firing you.”
I shook my head. “No. I mean, I didn’t think . . . I thought you had other people to take care of you now.” I couldn’t stop repeating, over and over in my mind, what she’d said. “You’re our rock.”
“Quinn.” Her voice sounded like it was about to fracture. She glanced into the kitchen, then grabbed my arm and tugged me farther down the hall, so we were completely out of sight. “Why would you think that?” she asked, her tone lower. She was standing closer to me too, so I could feel her breath on my chin when she stared up at me.
“Because.” I ran my hand over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose, giving myself time to think. “It’s just that I’ve been seeing all of you, all together here, and I’ve been thinking about Eric, and how much I fucked that up. And I’m okay, I really am. But Micah’s moving on, and Bellamy doesn’t need me to calm him down anymore, because he’s got Micah, and you went and found Cara, and Tuck and Lissa are so attached there’s no space between them . . .” I trailed off, because Ava had a horrified expression on her face, her mouth hanging open. “I’m happy for you,” I added quickly. “I’m so happy, and I’m not jealous, I’m not. I’m just . . .”
Her face softened. “Feeling left out?”
I sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”
She ran her hand up and down my arm, soothing me. “We’re all being idiots because we’re new in love and stuff.” She made a face at her own phrasing, but then she shrugged. “Well, except Tuck and Lissa. They’re gooey all the time. But I know you know how that is.”
“I do. That’s why I said I’m not jealous. I’m not.”
“It doesn’t mean you can’t feel left out, though. I’m sorry we did that to you.”
I raised my hand. “No, oh my god, don’t be sorry. That’s not what I wanted at all.”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “Well, I am.”
“It’s not even that I feel left out. I don’t. You all always make a place for me. It’s that I feel like you don’t need me as much anymore. Because you don’t.” And I couldn’t help but think that had something to do with how I’d failed Eric. If I’d failed him, had I failed the band too? Had I always been bad at this? I didn’t know. But I didn’t know who I was when I wasn’t taking ca
re of people, either. So I was caught between wanting to do that, and knowing it might all be false.
Ava was shaking her head at me though. “We have other people in our lives now. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need you, Quinn. We always need you. Not as a roadie, either. Not only, not by a long shot.”
I frowned and opened my mouth, getting ready to argue or something, but she stopped me.
“Do you think Bellamy and Tuck and I weren’t taking care of each other before you came along?”
“I . . .” I didn’t know how to answer. It was so simple, but I hadn’t actually ever thought about it.
“We were, because we’re friends. I know, it’s super fucking cheesy, but that’s, you know, what friends do.” She shrugged. A pink blush rose over her cheeks and up her neck. “We need you because you’re our friend. That’s never going to change.”
I was all choked up again. God, this was getting embarrassing already. Ava whapped me on the arm affectionately, and for a minute we just stood there together and tried to get ourselves under control.
“For the record,” she said at last, “you’re super fucking good at taking care of the band. And you’re really good at taking care of people. Maybe you messed up with Eric. I don’t know. But you’ve never messed up with anyone else. And I wouldn’t want anyone else but you.”
It should have stung unbelievably, to hear her admit that I might actually have messed up with Eric. To have her confirm my worst fears. But it was the opposite. It was like a giant rush of relief. Maybe I had done things wrong. Maybe I should have tried harder. But Ava still loved me, and she still wanted me. Escaping Indigo, Micah, they still wanted me. I might have fucked up, or I might not have. But maybe it didn’t make all the ways I cared about people a lie.
“Thank you,” I said, sincerely, and she gave me an awkward one-armed hug.
“I’m not really cut out for these heart-to-hearts,” she said dryly, and I laughed.
“You do just fine.”
She looked up at me. “So what are you going to do about Nicky, then?”
Oh god, that was right. This conversation had been about Nick, before I’d made it about everything else. “I don’t know.”
“But you do want to be with him, right?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I do. But I . . . I’m scared.”
She poked me on the shoulder, startling me. “Everybody’s scared. No one goes into a relationship thinking it’s going to be easy. It won’t be. But it’ll be worth it.” She turned and glanced back toward the kitchen, where Cara was sitting. “Don’t fuck it up. I know how easy that is to do. Don’t let it get too bad. Go get him now while you still can.”
Getting Nicky alone was easier said than done, though, and I didn’t actually think he was actively avoiding me. But Rest in Peach was all jazzed about being nearly done recording, and Escaping Indigo and Ben and everybody else in the studio were riding the excitement. Nick was in the studio all day, and there wasn’t a chance for me to talk to him. Then we ordered pizza for dinner—from a super posh place, because this was LA, but certainly none of us were actually too posh for pizza itself—and we crowded back into the kitchen and living room at Ben’s, and everybody talked at once. It wasn’t the place for a conversation like the one I imagined I was going to have to have with Nick.
I wandered out onto the back balcony instead of trying to get his attention anymore right then. I’d been planning to come out here since we’d arrived, but I never had. Now I wondered why I’d spent any time moping in my room or down in the studio, when this was obviously a much better place for melodramatic self-contemplation. It looked out over the small, vibrantly green backyard—which was really more the side of a hill than anything—and the neighborhood, down to where the houses started to turn into businesses, and the foot traffic got heavier. It would be easy to fall in love with a place like this. So self-contained and alive and in the middle of things, all at once.
