Page 77 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

“Fuck!” I punched the air after screwing up my fourth pass of the game. Coach benched Sanchez, sending Harrison in, but my problem wasn’t with the receivers today. It was the pretty little pain in my ass, goading me from the stands.

Catching my breath, I squinted, watching Elliott giggle with some asshat.

They sat middle row and weren’t high up, making it easier for me to make them out from this side of the field.

As if he knew I was watching him, Elliott laid a hand on the asshat’s shoulder, tossing his head back like he’d just heard the funniest shit ever.

It was all for my benefit, to make me batshit crazy, because Elliott knew I didn’t want his hands on anyone besides me and Miguel. He also hadn’t laughed in weeks, so pretending to find whatever this dickwad said amusing was a sure way to make me fucking insane.

It was selfish of him because he knew making me jealous could potentially end with someone getting hurt.

Suddenly, Elliott turned to the field. I couldn’t see his facial features clearly, but I knew he was staring at me, daring me. They stood, working their way past the spectators in their row.

“Son of a bitch.” I called a timeout, ignoring Coach’s confused expression as I raced past him. I shot into the bleachers, making it to Elliott’s row just as he cleared it.

“Where the hell are you two going?” He didn’t even look shocked to see me there, breathing hard and hovering over him.

“We’re going to the bathroom. Is that a crime?”

I glanced over at the clumsy asshat stepping on people’s feet as he stumbled through the row. I recognized him from our school. A huge Hawks fan, always sporting the hat and T-shirts, always shouting “kill it, Q” as I emerged from the tunnel.

“It’s not a crime, but it’ll definitely cause a crime scene. You piss in your pants, and you do it from the sidelines.” I gave Elliott a hard look, letting him know I was as serious as a heart attack. In the distance, I heard Coach shouting my name.

Elliott looked around at everyone now watching us. Good, let them see how far I’d go for what’s mine.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Quentin. I’m not allowed down—”

“You either walk there, or I fucking carry you.”

“Quen—”

“On your feet or over my shoulder, Elliott.” I hadn’t called him that since we first met. Even while testing my patience with his brooding and passive-aggressive digs at me, I still called him my pretty girl. I could tell by the way he gripped the railing that I’d hurt his feelings.

“Oh, hey, Q!” the asshat said from beside me. He’d finally stumbled his way to freedom. I gave him a scalding look that sent him shriveling back. I returned my glare to Elliott.

“I’ll walk,” he gritted out, the tips of his ears going crimson.

The crowd had grown restless, and there was confusion on the field. Coach waited with his hands on his hips. I left Elliott behind the bench area with one of the team trainers. “Guard him with your life, Garcia.” I headed over to Coach.

“What the hell is going on, McAllen?” He gestured to Elliott. “He can’t be down here!”

“If you want me to help us win the game, I need him right here.”

Coach looked between me and Elliott, a million questions in his gaze, but time was running out. “You’re lucky I don’t suspend you. Get your ass on the field,” he growled, “and you’re running drills after practice for a whole damn week.”

“When are you going to stop being upset with me?” I’d gotten special permission to drive myself to and from the away game, and Elliott and I were on our way home. The tension between us grew with each minute we stayed quiet.

“I’m not upset with you.” Elliott’s voice was flat.

“You’ve been upset with us for weeks.” It was mostly in the little things he did—or didn’t do.

He slept with us, but we were the only ones doing the holding.

He ate with us but insisted on eating off his own plate.

We still had sex—the one thing he seemed most interested in—but he appeared detached, just looking for a release.

He didn’t seem as upset with Miguel, but I sometimes wondered if that was simply another tactic to make me jealous.

I should’ve left Elliott home when Miguel said he couldn’t make it to the game.

Ingram randomly chose him to give a presentation, so he stayed behind to prepare for it.

I knew it would be hard for me to focus with Elliott alone in the bleachers.

I hadn’t expected him to make it hard for me on purpose, though.

Elliott stared out his window, leaving me hanging.

“So, you’re just gonna ignore me?”

“I answered your question.”

“Yeah, with a lie,” I scoffed. “You’re pissed at us. You think we can’t tell? And you almost cost Wembly the game.”

“How do you figure that? You’re the one on the field, the team’s ‘star,’ not me. Besides, you won, so it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, and when did you become so damn sassy?

Will you just stop fucking being this way?

” I switched lanes as we neared our exit.

