Page 36 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

“Are we, um, still friends?” Miguel asked. I couldn’t respond. I knew my answer, but the conflicting emotions got in the way of my actually saying it.

“Come on, pretty girl,” Quentin said quietly. “Don’t leave us hanging. Are you leaving?”

I knew he didn’t just mean if I were going to leave tonight. He was too tense for him to mean anything other than forever.

While I was still confused, this was the place I felt safest, the place I never wanted to leave. They were my home. I wanted to make a big speech, a declaration, but I couldn’t get my brain to cooperate. I kept it simple instead. “No,” I whispered. “I’m not leaving.”

“Fuck yeah,” Quentin said hoarsely before they both threw their arms around me.

Miguel stiffened, backing away to sniff himself. Quentin did the same. They smelled like themselves and like sweat and… maybe something else I couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“We’ll, er, take a shower,” Miguel said, then looked back at the bed. “And change the sheets.” They stood quickly, turning for the bathroom as if wanting to hurry up before I changed my mind and disappeared.

“Wait,” I called. Their expressions fell.

“I’m staying,” I confirmed again, putting them at ease.

“I…” I looked to the bed, images of how their bodies moved before Miguel spotted me flashing into my head.

Now that I had a new perspective, a different type of curiosity crept in.

I wanted to see the thing I’d been taught to fear, the thing I’d been taught to hate myself for.

“I want to watch,” I breathed, heart in my throat. Miguel and Quentin looked at each other. Had I said something wrong? Was asking impolite of me? “You don’t have to,” I said quickly. Everything above my neck felt like it was on fire.

“No, it’s okay,” Miguel said before turning to Quentin. “If it’s cool with—”

Quentin closed the gap between them, cutting him off with a kiss. This was different from the usual pecks on the cheek and forehead, the types of kisses they often gave to me.

This kiss made me squirm, made me want to close my eyes and turn away. It made me feel warm and embarrassed.

Quentin backed Miguel over to the bed, then kicked out of his sweats before yanking Miguel’s off. They climbed onto the mattress, kneeling in the center of it, facing each other.

I crept over to the couch, tucking my legs under me and watching them over the back of it.

Miguel trailed a hand down Quentin’s muscled chest, and Quentin brushed the back of his fingers across Miguel’s cheek. They kissed, and it was just as soft as their touches. They were nothing like they had been when I arrived here.

“Don’t change for me,” I said. “Pretend I’m not here.” I decided then to accept them for who they were. Just like they’d done for me.

They touched with more intensity and kissed like they intended to leave a trail of blood. Their private parts stood higher and higher, making my cheeks heat and my stomach dip.

Quentin moved Miguel around the bed like he owned him, and I supposed he did. It was how they wanted it. At one point, Miguel cried. It was beautiful. They both were. Both beautiful and free.

I swallowed back the scriptures forcing their way to my mouth, fought to keep my eyes open when everything that had been beaten into me said I needed to close them, to look away. And when I grew sweaty, when confusing sensations made my clothes feel rough against my skin, I rebuked the shame.

The night was long. They… fucked like they hadn’t in years, like they were reuniting after way too much time spent apart. Whenever I thought it was over, whenever they seemed too exhausted to keep going, they’d start up again.

Quentin reminded me of the hybrid wolves I’d read about in The World of Norvia .

Gnashing his teeth and fighting with all he had to claim what belonged to him.

He was large and fierce and single-minded.

He took what he wanted, but there was something loving about it too.

Maybe because it was obvious that it was what Miguel wanted.

Miguel’s eyes were his most captivating feature, but the way his body moved beneath Quentin’s was what stole my attention tonight.

He loved to dance, and what he and Quentin were doing was a type of dance.

His hips rolled and his back arched in a way that made me swallow.

I could see why Quentin refused to call it a night.

Miguel was breathtaking. They both were.

It went on for hours, and by the time they’d showered—leaving me to come down from the adrenaline rush—I’d fallen asleep.

I woke to Quentin taking my shoes off, and Miguel holding out my favorite nightgown.

They turned away for a moment, giving me privacy to slip out of my jeans and T-shirt.

I almost moaned when the silk slithered over my skin.

“Done.” My voice was deep, weighed down by exhaustion. Quentin scooped me up, crossing to the bed before laying me down on the clean sheets. I scooted to the middle, and he pressed up against my back.

Miguel settled onto his side in front of me, kissing my forehead before backing away a little so he could see me. I traced a finger over his puffy lips, then over one of the bruises Quentin had sucked onto his neck. An involuntary shudder went through me, causing Miguel’s eyes to fill with worry.

“You okay?” Quentin asked, his arm around my waist squeezing me tighter.

“Yeah,” I lied, closing my eyes. “I’m okay.”

Quentin rolled me onto my back, both he and Miguel now hovering over me.

“What’s wrong, Ellie? You’re shaking.” Miguel’s tone matched his panicked expression. “Did we do something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s not that,” I promised, assuming he thought he and Quentin had traumatized me. They weren’t the ones responsible for my trauma.

They stared down at me, waiting, a low rumble building in Quentin’s chest. I placed my palm there, feeling his heart beating frantically. I waited for it to calm, waited for my touch to soothe him before speaking again.

“Do you believe in God?” I whispered. I hadn’t singled anyone out with my question, but Miguel answered anyway.

“I… I don’t know.”

I’d never asked them that before, maybe because I struggled with the answer myself. I screwed my eyes shut, tears trickling past my temples and soaking into my hair.

“Hey, it’s just us here,” Miguel said, laying a hand across my cheek. “Just the three of us, the only people who matter.”

Nothing else mattered because we had us. Nothing could hurt us as long as we had each other. Quentin squeezed in closer beside me, his body a wall of protection.

I swallowed, finding the courage to confess. “I knew a boy named Gideon once. We kissed, and that kiss ruined everything.”

“What do you mean it ruined everything?” Quentin asked, but I couldn’t answer that. I shook my head. His lips thinned, but he didn’t push. They’d promised never to ask me about “before,” and even though I was the one bringing it up now, he kept his word.

“I thought it was wrong,” I rasped, searching his face through my blurry gaze. Miguel continued to stroke my hair. “I thought kissing him was wrong.”

“And do you still think it’s wrong?” Quentin asked me that earlier.

I hadn’t answered him then. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

I thought about the love I saw between them during the hours they’d had sex in this bed, thought about the way Quentin cared for Miguel after, thought about the way they both now cared for me.

“No,” I whispered, finally sure about what I believed in. “I don’t think it was wrong.”

Miguel dried my tears and kissed my cheeks while Quentin told me he was proud of me.

“And if anyone ever makes you feel differently, you tell them to come see me, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed, letting him manhandle me into a hug.

We situated ourselves into our usual sleeping positions once more. Quentin’s warmth left my back for a second while he turned his lamp off, then we were surrounded by darkness, but I felt nothing but light around me.

I sighed, closing my eyes and drifting to sleep. I didn’t say my prayers that night or any night after.