I was disappointed I hadn’t found a way to talk to Nick. I hadn’t really asked, truth be told. I just couldn’t make myself. Not in front of everyone like that. Not when he had every reason to refuse me. I figured I’d try again in a little while, when everyone was more settled and calming down. Or, if that didn’t work, I’d try to find a moment when he was by himself tomorrow, or if I couldn’t, maybe I’d go really dramatic and show up on his doorstep tomorrow evening after recording. Although that was probably a step too far. I’d have died if anyone did that to me. But Nicky would probably like the flair in it. The obvious display of emotion. And I would do it for him, if it was what he needed.
But I didn’t have to, because a few minutes after I’d stepped out onto the balcony, the sliding door opened again, the soft whoosh of the glass sliding in its tracks making me turn around, and Nick was there. He paused and shut the door behind him, but he did it by feel, never letting me out of his sight. Then he stepped forward to where I was standing off to the side, so no one inside the house could see me.
“I can go.” I wanted to slap myself. I’d gotten the privacy to talk to him, and I was offering to leave.
He shook his head. He had a beer in his hand, and he rolled it between his palms while he stared at me. Then he shook his head again, like he was deciding something. “No, I’ll go.”
I reached out without thinking as he turned, and caught his arm. “Don’t. Please.”
For a long second, he didn’t turn, and I figured he’d slip out of my hold and walk back through the door. It hadn’t struck me, until right this moment, when he stood between leaving and listening to me, how very much I needed him. How very much I wanted to be with him, how much I wanted to apologize, for all of it. I’d known. But I hadn’t realized how much. I hadn’t realized how important he’d become. Not a fling—not that I’d ever thought of him that way. Not a right now type of friend. Nick was someone I wanted in my life always, if I could get that. I wanted him near me as long as I could get. And I wanted to tell him I regretted every single time I’d messed up what was between us.
I held my breath until he faced me again. It was a weight inside me, as if I’d crammed all my worries and fears and wants into that single lungful of air.
It only took him a step to get to the balcony’s railing, to stand beside me. He set his drink down at his feet and leaned forward, elbows resting on the wrought iron railing.
“What was it you wanted, Quinn?”
God, I couldn’t even speak. Now I had him here, he was willing to listen to me, and I couldn’t make words come out.
“I talked to Ty,” I blurted out. “And Ava.”
He stared out over the lawn. “And what did they say?” he asked, his voice easy, unconcerned. I saw the tightness in his shoulders, though, the tension he held just under his skin.
“Ty said . . .” I wasn’t sure if I should admit this or not, but I’d already gotten into it. “Ty said you were probably as scared as me. And Ava . . .” I didn’t know why this was still so hard. “Ava said she needed me. That I . . . that I take care of her and the band. And that I would be good at taking care of you.”
He nodded, the movement quick and sharp. He didn’t look at me. “Is that what you want? To take care of me?”
I shuddered out a breath and went for broke. “I want us to take care of each other.”
He was quiet for so long after that, I thought about leaving again. If I slipped away, this could be over, this painful awkwardness and embarrassment and hurt ended. But I didn’t want that. Nicky had told me, that night we went out to dinner, and before, that he’d wished he’d had some kind of end to what was between us. A marker, maybe. A way to see it was finished. I didn’t want us to be finished. Not now, not anytime in the future. But if that was what was happening, if what we had was ending, then I wanted . . . I wanted a resolution to this too. I wanted to see it out, all the way until the end. I didn’t want to have the same regrets. So I stayed, standing next to him, and I didn’t say a thing.
“I talked to Ty today too,” he said at last, his voice pitched low and soft. “They told me they talked to you. They told me . . . some of what you talked about.”
I swallowed hard. I wished I’d brought my own drink out, so I could have something to do with my hands. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m so sorry.”
He twisted so he faced me, finally. “Why didn’t you explain that to me? About . . . feeling guilty about your brother, and worrying about not being able to take care of people? About being scared about . . . us? About being scared of letting me down?” His tone was somewhere between accusatory and . . . not quite guilty, but maybe sad.
“Why did you agree to any of this if you only wanted a couple of weeks?” I tossed back. “Why did you start this back up again if you were afraid of what would happen at the end?”
“Because I missed you,” he snapped. He looked away again. “I wanted you.” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “But I missed you too. And seeing you again, being near you, it reminded me of how much I liked being with you.” He glanced up at me, then away. “You didn’t want this to go on more than a few weeks, either.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true. I always did. I just didn’t think I could.”
“You thought it would be better to protect me by leaving again?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know, Nick. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m still not.” I sighed. “This isn’t what I wanted to say. I don’t want to be . . . I don’t want to be defensive. I want to apologize. What I want to say is, I messed up. Now, and before. Last time. And I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
His mouth opened, like he wanted to argue or respond somehow, but then he pressed his lips together.