Page 10 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

“We won’t judge you.” Quentin and I didn’t care about the same stuff other eighteen-year-olds cared about.

Or anyone, for that matter. We did what we wanted, lived how we wanted to live.

Maybe that was why we felt drawn to Elliott.

He didn’t come off as conventional or self-righteous, even if he did pray.

He seemed innocent, afraid of the world around him.

He’d need someone to look out for him because people could be mean.

“And we won’t say anything to anyone about it. Promise.”

Elliott chewed on his bottom lip, staring at the dress with obvious indecision. I was about to insist again, but he squeezed his eyes shut and reached for it. The pain in his expression evaporated as soon as he pulled the dress to his chest.

“It’s gonna look great on you,” I rasped, feeling like I’d just taken the first step in dealing with my mother’s death. The first step in letting go. “It matches your eyes.”

Elliott held it against him by the thin straps, peering down at himself.

“Go put it on. I’m sure,” I promised when he angled his head at me. He made his way to the bathroom, holding my stare until he’d closed the door. I let my smile fall then, preparing myself to see him in it. My mother had never worn it, but it still belonged to her. Now it belonged to Elliott.

I stood there speechless when he crept back to the sitting area. He was taller than my mother, so it didn’t drag on the floor.

“You look great.” I cleared my throat as Elliott blinked away his tears.

There was so much I wanted to ask him, so much I needed to know.

Like, why did he seem so sad? Why didn’t he have any friends?

And why did he seem more comfortable now than he had a few minutes ago?

But this was the first time he didn’t seem ready to bolt, so I kept my questions to myself.

“Thank you.” His voice sounded so small.

“How about I show you that Tolkien collection now?” I rubbed my hands together in excitement, pulling a half-smile out of him.

I was exhausted after going through each title on the wall-to-wall bookshelf, explaining how much they all meant to me. It wasn’t often that I got to geek out about this stuff, and Elliott seemed excited to listen.

“There’s a library with more books on the other side of the house. These are just the ones I read most often. I go to the public library sometimes. It’s important to support our local libraries—and bookstores.”

“How often do you read them?” Elliott pulled a book from its shelf.

“Well, it’s summer break, so I can get through a book a day, if Quentin lets me.

He gets restless after watching me read for a while.

Sometimes he’ll work out or do football-related stuff in the backyard.

It’s only a matter of time before he begs me to take a break, though.

” Sometimes I read longer than I wanted to on purpose, just so he could force me to stop.

“ Throne of Glass ,” I read, peering down at the book he held. “Are you a Maasassin?”

“What’s that?” He scrunched up his nose.

“That’s what Sarah J. Maas fans call themselves.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never heard of her.”

“What planet have you been on?” My laughter died at his serious expression.

“Sorry. Give her a shot, but you’ll want to start…

” I trailed off, scanning the shelves, “…here.” I handed him The Assassin’s Blade .

“It’s a collection of novellas. You technically don’t need to read it first, but I recommend you do. ”

Elliott opened the book to the first page, reading as he strolled over to the couch. I grabbed a book of my own and met him over there.

“Sometimes Quentin and I sit back-to-back while I read, and he watches ESPN on his phone.” It made us feel connected when our attention was on something other than each other. “Wanna try it?”

“Um, is that appropriate?”

I shrugged. “Why not?” Granted, Quentin and I weren’t exactly the poster kids for what was and wasn’t appropriate, but this seemed harmless enough to me. “Only if you want to, though.”

Elliott looked me up and down before inspecting himself, as though he needed to be sure we were both clothed.

He nodded, lowering slowly onto the couch as I plopped down.

I turned first, facing away from him and stretching my legs out in front of me.

A few minutes later, I felt his stiff back lining up with mine, his soft hair brushing my neck.

I started reading, not wanting to draw attention to our position and how uncomfortable he seemed.

About five chapters into my book, Elliott relaxed, his spine curving as he fully leaned his weight into me.

I smiled as my chest warmed, then picked up where I’d left off.

As we became engrossed, our breathing synced, our shoulders rising and falling at the same time.

More than two hours passed before he popped our silent reading bubble.

“My aunt has a cottage about five hours from here. Well, she just sold it. I guess she realized she hates noise, so that’s where we were for the past week while things got finished with the new house.”

“Oh.” The answer to the question I’d asked earlier came out of nowhere, but it felt like the start of something. A warm-up, maybe. I quietly closed the book and waited.

“What does it mean to have a friend?” he whispered.

I wanted to turn to him, wanted to see the truth on his face when I asked if he’d never had a friend before. He’d said he didn’t have any, but I thought that meant now, not ever .

I was too scared to look his way, though. Scared I’d ruin whatever mood he was in by making him face me.

The truth was, I’d never had a friend either, not really. When I was young, I moved around too much to keep any, and then I met Quentin and didn’t need any after that.

Did Elliott at least have siblings? Someone who he felt so close to that the word “friend” didn’t feel big enough? Someone loyal who loved him for him?

Quentin and I were that for each other, so I based my answer on how I felt about him.

“It means having someone who’ll be there for you when you need them.

Someone who lets you be yourself, who cares about you no matter what mood you’re in.

Someone who chooses you, always. A friend will have your back.

” I leaned into him more, emphasizing the point.

“And they’ll keep dresses on hand for when you need them.

” I glanced over my shoulder to see if my joke landed, but I couldn’t see his face.

I couldn’t resist asking, no matter how hard I tried. “Do you not have friends because you left them behind when you moved here with your aunt?” Five hours isn’t that far away, but I could see how it might be hard to keep up long-distance friendships.

“It’s because I was homeschooled.”

“By your aunt?”

“No…” he hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. “By my mother.”

“Elliott, can I ask you something that might make you upset? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I blurted when his back went stiff again.

“O-okay,” he answered but didn’t loosen up.

“You said you don’t remember how your parents died… What about your aunt? Couldn’t she tell you?” It was an excruciating wait before he replied in a voice even smaller than the one he used to thank me for the dress.

“Maybe. Or maybe she won’t because she blames me for whatever reason. Or maybe she loves me and doesn’t want to see me hurt.”

Something about the way he’d presented those options made my stomach lurch. He’d said the first as if afraid of it, and the second with a sad type of hope. “Which do you think it is?” I breathed, my hands tightening on my book.

I heard a page turn, signaling the end of our conversation. I wanted to beg him to answer me, not to leave me hanging. I wouldn’t push him, though. He’d already said more than I thought he would.

I went back to reading, having to go over several passages twice because my thoughts kept carrying me away. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his voice reached my ears.

“My aunt Amelia never loved anyone.” His broken tone cracked something inside of me.