“You’ll put on a skirt or dress tomorrow, put some shiny gloss on your lips, and we’ll go to class.

No one will care. You’ll see. You don’t need Twink-Bundy or Rachel. ”

Elliott whirled on me. “It isn’t about them! You just don’t get it.”

“Sure it is. You want to be friends with them, but you’ve already got friends. We’re your friends—your best friends—your fuck buddies, your bodyguards, your roommates, your fucking heart and soul… And you’re ours. So please can we stop all this bullshit?”

He sighed, still facing me as I pulled onto the exit ramp. “You and Miguel are all those things. But why can’t there be more?”

“Because more is a gateway to giving us less, to forgetting about us altogether. We can’t let that happen.”

“It won’t. I still love you more than I can put into words. I can’t breathe when I think about not being with you and Miguel.”

I turned my head his way briefly, nearly hitting the curb. “Y-you think about not being with us?”

“No. I mean, not in the way you think.”

“In what way then?”

“I don’t think about us breaking up. I just… try to imagine my life without you both, and I can’t.” He placed a hand on my tense shoulder. “It’s impossible.”

“Funny,” I stopped at a red light, “I’ve never tried to imagine that.” We locked eyes, his gaze begging, mine hard as stone.

Elliott released a frustrated sound, falling back in his seat. “And what about you? Are you saying you don’t want more out of life?”

“Yeah, more wins, more muscles, more time dicking down you and Guelly… I don’t fucking need more people in my everyday life.”

Elliott bristled at my crudeness and went silent again. I turned onto our block ten minutes later, parking in front of our building.

“Grayson works at the bookstore off Main Street,” Elliott said as I released my seat belt.

“Who?”

“The guy I was talking to at the game. He goes to our school.”

“Yeah, I know. I just thought his name was ‘groupie.’”

Elliott didn’t seem impressed with my jab at Groupie-Grayson. “You didn’t have to be mean to him. You could’ve said hi.”

“I don’t have to be nice; I just have to protect what belongs to me.”

Elliott shook his head as if disgusted with me. “The bookstore’s hiring. Grayson said if I came in tomorrow, he could—”

“Fuck no,” I spat. “Fuck. No.”

“I want a job.”

“You don’t need one. We’ve got more than enough money.

” I never made them feel like our money was mine, never used it as leverage to get my way or hold on to them, even with all we’d been going through with Elliott.

Those were my father’s tactics, and I refused to take them on.

As soon as I gained access to my trust, I deposited more than enough funds into accounts for both him and Miguel, accounts I didn’t have access to.

Although I took care of everything financially, they had their own.

“I want my own money.”

“You’ve got your own money!”

Elliott wasn’t moved by my outburst, his expression as stubborn as ever.

I loved him so much, but he was slipping through my hands.

I didn’t understand why holding on tighter wasn’t working, and I didn’t know what to do besides lash out.

The cabin of the truck filled with the sound of our heaving breaths.

“Get out,” I said once I knew I could do so without yelling.

“W-where are you going?”

“Nowhere, I just need a minute alone to calm down. Tell Guelly I’ll be up soon. I’ll sleep in the living room tonight.”

“You’ve never slept in the—”

“ Please . Get. Out.”

“Not until you tell me you’ll sleep with us.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face, my stubble pricking my palms. “I’m not in the right headspace.”

“I’m not afraid of your rage, Q. Maybe if you let it out, you won’t be such a bastard. Maybe this is what we need.”

I stared through the windshield for a while, trying and failing to slow my racing pulse. With a resigned sigh, I spoke in a whisper full of warning. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

Elliott hurried through the apartment door first. I slammed it behind me, rattling the picture frames on the wall.

Miguel appeared in the living room entryway, eyes wide. “Ellie?” he breathed as Elliott brushed past him and into the bedroom without a word. “Quen—”

I silenced him with a kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and backing him into the bedroom. I led him to the chair adjacent to the bed, pushing him down onto it.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” I growled at Elliott, tearing my shirt over my head as I headed for the small closet.

“Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Miguel said, still breathless from the rage-filled kiss I’d given him. Neither of us answered. Shoes and clothes hitting the floor were all that could be heard.

I yanked the closet open, the row of belts lining the door jangling on their hooks. I picked the thickest one, the leather creaking as I coiled it around my fist. Elliott, naked and hard, slowly backed away until he bumped up against the bed.