“Is she in trouble?” Delilah asks, not seeming upset, just neutral.

“No…” He pauses, then picks up the phone and puts the receiver close to his mouth. “Look, here’s the deal, Delilah. Nova really needs to get ahold of this Quinton guy…in fact, it’s pretty important, and you seem to be the only person who has a direct connection to him, at least the only person that Nova knows. So what I was wondering is if you could either put him on the phone so she could talk to him or if you could let us know how to get ahold of him. If you could do either one of those things,” he says charmingly, “I would greatly, greatly appreciate it.”

Delilah pauses and I can hear banging in the background. “Fine, hold on…I’ll go see if he wants to talk to her.” It sounds like the phone is dropped on the other end, but then voices flow over the line.

Lea smacks Jaxon on the back of the head. “Really?” she hisses. “You called her beautiful.”

He shrugs, and then covers the receiver with his hand. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Lea sighs before she snatches the phone from Jaxon and tosses it to me and I lean forward to catch it. Then Lea gets to her feet and extends her hand to Jaxon. “Let’s give her some privacy.”

Jaxon takes her hand and she pulls him to his feet. Then they depart for the door with their fingers intertwined. “I’m just in the next room if you need anything,” Lea calls over her shoulder. I nod and they step out and shut the door behind them.

I let a slow exhalation ease out as my pulse slams against my wrist, neck, and chest. I’m actually going to talk to him. What the hell do I say? And what if I say something wrong? I start to panic and crave the solitude of counting, but I refuse to go there.

Never again.

I’m stronger than that.

Deep breaths.

Breathe.

Relax—

“Hello.” The sound of his voice stops my thoughts, my heart, my breath, as the feelings I felt during those couple of months slam straight into my heart like a shot of adrenaline. I can’t find my voice; I’m broken, soundless. Speak, dammit. Speak. “Delilah, who did you say this was?” I hear him say and it snaps me back to reality.

“It’s Nova,” I tell him tentatively. There’s a pause and I’d think that he’s hung up on me but I can hear chattering in the background. “Nova Reed, the girl you met a year ago.”

“I remember,” he says, not sounding happy at all, and it crushes almost all my hope, until he adds in a lighter tone, “Nova, like the car.”

“That would be the one.” I flop down on the bed on my back, searching my mind for the right words, but knowing that they probably don’t exist. That everything I say is probably going to sound awkward and might piss him off, but I’m going to have to just go with it if I’m going to go through with this. “I was just calling to see how you were.”

“I’m fine,” he replies in a formal tone.

“Umm…I hear you moved from Maple Grove.”

“Yeah…things got to be a little too intense there for some people, I guess, but me, I’ll live wherever.”

“Where are you living?” I wonder, brushing my finger across my tattoo. Never forget. Remember, move forward. Do things differently.

“Delilah didn’t tell you?” he asks.

“No, I didn’t even ask her.” I lie, because I did. A thousand times on her voice mail, but she never would answer or call back.

He gets quiet and I hear a door shut and the chattering quiets down. “We live in Vegas…her, Dylan, Tristan, and I…it’s kind of intense here, too, but I guess it works for everyone.”

“Vegas,” I say, a little shocked because that’s not what I was expecting. Honestly I don’t know what I was expecting, or if I really expected anything. I think part of me might have believed that I would never talk to him again. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he replies in a terse tone.

I force my tone to be cheerful, even though his irritation hurts. “Well, what do you do in Vegas?” I ask and then shake my head at myself. “I mean, does anyone work there…at all?” I smack my hand against my head. God, I sound like a rambling idiot.

“Sort of,” he replies, being evasive, and I think I know why. Because maybe they’re doing the same thing as at the concert—dealing drugs.

My heart starts to fracture as pressure builds in my chest and all I want to do is hang up and find something to count, but I keep going. “Are you drawing a lot?”

“Sometimes…I’ve actually drawn you a couple of times,” he says, and then the line goes silent. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? You can draw me if you want to.” I think I might mean it and it feels strange after spending all that time viewing it as cheating on Landon if anyone else ever drew me. When did I get to a place where I’m okay with it?

His quietness is maddening but then he speaks again and his voice is lighter. “So what have you been up to?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Not a whole lot. School. Work. I’ve been playing the drums again, too.”

“Really,” he says and I hear him flick a lighter. “You know, I never did get to see you play.”

“I know.” Memories flood me, like water, rising…rising…rising. I can hear, smell, feel the concert we were at a little less than a year ago. “But there’s still time. I could come visit you or you could come visit me.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, his mood instantly deflating, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. “Look, Nova, I got to go. Tristan needs my help with something.”

“Hold on a second.” I quickly sit up, not ready to stop the conversation. I haven’t even accomplished anything yet, talked to him enough, saved him. God dammit, what the hell am I supposed to say? What is the right thing to say? “I’ve actually been wanting to use that video clip you made for a project I’m working on…the one you made in the tent when we were at the concert. I know it’s sort of personal and everything, so I won’t use it unless you say it’s okay.” I’m getting desperate to keep him on the phone, keep hearing his voice.

He pauses, but only for a second or two. “I really don’t care if you do, Nova. So much has happened between then and now that I can barely even remember what I said on it.”

My chest aches and I ball up my fist and massage my hand over it, seeking relief but not getting any. “Thanks, but I also need you to sign a release. My professor won’t let me use the clip unless I have one from each of the people in the video.”

“Okay…how do I sign the form?”

