Page 35 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

“First of all,” Miguel tossed back, “you’ve always been the big spoon, so it was your dinosaur-sized wood poking me in the back.”

“It is pretty big, isn’t it?” Quentin grinned. Miguel had fallen right into his trap.

“Can you be serious for five minutes?” he asked Quentin.

Quentin cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Miguel said. “The way we held each other started to change. The way we looked at each other, too. By the time we got to eighth grade, things didn’t feel as innocent anymore.”

“And then Floozy-Suzie asked him to prom,” Quentin interjected. “I lost my shit. Threatened to beat up her brother if she didn’t stay away from Miguel.”

I listened quietly, their hands still on me, keeping me from floating away.

“We started watching porn together,” Miguel whispered. “Then we started jerking off together, then we started jerking each other off… Still no big deal.” He shrugged. “At least we pretended it wasn’t. Then my mother died.”

“And all bets were off,” Quentin rasped, staring into Miguel’s eyes while the hand he held against my neck pulsed.

Miguel squeezed my hand at the same time.

It made me feel a part of their silent communication with each other, and I wondered if that was intentional.

I didn’t think it was. The way they made me feel included always felt natural, not something that required practice or effort.

“We needed each other in a completely different way then,” Miguel said. “So, we took what we needed.”

“And we don’t feel bad about it,” Quentin added. “Or care what anyone thinks.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Maybe I was the only one who hadn’t seen it, who didn’t quite have the words for what they were to each other.

I glanced over their shoulders to the bed they shared, the bed I shared with them most nights.

Then to the bathroom door, where they shared showers too.

Could it be that I hadn’t wanted to see it?

That being with them felt so good, so right, that I’d allowed myself to believe this was what true friendship looked like?

No, this was what friendship looked like. This was what our friendship looked like, and I loved it. Quentin and Miguel just had something extra on top of it.

“Because you’re not just anyone,” Quentin said, as if that should’ve been obvious.

“Yeah,” Miguel agreed. “We care about what you think.”

No one had ever cared about what I thought, yet they did. They were good to me. I didn’t have a whole lot to be afraid of when I was with them, and I got to be myself. I looked toward the closet again as that last fact cleared my mind.

What we had felt good, better than good. It was all the good things I’d never experienced before. How could good be wrong, and how could all the things I’d been taught—which felt wrong—be right?

“We’ve got to starve him out of you, Elliott. God is testing us.”

I looked between Quentin and Miguel, who both watched me carefully. Did they think I’d run from them and never come back? Did they hope I wouldn’t judge them and never leave? Maybe this was the true test. Maybe if God did exist, this was where he’d been all along.

Could I do to Quentin and Miguel what had been done to me? Could I hurt them by rejecting who they were? By rejecting who I thought I might have been?

“So, you didn’t tell me because you thought I’d react the way… the way I did tonight?” I felt ashamed saying it. I could’ve blamed my reaction solely on what I thought Quentin was doing to Miguel against his will, but it would’ve been a lie.

“We wanted you as a friend,” Miguel answered.

“We didn’t want to scare you off. Guess we didn’t think it all the way through.

I mean, we couldn’t really hide it forever.

” That they’d felt the need to hide it from me at all made me feel terrible.

But then I remembered there was plenty I hadn’t told them, either.

Plenty I still wouldn’t, couldn’t even if I wanted to.

“Does everyone else know? Everyone at school? Your dad?” I asked Quentin.

“They think they know, but we’re pretty good at keeping our hands off each other—to an extent—when we’re around other people,” Miguel said.

“Getting handsy is okay,” Quentin said. “Hugs, walking around with my arm slung over his shoulder, a ‘see you after class’ peck on the cheek… eye-fucking too. You know, clothes-on type of shit. But dicks and tongues don’t come out unless we’re alone.

” Quentin was too busy smiling at me to notice Miguel’s glare.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, squeezing Miguel’s hand. I knew how Quentin could be. Miguel gave me a sheepish look, letting Quentin drop a kiss to his head.

“Everyone calls us weirdos, but whatever. Let them assume what they want.” Quentin shrugged.

“Miguel swears coming clean will get in the way of football. If it were up to me, I’d have already given him a dicking-down on the bleachers in front of everyone.

Fuck football if being gay is a deal-breaker.

” He seemed proud of that statement, like it was equivalent to him saying he wasn’t ashamed of what he and Miguel had and wasn’t afraid to let the world know it. This time he did catch Miguel’s scowl.

