Page 13 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

Every day for the last two weeks, Quentin and I picked our way through the woods in search of Elliott. He never came to our house on his own. He’d wait for us to find whatever patch of underbrush he’d sat on with his arms wrapped around his legs, and his face lifted to the sun.

We never got the impression that he intentionally waited there. He always seemed shocked that we’d come looking for him again, as though overnight we’d somehow realize he wasn’t worth the trouble.

We’d spend some time getting to know each other again because it always took a while for him to warm up to us after having spent a night apart. Then we’d metaphorically drag him inside.

Elliott was good at making us chase him, good at keeping us wanting more of him.

Quentin blamed Elliott’s mysteriousness for our interest and curiosity.

He wasn’t just a mystery to us, though; he was a mystery to himself as well.

The difference was that Quentin and I wanted to solve it, whereas Elliott seemed content with not knowing all the parts of himself.

He acted as if knowing was the thing to fear instead of it being the other way around.

We were sitting on my bedroom floor one afternoon when the loud thud of the book he was reading startled me out of my own reading zone.

The weight of his back lifted off mine, and we faced each other.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Why? You just got here.” Technically, we’d been reading for a few hours, but it hadn’t felt like it. The thin strap on the silk dress he wore slipped off his shoulder. Without thinking, I tugged it back into place. Elliott glanced down at the strap, then at my retreating hand.

“I have an appointment to get to.” It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned needing to go to an appointment. I’d minded my own business the last couple times he brought it up, but my curiosity got the best of me this time.

“What kind of appointment?”

He dropped his gaze to the book next to him, smoothing a hand over its cover. “A doctor’s appointment.”

“Are you sick?” I looked him over. He seemed fine to me.

“Not that kind of doctor. A therapist.”

“Oh,” I whispered. “For your missing memories?”

“I think so, but I don’t want them back.”

“Why not?”

Elliott shrugged, the strap falling off his shoulder again. “There must be a good reason I can’t remember some things.” He stood, carrying his book back to its shelf.

“Take it with you,” I said, getting to my feet.

“Why?”

“Because then you’ll have to bring it back.”

Elliott thought about that before deciding to leave the book behind. “I wouldn’t want something to happen to it.”

I knew it was a lie, but I let it go.

“Will you be in the woods tomorrow?”

He frowned. “Why do you care?” He didn’t say it in a mean way, more like he really didn’t get why I cared.

“Who else is gonna buddy read with me?” I grinned. I’d ordered a second set of the Throne of Glass series so we could get through them together.

Elliott smiled shyly, making me feel like I’d just slain a dragon for him. “Maybe”—he hesitated before continuing—“maybe I’ll come straight here instead.”

“Yeah, sure! Whatever you want.” I cleared my throat and then said more casually, “I mean, sure, if you want. But we don’t mind finding you.” Quentin and I enjoyed our little scavenger hunts. A little too much, actually.

Elliott still stood next to the tall bookcase. I walked to the other end of it, reaching up to slip my book back into its slot. He sucked in a breath, staring at the bruised patch of skin along my side. I shoved the book in, then fixed the hem of my T-shirt back into place.

“Um, me and Quentin wrestle around sometimes. He doesn’t know his own strength. It looks worse than it is.”

Elliott nodded, but I didn’t miss the flash of judgment in his eyes. It was the first time he’d ever given me that look.

My thoughts went to Quentin, all alone in the backyard running drills because he felt unwanted. I didn’t like him feeling that way, but it seemed to be taking Elliott longer to warm up to him. I’d told Quentin to give him time, but what if that wasn’t enough?

“Wait here a sec. I want to show you something.” I jogged into the closet, pulling a photo from my top drawer before returning and handing it to Elliott.

“That’s your mother,” he said, bringing the picture in close.

“What gave it away?”

“You look just like her.” He glanced between me and the photo. “Your hair is shorter, but it’s the same dark color and sort of flops all over the place. You have her muddy-brown eyes, too, and tanned skin.”

“No one’s ever called my eyes muddy before.

” I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose self-consciously, surprised at how much I liked hearing him describe me.

I guess because he held so much in, gave so little away.

He spoke freely now, like this was the one thing he didn’t have to be careful about.

“It’s the first thing I thought of when I saw you. They remind me of the earth. Natural and warm.” Elliott inspected us both again. “She’s pretty.”

