Page 11 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

A heavy palm closed over my mouth, waking me with a start. Quentin knelt in front of me, gesturing for me to be quiet. He let his hand fall away, looking over at Elliott’s sleeping form.

I couldn’t remember when we’d decided to take a break from reading to nap. My book rested on its side on the floor, as if it had fallen from my hand. Elliott’s book rested next to it. Maybe we hadn’t consciously decided anything.

I scooted to the edge of the cushion to wrap my arms around Quentin. He hugged me tight enough to crack ribs. “Ew, you stink.” I pulled back. “And what took you so long?”

“Camp ran over,” he whispered, then flashed me a cocky grin. “The Wembly scouts couldn’t get enough of me. Plus, Coach made me stick around for a lecture on the importance of being on time. I mean, doesn’t he know the star player has to make a grand entrance?”

I rolled my eyes at him, surprised they hadn’t gotten stuck at the back of my head at this point.

“I skipped the shower to hurry home, though. I called and texted you.”

I looked around but didn’t spot my phone.

“You always have your phone near you when I’m not around,” Quentin said softly.

“Don’t be jealous. It’s probably in the kitchen. Our hands were full of food.”

“Did your pockets stop working?” He glanced at Elliott, then frowned down at me. “You gave him one of your mother’s dresses?”

“I’ll let you wear one of her dresses too.” I swallowed my laugh when he frowned harder.

“They won’t fit.”

“I wasn’t serious.” I chuckled. “You can be so cute sometimes.” I threw my arms around him again, hugging him just as tight as he’d hugged me a second ago. It didn’t take much to make him happy again. A little affection always did the trick.

“Come shower with me,” he said a little too loudly.

I pinched his mouth shut, eyes flying to Elliott. He’d rolled onto his back, blinking up at us drowsily. He wore that curious expression again. I realized I was still wrapped around Quentin. I dropped my arms, sliding back from the edge of the couch.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” Quentin gave him a playful wink. Had he heard Quentin ask me to shower with him? Was that what woke him?

Quentin, always the one to speak without thinking or being self-conscious, asked, “Wanna come shower with us too?”

Elliott scrambled back into the arm of the couch.

“Quentin,” I gasped, shoving his shoulder.

“What? Too soon?”

“Yes.” I laughed at his innocent expression.

Quentin could be a brute and a bit clueless about the in-between emotions—all the stuff between anger and happiness.

Like confusion, shyness, and fear, to name a few.

He also sucked at understanding the importance of personal space.

I couldn’t blame him for that one. It wasn’t something we practiced with one another.

I found it endearing, but Elliott would need to warm up to his antics.

We never had playdates as kids or peer groups as teenagers. We interacted with other people only when necessary. It was more important for Quentin because he played football, but his teammates were used to him doing his job on the field and being antisocial when off.

I had a higher emotional IQ than Quentin, but I think that came from how voraciously I read and how diverse the topics and genres I read were.

Quentin read only when he had to. He preferred roughhousing and other physical pursuits. He observed people only long enough to determine whether they were a threat to our relationship.

“Sorry,” he murmured to Elliott, his smile as soft as his green gaze. “My toxic trait is thinking I’m funny when I’m really just being obnoxious.”

Maybe his puppy-dog eyes worked on Elliott, too, because his shoulders lowered as he whispered, “It’s okay.”

“Er, that dress looks pretty on you,” Quentin said, taking a stab at saying something less inappropriate.

“Thanks.” Elliott blushed, smoothing a hand over the ruched bodice.

“You look pretty.” Clearly, Quentin didn’t know when to quit. I inwardly groaned when he followed that up with, “I mean not like a pretty girl or anything. Wait, are you a girl? I mean, what are your pronouns?”

“Would you stop it? You’re overwhelming him.” I turned to Elliott. “Wait, what are your pronouns?” I hadn’t thought to ask.

“What do you mean?” Elliott looked between us.

“You know,” Quentin started, “he/him, she/her, they/them, she/them…”

“I’m a boy.” Elliott sounded panicked.

“That’s fine,” I assured him. “Whatever you see yourself as is fine.”

“I’m male.”

Quentin jumped in as if he hadn’t picked up on the tension. “Well, you can still be our pretty girl.” He smirked at me when I sighed in exasperation. “What? It suits him.”