“Can I mail it to you?” I ask, reaching for a pen and paper on the nightstand, feeling like a real as**ole for not telling him my ulterior motive for getting his address.

“Sure,” he responds, then he tells me the address and I jot it down. As I set the pen and paper down on the bed, I hear someone say something in the background about getting a move on. “Look, Nova, it’s been great talking to you, but I have to go.”

I’m afraid to let him go, cut the connection, not know he’s okay, but I know that I have to. “Okay, I understand.”

I wait for him to hang up, but then he says, “Are you okay?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m just worried about you and I have no idea how to go about this. I have no idea what I’m doing.

“Are you sure?” he asks again and I remember all the times last summer when he asked the same thing.

“Yeah, but it’s been really nice talking to you.” I open my eyes, trying to think of something epic to say, but I just can’t get there. “Would it be okay if I called you again?”

He wavers. “I guess, but I don’t have a phone.”

“That’s okay…I can call Delilah’s. Just make sure to mention to her that you want to talk to me the next time I call or else I don’t think she’ll let me talk to you.”

“Okay, I will,” he says, but I don’t think he means it. “Take care of yourself, Nova.”

“I will.” I feel like a part of my heart has died the moment he hangs up the phone. The line goes dead and it reminds me of the sound of a flat line after a heart stops beating, desperate to be revived. And I want to do that for him. Help him. Revive him.

I feel so helpless, just like I did with Landon.

I know I have to do something, but I’m not sure what exactly. What way is the right way or if there even is a right way. This isn’t some story or fairy tale where I’ll set out on this mission to save someone and after a long, exhausting battle we’ll reach our happily ever after. I actually don’t believe in happily ever afters. They’re sappy in my opinion and super unrealistic.

But what I do believe in is not giving up on something that I feel passionate about. And I feel passionate about helping people. I’ve been doing it on the phone for months now, at the suicide hotline I work at. I talk with people. I try to help them see that they’re not alone. That there are other people in the world who have felt the same way and they’ve survived.

That things may seem really shitty sometimes, dark, bleak, and hopeless, like being stuck in a dark hole with no light, and no hope of ever getting out. But that’s never the case. There is hope. There is light. There is a way to get back to a life where you can smile and laugh and feel weightless. No, it’s not easy, and the hardest part is actually seeing it from that angle, but it exists. I know this for a fact, because I’ve been in that dark place where smiling seems so hard and giving up seems so easy and now I smile every day and it’s the lightest feeling.

Maybe it’s because I understand this that I do what I do next. Maybe it’s because I can smile and see the light—see that hope exists for Quinton. Or maybe it’s because I want to save him, like I couldn’t save Landon or even my dad. For whatever reason, I march out to the living room where Lea and Jaxon are sitting on the sofa and say four words that change the entire course of my summer.

“I’m going to Vegas,” I announce and my voice quivers and pours out all my nervousness in it. I feel nauseous and like I’m going to pass out, which makes the situation even realer. “Now who wants to come with me?” It’s a desperate measure, but I’m desperate and it’s the only thing I can think of to do.

Lea glances at Jaxon, who looks completely lost. “Vegas?” he questions. He’s got his arm draped around her, but he looks tense. “Really?”

I nod, collecting my bag and laptop off the sofa. “I got his address and he’s living in Vegas, so that’s where I’m going…as soon as I get the rest of the apartment packed up and my finals turned in, I’m hitting the road.”

“Nova…” Lea struggles with something to say as Jaxon moves his arm away from her. “I know you want to help people, but this isn’t like working on the suicide hotline. It’s more complicated…and maybe even dangerous.”

“More complicated than helping Quinton realize life’s worth living?” I inquire, hugging my laptop to my chest.

“Yeah, because you’re going to be doing it in the crazy world Quinton is now living in,” she states with apprehension, scooting forward on the sofa. “And that’s not the same as doing it from the safety of a hotline.”

“Lea, I’m doing this,” I say determinedly. “I need to do this, not just to help Quinton, but for myself…this could be my second chance.”

I’ve talked to Lea enough that she gets what I’m saying. Plus, she knows what it’s like to lose someone, so she might even understand the need to save people from themselves.

Lea looks at Jaxon again and then gets to her feet and walks over to me. “Nova, I know you want to save him and everything, but do you really think you can without, you know”—she leans in and lowers her voice—“getting back into drugs yourself?”

I drape the handle of my bag over my shoulder. “Lea, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t think I could…and when I got better, I made a promise to myself that I would never, ever again live with regrets.” I tap my finger against the inside of her wrist, across her tattoo. “No regrets, right?” I don’t tell her about the other part—how I want to help him because I wasn’t able to save Landon or my dad—because I’m not sure what she’d say.

Her stressed expression softens. “All right, but I’m coming with you to keep an eye on you.” She raises her pinkie. “And you have to swear that if I tell you that you’re getting in over your head, you’ll listen and back off.”

“Lea, you don’t have to—”

She cuts me off, waving her pinkie at me. “I want to. Besides, I have relatives in Vegas that we can probably stay with.”

As much as I don’t like her sacrificing anything for me, I know accepting is the right thing to do. I’m going to need help and I do want her to come with me.

“Okay then.” I hook pinkies with her. “I promise, but are you sure you can come with me? What about Wyoming?” I lower my voice, leaning in, worried I’m going to cause a fight between her and Jaxon. “Or Illinois.”

She sighs, then unhooks her pinkie from mine and turns to Jaxon. “How about we make a compromise and go to Vegas for the summer?”