I wanted to ask if that made me pretty too, but I didn’t want to be caught fishing for a compliment. Besides, I knew my looks didn’t classify as pretty. Not like Elliott’s did. Quentin always said I was masculinely cute, whatever that meant. Probably boyishly nerdy, or something similar.

“Why’d you show this to me?” Elliott handed it back, and I stared down at my mother, wondering where to start and how much to tell.

For Quentin, it had to be done, though. I wanted Elliott to see him differently, or to see him at all.

I wanted him to understand us, to understand we were a package deal.

“Quentin blames himself for her dying—not because he caused it, but because he couldn’t stop it.” I shook my head when his gaze asked me to explain. I couldn’t do it right then.

“It made us closer, if that were even possible. Maybe it just made us closer in a different way.” It was no secret that Quentin and I were codependent. Anyone with a brain could pick up on that within seconds of being around us.

“He’s scared of losing me because he’s lost so much already.

It makes him hold on to what he has left even tighter.

It’s why we spend most of our time trapped in here.

” I waved a hand around our bedroom. “But I need him just as much because the only other person I’ve ever loved is gone.

I know I should probably tell him he doesn’t need to feel that way, that he won’t ever lose me.

The truth is, I like that he treats me like something he can’t stand to lose because I can’t lose him either.

This is a big world, Elliott, and he’s the only person left in it who cares about me.

” I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have no one who cared about me.

I didn’t want to imagine it. “I need to be cared about, and Quentin needs to be all I have.” Our insecurities worked perfectly together, and maybe it wasn’t healthy, but it was what we wanted.

“He likes you, though. The fact that he’s out there while we’re in here proves it. He wants to be your friend.”

Our bedroom faced the far end of the backyard. Quentin’s grunts and curses could be heard through the closed window. I moved to his side of the bed, watching him through the glass. Elliott followed, the train on the dress he wore swooshing behind him.

Quentin tossed his helmet onto the grass, then began kicking over the tackling dummies littering the yard. Elliott and I watched him, although for different reasons.

“Why is he angry?”

“He’s not. He only thinks he is. His feelings are hurt.” I glanced over at Elliott, our gazes holding as he read between the lines.

“I… don’t understand him,” he replied, looking from the photo I still held to the bookcase packed with books, as if pointing out what he and I had in common.

“Maybe you could try,” I said softly, flattening a palm to the window, hoping Quentin could sense me.

I was still watching Quentin after Elliott went into the closet to change, and even after he’d returned and whispered goodbye.

“Hey,” I said, turning to him. He paused right outside the bedroom door. “See you tomorrow.”

Elliott took a step away without confirming, then stopped. I waited for him to say whatever was on his mind. “I know what it feels like,” he said. “To have no one who cares about me.”

I hadn’t realized I’d said that thought out loud. I was about to tell him we cared about him, but he disappeared down the hall.

I sank onto the bed, staring down at my mother, consumed with my thoughts of her and Elliott. After a while, Quentin’s frustration morphed into loud laughter.

Frowning, I set the photograph down, going back to the window.

Quentin had set up agility hurdles and a ladder, taking Elliott through one of his drills.

Elliott’s moves were awkward, and he kept knocking over the hurdles.

Quentin found this hysterical, and Elliott’s timid smile said he might have found it funny too.

Pushing the window open, I poked my head out, hoping to hear them better. Quentin stopped laughing and patiently helped Elliott get through the drill successfully after a number of flops.

He jogged over to the football lying in the grass next, miming for Elliott to catch his throw. I laughed quietly when Elliott fumbled the ball. Quentin was standing pretty close, the toss gentle. Even I could’ve caught that.

They kept at it, and Quentin backed further away with each successful catch, calling Elliott a fast learner.

“Ow,” Elliott bit out a short while later, holding his wrist and pulling his hand into his chest. I ducked back into the room, darting for the door.

Quentin was already hurrying Elliott inside by the time I charged downstairs. I slowed my steps, pressing my back against the wall that led to the kitchen.

“Sit here,” Quentin said. Elliott was climbing onto one of the island stools when I peeked around the corner. “Can I see it?”

Elliott watched him, slowly presenting his wrist. Quentin touched it softly, wincing when Elliott groaned in pain.