“I’m serious, fuck ’em.”

“I’m not looking at you because of that, you idiot.”

“Oh,” Quentin frowned. “Was it the fucking you on the bleachers part?”

Miguel clamped a hand over his mouth. “If you say one more word…” he warned.

They kept quiet while I absorbed everything they’d said so far. I still had so many questions, but which one did I want to ask first?

“And you’re sure your dad doesn’t know?”

“I don’t know. Other than sharing a room and sleeping in the same bed, we’re careful whenever he’s around—which isn’t often.

We never wanted to give him a reason not to keep Miguel.

He looks at us like we’re sick sometimes, but he’s the sociopath, so he can go fuck himself.

Anyway, we’re eighteen now, and as soon as I get access to my trust, we’re blowing this shithole. ”

A sharp stabbing pain hit me in the chest at the idea of them leaving. But they’d said I was theirs, that they’d take care of me. Did that still apply after tonight? Did I still want it to?

“The three of us,” Miguel whispered, staring at me. “Right?” He sounded unsure about my feelings now, and I hated that I’d made him feel that way.

“Am I still yours?” I asked them.

“Fuck yeah, pretty girl.” Quentin sounded relieved. “I’d go to war for you.”

Miguel nodded in agreement.

Quentin’s palm no longer settled against the racing pulse at my neck; the weight of it now rested on my knee. Miguel still held my hand tight, though. I frowned down at my lap, trying to recall something Quentin had shouted at Miguel. “What’s baby-gravy?”

Miguel coughed into his free hand, choking on his saliva while Quentin’s eyes bugged out.

“Er,” he said, deferring to Miguel. “Is this an example of something I should let you handle?”

“Yes,” Miguel choked out, holding up a finger. He cleared his throat and attempted to slip his now clammy hand out of mine. I squeezed tighter, not wanting to let go.

He glanced at Quentin, then back at me. “It’s cum,” he said, deciding to come straight out with it.

“Oh.” I looked at Quentin. “And you wanted to make sure it took?”

“Gotta stay like this for just a little while, Guelly. Gotta make sure it takes.”

Quentin scratched at the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a bit. I’d never seen him flustered, at a loss for words before. “Yeah, well, I sometimes joke that he’s gonna be my baby daddy. That I’m gonna get him pregnant.”

“Oh,” I said again, sitting straighter. “But he can’t get pregnant.”

“It’s just some kinky dirty talk. Makes me hot imagining him walking around carrying my kid.”

“It’s not meant to be literal,” Miguel explained.

“And does him telling you to stop make you hot too?”

“Yeah, it turns us both on,” Quentin answered, grinning a little.

“Why?” I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“Saying yes feels too easy.” Miguel chose to answer first. “Seeing him fight to have me and not letting anything stand in his way—not even me—makes me feel special. Like he can’t stop himself, even if he wanted to, because he wants me that bad.

It feels good to be wanted that much, to see him out of control.

I have something no one else can give him, and he won’t let me keep it from him. ”

I looked at Quentin, wanting to understand what he got out of it. He’d been aggressive, near violent, and I needed to not be confused about it.

“Because he’s mine,” he said simply and unapologetically. “That means I get to have him how and whenever I want, and I get to prove that whenever he tells me no.”

Quentin wasn’t a master at breaking down emotions like Miguel or at putting things delicately at all. Not without trying really hard. His answer was blunt but somehow perfect coming from him.

Miguel traded me his left hand so he could reach over and cup Quentin’s cheek. Quentin nuzzled into his palm, grabbing his wrist to keep it there as he closed his eyes.

Nausea churned in my stomach, and it wasn’t caused by disgust. I was jealous. Because they’d gotten to be this way, and because God hadn’t punished them for it, not like he’d punished me.

I glanced down at the portion of Quentin’s handprint peeking out above the waistband of Miguel’s low-hanging sweats. “Wrestling,” I whispered, remembering all the bruises he’d blamed on play-fighting with Quentin.

“It wasn’t a lie,” Miguel said. “It just wasn’t the whole truth.”

My head hurt less now, some of the thoughts crowding it fading. “So, you’re… gay.”

“Yep, gay as fuck,” Quentin replied cheerfully. “I’ve personally never found the idea of pussy appealing.”

I managed not to flinch at how direct he was about it, but barely. Miguel sighed, shaking his head. There was only so much he could do to tame Quentin.

We sat in silence for a bit as I processed everything. The quietness turned awkward after a while.