Page 55 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

I stole paranoid glances at Quentin and Miguel, trying to read their body language. Was I in trouble? Did they know ?

Everything seemed fine by the time we took our food and drinks out to the patio. Quentin wore his usual cocky grin, like he was in on a joke we had no clue about. Most times, it just meant he had dirty thoughts running through his mind.

Miguel tore into his sandwich, groaning between bites, crowning Quentin the sandwich king. I chewed and swallowed, not tasting anything, wondering if I’d imagined the tension I thought I’d felt.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Quentin played with the shell of my ear, making me shiver. I nodded, too scared my voice would give me away.

The patio table was huge; each of us could’ve had more than enough elbow room if we’d wanted to. Yet we sat painfully close, both their chairs anchoring mine.

Quentin shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth before slouching in his seat, resting a hand over his stomach. He gazed out over the pool, the fingers of his left hand now rubbing my earlobe.

Miguel kissed my cheek once he was done eating, then rested his head on my shoulder as he stared into the backyard as well. I pressed my nose to his hair, breathing in his citrus shampoo as he looped his arm through mine. Quentin took up the same position on my other side.

We stayed like that for a long time, content without words, latched on to each other. And then Dylan came home.

He appeared in front of us, blocking out the sun. Miguel and Quentin stiffened but didn’t move, like maybe they were just irritated he was there, not embarrassed by the way we held on to each other.

We’d pushed away from the table so Quentin and Miguel could throw a leg over each of mine. Their heads still rested on my shoulders, my hands resting on their thighs.

“Boys,” he greeted, his green eyes—identical to Quentin’s—focused on me.

“Um, hi, Mr. McAllen.” I tried to sit up, to push their legs off me, but Quentin wasn’t having it. He pressed me back into my seat with a hand on my chest.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled at his father. Miguel said nothing.

“I live here, Quentin.” Dylan slipped his hands into the pants pockets of his suit, fully composed.

“Since when?” Quentin scoffed, standing. He stood an inch taller than his father, and he took pride in every centimeter of it. “Why don’t you just go back to whatever hole you crawled out of until we leave for college? We’ll finally be done with you then.”

Quentin had already signed Wembly’s letter of intent. He’d be playing for the Hawks come fall. Miguel and I got our acceptance letters too.

“If you’d taken my calls, I wouldn’t have had to make the trip.”

In all the time I’d known Quentin and Miguel, I’d only ever met Dylan once before. He’d been nice enough, although he hadn’t said more than hello before vanishing back into the house and then leaving again. But the tension between him and his son sucked the air out of even an outdoor space.

“And why the fuck would I want to talk to you?” Quentin’s crudeness gave Dylan pause, but he remained cool.

“You had papers sent to my office. Did you really think I’d sign them without speaking to you first?”

“Yeah, because why not?”

“The rules of the trust state that you have to be a high school graduate before gaining access to it.”

“What difference does less than a handful of months make, Dylan?” His father flinched at the use of his first name.

Miguel gripped the arms of his chair. I rested my hand on top of one of his.

He turned it over, lacing his fingers through mine.

“We’re not gonna live on campus, which means we need to get an apartment.

That takes money, and I’m tired of you thinking you have some kind of hold on us by keeping the fridge stocked, the house cleaned, and just enough money on the credit cards to keep the gas tanks full. ”

It was true. He and Miguel had everything they needed, so long as they didn’t go too far from home.

They had credit cards, which Dylan paid the bills for, but the limits weren’t enough to survive on if they left.

Sometimes I wondered if he kept up this passive-aggressive control because he wanted a relationship with his son and thought this was the only way to get it, or because he was as cruel as Miguel and Quentin claimed.

Hadn’t this been the way he’d treated their mothers?

“I can’t change the stipulations of the—”

“Liar!” Quentin roared. Miguel squeezed my hand tighter. I wasn’t afraid of Quentin. I knew his heart. I knew it was breaking right now—whether he’d admit it or not—and it made mine break too. Miguel gazed up at Quentin as though he felt the same way.

Dylan wouldn’t budge—his stance, and the way he glared at Quentin made that clear. Quentin’s next words made me realize what Dylan truly wanted. He wanted Quentin to beg. He wanted to humble him.