“Can you move it?”

Elliott did so. “Yeah.”

“Does it hurt here?” Quentin pressed on the inside of his wrist.

Elliott shook his head. “No.”

“Well, that means it isn’t fractured.”

I wasn’t sure who had died and made him a doctor, but Elliott didn’t argue.

“Exactly how fast can you toss a ball?”

“Pretty damn fast,” Quentin said. “I’m sorry.” His voice lowered. “Miguel gets on my case about being too rough. I don’t always mean to be. Sometimes it’s hard to cut it off when I leave the field.”

“It’s okay,” Elliott said. “I’ve been told you’re harmless.”

“Is Miguel spreading lies again?”

Elliott grinned, and Quentin smiled from ear to ear as he turned toward the refrigerator.

“You don’t have to do that,” Elliott said when Quentin placed an ice pack over his wrist.

“You and Miguel have books. Let me have this.” Let me take care of you , was what he didn’t say.

Quentin became preoccupied with the task, moving the pack on and off Elliott’s wrist, presumably to check if the swelling had gone down or gotten worse. This allowed Elliott to watch him without being noticed. His gaze was soft on Quentin.

“My mom’s a nurse,” Quentin said. “Well, she was a nurse before my dad made her quit.”

“What does she do now?”

“I don’t know. She left us. I haven’t seen her since I was a little kid.”

Elliott watched him with a strange expression, still going unnoticed as Quentin shifted the ice pack.

“My mom was a nurse too,” he finally whispered. Maybe he’d been struggling with whether to share that detail. “She used to patch me up.”

“Did you get hurt a lot?” Quentin met his eyes then.

Elliott dropped his gaze to his injured wrist before turning things back on Quentin. “I’m sorry your mom left.”

“I’m not,” Quentin said. “I never blamed her. My father’s an asshole. I used to wish she’d taken me with her, but then I would’ve never met Miguel. So, it all worked out.”

I hated that his mother had left him behind, but I never got tired of hearing him say things like that about me.

“Are stepbrothers usually as close as you and Miguel are?”

Quentin snorted. “I don’t think anyone’s as close as we are.

I’m kind of obsessed with him.” A blush spread from below his freckles, making my heart turn to goo.

I loved when Quentin got mushy. Loved when he forced his rough affection on me too.

His mushiness usually involved professions of murder and mayhem if anyone came near me.

Saying he was obsessed with me was kind of tame in comparison to the usual.

Elliott’s gaze went to the clock. “I’ve gotta go.” He slid off the stool. “Duncan is probably waiting for me.”

“Duncan?” Quentin asked. It seemed like a good time for me to come out of hiding.

“My aunt’s driver. She left for a last-minute trip this morning. He’s taking me to my appointment.”

“Hey, you’re still here.” I tried to seem surprised, hoping I sounded convincing.

“I was just leaving.” He set the ice pack on the island. Quentin frowned, picking it up and placing it over his wrist again. Elliott sighed, holding on to it as he backed away.

“When’s your aunt coming back?” Quentin asked. I was grateful, because if I’d asked, they would’ve known I was listening to their conversation.

“Maybe a week or two? She wasn’t really clear on that.”

“Why don’t you stay here with us, so you don’t have to be alone?” I suggested, figuring it was safe now.

“I’m used to being alone. It’s this I’m not used to.” He looked between the two of us.

“Well, you know the code if you change your mind,” I said.

Elliott nodded, but I got the feeling it was out of politeness rather than him agreeing to use the code to get in.

Quentin and I watched him head for the door. It oddly felt like a piece of me was being torn away with every step he took.

Elliott paused, turning back to Quentin. “Will you teach me the game?”

Quentin stood taller, excitement filling his words. “You mean how to play?”

“Everything,” Elliott replied. “I… had fun.”

“Sure, but I’ll get you some gear first. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Elliott looked at me then, and I smiled. See , I wanted to say. He isn’t so bad .

The moment we were alone, Quentin tossed me over his shoulder and charged for the stairs. I slapped him on the back, ordering him to put me down.

“Not a chance.” He laughed.

His happiness was infectious, so I didn’t complain when he dumped me onto the bed and tackled me—although my bruises had a lot to say about it.

Elliott and Quentin formed their own bond after that. We’d all officially become friends.