I rolled my eyes, but Elliott hadn’t disagreed. I glanced over to find him blushing, hard.

“I should go.” He looked around for his things. “My aunt is probably wondering where I am.”

“Can’t she call you?” I asked, heading to the chair near the bookshelves for his clothes.

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Why not?” Quentin asked.

Elliott shrugged. “I never needed one.”

That seemed odd, but thankfully Quentin let it go. Elliott took his folded pants and T-shirt from me.

“Well, since it looks like I’ll be showering alone, I’ll go get started. See you later, pretty girl.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he only calls you that when we’re alone.”

I thought he’d say he didn’t want Quentin calling him that at all, but Elliott nodded.

Sleeping on the couch made one side of his hair crinkly, and his eyes didn’t sparkle as much, like maybe he was still tired. He was beautiful. The type of beautiful that made you stare too long. I averted my gaze, not wanting to weird him out.

“You can change in the closet since Quentin took over the bathroom. He’ll be in there for a while.”

Elliott headed that way, and I blew out a breath, falling onto the couch to wait for him. Enough time passed that I started to get worried he’d gotten lost in there.

“Elliott?” I tapped lightly on the closet door.

“Come in.”

He stood on the side of the huge closet reserved for some of my mother’s things, eyeing a pink camisole. A look of shy admiration covered his face.

“Maybe you can wear this out with us one day. If you still want anything to do with us after the show Quentin put on.” I hoped my comment would get a favorable response from him.

“Where would we go?”

I sagged in relief. Quentin hadn’t scared him off.

“Good question. That’s a little too fancy for the pizza shop. Maybe a nice dinner somewhere before school starts again?” It occurred to me I didn’t know his age, or even if he’d be attending Locklier High in the fall. Maybe his aunt would hire someone to continue homeschooling him.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh.” A year younger than Quentin and me. “Are you enrolling in an actual school this fall?”

“Yeah, Locklier High.”

“Nice. Quentin and I go there. We’ll be seniors. We blew off most of freshman year, so we’re behind.”

“I’ll be a senior too. I’ve had to keep up with my studies on my own for some months now, but I passed all the required testing.”

I didn’t care how eager my goofy smile made me seem. I was too excited to hold back.

“A lot of the kids are entitled pricks, but it’s the best school in the state, and the football team is superior. Hopefully, we’ll end up in the same classes.”

“I’d like that… having classes with you.” He’d singled me out, and my smile fell a little. Maybe he hadn’t realized “we’ll” included Quentin too.

“Are you looking at colleges yet? We’re shooting for Wembly.”

“Wembly,” he said thoughtfully. “I think that’s in the stack of brochures I got. I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet.”

“Well, you should. Wembly’s very competitive. Early decision is the way to go,” I said, assuming—or hoping—he’d choose to go there.

Elliott nodded, glancing at the camisole again.

“You can wear it to school, if you want. No one will bother you once they know you’re our friend.

They’re all terrified of Quentin. They aren’t scared of him because he’s actually scary,” I said, feeling the need to explain.

“It’s just, well, he’s big, and protective of the people he cares about.

He’s really just a softy with bad comedic timing and no filter.

” I wanted to be Elliott’s friend. He seemed just as lost as we were deep down.

Like maybe the universe hadn’t been fair to him either.

But in order for it to work, he’d need to be Quentin’s friend too.

“Is…” He shifted on his feet. “Are there a lot of people like you in the world?”

“Like me? What do you mean?”

“Nice,” he replied, surprising me. “Are there a lot of nice people in the world?”

I didn’t give myself much time to feel flattered by his compliment because something about his question stuck out way more. “You say it like you haven’t lived in the world before.”

Something worse than fear flashed in his bright blue eyes, and he took one of his infamous steps back. His shoulder brushed against the dress I’d lent him. He’d hung it back up for me. “I should really go now.” He carved a wide path around me to head for the closet door.

“Wait.” I reached for his arm, but he snatched it away. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever. “Let me at least walk you out.”

He nodded, leading the way.

“You think we’re strange,” I said once we’d gotten to the back door. The woods through the backyard were the quickest route to his house. “You think we’re too close.”

Elliott stared into the trees. “I’ve never had a friend or a brother,” he said after some thought. “How would I know how you’re supposed to act? Maybe I’m the strange one. Do you think I’m strange?”