“ Please ,” Quentin murmured tightly.

Dylan grunted. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word come out of your mouth. At least not since you were a little boy.”

I could see it in Quentin’s eyes. He wanted to make a sarcastic comment about his childhood, one that wouldn’t have gotten him to his goal. Dylan’s gaze narrowed to see if Quentin would give him a reason to deny him again. Quentin stayed quiet, and so Dylan did it without one.

“There’s nothing to be done. You’ll have plenty of time to find a place after you graduate. You’ll have the whole summer to search.”

Miguel finally spoke up when it seemed Quentin couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. He kept the corners of his mouth soft, but his hold on my hand tightened.

“Quentin starts practice in July. We need to be in Wembly by then.” He left out the part where we’d be leaving months before then, only giving Dylan the bare minimum.

“We found a place that meets the freshman distance-based exemption for living off campus. It’s within walking distance.

Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a small kitchen.

” Miguel paused to take a breath. “It’s the last available unit, and they’re only willing to hold it another week for us.

We’ll need to cover the rent even though we’re not there, but it’s perfect for us. ”

More units would be available right before the fall semester, and Quentin could live in the dorms until then, but Miguel and I couldn’t. This apartment would be the only way we could be together.

“We’d appreciate it if you could get Quentin access to his grandfather’s trust early.” Miguel dropped his gaze from Quentin’s before whispering, “ Please .”

The color drained from Quentin’s face. “Don’t beg him,” he breathed. “Not after all he’s done to you.”

Dylan didn’t seem to hear his son’s hushed words. He was too busy smiling softly at Miguel, as if his stepson’s plea had meant everything to him. Dylan was complicated—too complicated for me to try to figure out.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dylan replied. “And what about your trust?”

Quentin’s money came from his grandfather, but when Gabriela died, Dylan had personally set up a trust fund for Miguel.

“I don’t want it,” Miguel said.

“Get out.” Quentin’s words were brutal, but Dylan nodded instead of reminding him whose house we were in.

Quentin paced away once we were alone. Miguel and I went to him.

Miguel slid a hand along Quentin’s neck, pulling him into him. I hugged him from behind, resting my cheek on his wide back, my hands sandwiched between their chests. Quentin smelled of grass and sweat. We both did.

He wrapped one arm around Miguel, reaching behind him as best he could to put the other one around me. The angle made it awkward, but we were touching each other. Nothing else mattered.

“Why couldn’t he have been different?” he asked. “Why didn’t I deserve better than him?”

Miguel backed away, and I shifted to stand beside Quentin. Miguel’s indecisive stare turned determined. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t, Guelly.” Quentin raised a hand to stop him. “Please… just don’t. He’s a monster. Nothing changes that.”

I realized he’d been about to tell him about his mother’s note, and Quentin wasn’t ready to hear it.

“I gotta take a shower.” Quentin left us standing there, both of us watching him go.

“Let me,” I said when Miguel made to go after him. “You can stay here and feel however you feel. You get to do that. I’ll talk to him.”

“Okay, I’ll be by the pool.” He still stared after Quentin.

“I think I left the book I was telling you about down there. You can start it if you want.”

“Thanks.” He hugged me before whispering, “You need a shower too.”

Quentin was already in the shower when I got upstairs. He stood under the water, head lowered, back to me. I undressed and stepped inside.

Without a word, I soaped up his bath sponge, then stepped in front of him.

I started with his shoulders, and he exhaled, lifting his arms robotically so I could clean his armpits.

His stomach muscles tensed when I ran over them, and he turned so I could get his back.

Soapy water ran down the rest of him. That would have to be enough.

I shampooed his hair next, scratching along the center of his scalp like I’d seen Miguel do so many times. A rumbling sound came from his chest.

I rinsed his hair clean before speaking over the noise of the water. “You’re nothing like him.” When he turned, my breath caught at his intense expression.

“Promise?”

“I swear it, Quentin. You protect the people you love. You don’t hurt us. You don’t manipulate us, and you’re not a coward. I… love you for it.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. My words hadn’t sunk in.

“I swear it,” I said again with more emphasis. His smile fell completely, something else taking its place. Something that made me feel devastated. Something that reminded me of what I’d never have with him. A warning gaze. Or maybe my imagination was running wild again.