“No. I think you’re perfect.”

He snapped his gaze to me, eyes flickering over my face as if trying to spot the lie.

“It’s true,” I said. “You’re refreshing and interesting.”

He let out a deep breath, smiling a little. “I guess you are too.” He looked over his shoulder at the stairs. “It just feels like I’m intruding on something.”

“You’re not,” I swore. “We want you here.”

“But why?” His question held suspicion, like he didn’t get why someone would want him around.

I shrugged. “Because you’re an outcast. Like us.”

“It isn’t a choice for me, though. I’m not… normal.”

“Once you get to know us, you’ll see it isn’t a choice for us either. And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re far from normal.”

Elliott thought about that before slipping through the glass doors without a goodbye.

“Hey,” I called, catching up to him before he’d made it all the way down the patio stairs. “Fifty-six eighty-three. That’s the code to get into the house. Come over whenever you want.”

“Why fifty-six eighty-three?”

Strange question, but the real answer felt too cheesy, so I lied. “I don’t know. My mother came up with it.” He never did ask how she died—although I hadn’t extended the same sensitivity to him. I watched him circle the pool and disappear into the woods, missing his company already.

Quentin was still in the shower when I got back to our room, his terrible singing slipping through the closed bathroom door.

I picked up the book Elliott had been reading.

He’d gotten more than halfway through. I should’ve given it to him to take home, but maybe now he’d have a reason to come back.

Preoccupied with thoughts of Elliott, I didn’t hear Quentin come out of the bathroom until he lifted me up from behind, his wet, naked body drenching me.

“Quentin!” I shouted in annoyance as he rushed back into the shower with me, laughing the whole way.

“He’ll be attending Locklier,” I said, gesturing for Quentin to pay up when he landed on my property. “He was homeschooled all his life, but he’ll be a senior too.” We’d spent the rest of the day cleaning our room and doing laundry. We relaxed in bed now, playing Monopoly.

“You win,” Quentin said. He didn’t have enough money to pay the rent.

“Oh, and he’s a Maasassin but doesn’t know it yet.” I boxed the game up and then dropped it onto the floor. I stretched my legs out so Quentin could rest his head in my lap.

“What else did you guys talk about?” he asked, and I filled him in on everything.

“Fuck, I feel bad for him.”

“Yeah, me too.” I sighed. “I gave him the entry code so he could come over whenever he wants.”

“He probably won’t use it.”

“Probably not,” I agreed. “But maybe the gesture made him feel wanted.”

“Yeah,” Quentin said absently.

I tunneled my fingers through his sandy blond hair. “Hey, where’d you go?”

Quentin exhaled. “My dad’s coming home tomorrow.”

My hands stilled.

“Olga told me.”

“Figures,” I huffed. My stepfather told us as little as possible because that meant he got to speak to us as little as possible too. Our communication usually filtered through the housekeeper. “Will he be here long?”

“No. A quick drop in before he’s off on another business trip.” There was always another business trip. Dylan probably had another home somewhere, leaving us here to rot. He was gone way too often for that not to be true. We didn’t care enough to find out.

“Good. We should make sure we aren’t around when he shows up.”

“Fuck him.” Quentin looked up at me. “He won’t come to this side of the house anyway. He can’t stand being reminded of what he did to her.” And Quentin never hesitated to remind him.

He sat up abruptly, bringing his face close to mine. “He can’t like you more than me. I won’t be able to handle it.”

I blinked at the sudden transition back to Elliott. “We’ve only hung out with him twice.”

“ You’ve hung out with him twice. I don’t think he likes me.”

“He does too.”

Quentin didn’t look convinced.

“He seems sheltered, and you’re probably an overwhelming shock to his system. He’ll eventually see that you’re just a big teddy bear with daddy issues.”

“I am not.” Quentin leaned away, puffing out his chest comically. “I’m a badass football jock who’ll mess anyone up who fucks with you.”

I grinned up at him. “Yeah, but you’ll look like a teddy bear while doing it.” My grin morphed into a laugh when his jaw dropped.

“I’ll show you how much of a badass I am,” he threatened, tackling me to my back.

We wrestled until we fell onto the floor. Quentin brought out a side of me I needed. He reminded me that it was okay to be young, to play and have fun like no one else was watching. I loved my books, but sometimes I loved this even more.