Page 9 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

“I told you they were back here, idiota .” I crossed my arms, watching Quentin sprint across the backyard for his lucky cleats. He’d been running drills back here yesterday and removed them to chase me into the house after having enough of me teasing him about his “tight end.”

“Now we’re going to be late to camp, you’ll end up in a bad mood when Coach Saxton calls you out for it, and then I’m the one who’ll have to pay for it later.”

“First off,” he said, jogging over, “did you just call me an idiot? And second,”—He ruffled my floppy hair—“you love my bad moods.”

I rolled my eyes, shoving his hand away. “Let’s go.”

“Hey, at least tell me what you just called me,” he shouted as I headed for the front of the house.

“Nope, you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

“I’m pretty sure it was idiot,” he grumbled, making me grin.

Something snapped behind us, and we turned at the sound. I scanned the trees beyond the edge of the backyard but couldn’t make anything out. Quentin and I frowned at each other, then seemed to come to the same conclusion before hurrying into the woods.

“Hey!” Quentin shouted at Elliott’s retreating back. He froze but didn’t turn around.

“Where have you been?” I asked softly, my voice echoing around us.

Not a day passed in the week since we first met him that we hadn’t raced to the old Lenox House hoping for just a glimpse of him.

“The pool got filled yesterday, and we saw the movers bringing furniture in. The painters finally left too. Figured maybe you and your aunt decided to stay at a friend’s place or something until everything was set up. ”

He turned then. “We don’t have friends.” Elliott’s tone was even sadder than the last time we spoke to him. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his house, and this odd fear of losing him filled my chest. Quentin and I took a step closer to him at the same time. Had he felt it too?

“We can be your friends,” Quentin said, and I’d never wanted to hug him as much as I did then. Elliott still seemed ready to run from us, though. Had Quentin come on too strong? He could be intimidating.

“Yeah,” I agreed lightly, trying to balance out Quentin’s rough tone. “We can be your friends.”

Elliott was wearing jeans today and tugged at the collar of his T-shirt like he was uncomfortable in it. I liked him better in his dress. “You don’t even know me.” The sun cut through the tree canopy right on top of him, making his eyes twinkle.

“Well, that’s kind of the point.” Quentin chuckled, checking the time on his phone. “Shit, Coach is gonna kill me. We gotta go.” Neither of us moved. We stood there locked in a staring contest with Elliott.

“Quentin’s gotta attend prospect camp today. He thinks he’s the star of his football team—of all teams ever created and combined,” I said dryly. “He thinks all the college scouts will be there just for him, so I have to go sit and watch him show off his ‘ skills .’”

“Hey, I am the star,” he said in offense, “and who the heck else would they be there for?”

I smiled up at him, getting caught up for a second in how cute his freckles looked in the sunlight.

“So, wanna come?” I asked Elliott. “We can grab pizza after.”

Elliott glanced over his shoulder again.

“Do you need to ask your aunt first? We can wait if you make it quick.”

“I can’t. Hanging out wasn’t in my plans today.”

“Then what were you doing here?” Quentin asked. He was right. We’d caught Elliott near our backyard. He’d obviously come to see us, even if he hadn’t planned on getting caught.

“I can stay and hang out with you if you don’t feel like being around other people.

” Other people besides us. Quentin and I looked at each other, engaging in a silent conversation.

I never missed his practices or his games, and it was a given that I’d be there with him on prospect day.

Aside from the occasional class we didn’t have together, we rarely left each other’s sides.

“Quentin won’t be long. He’ll come straight back,” I said, still looking at my stepbrother. “Right?” I needed the confirmation for myself because it felt like my heart was being ripped to shreds by the idea of willfully choosing to be without him for a few hours.

“Right.” He sounded disappointed too, but the fact he’d leave me alone with someone else said a lot.

He’d agreed that Elliott could use some friends the day we woke up to find him missing from our bed, and he’d offered our friendship to him a minute ago.

But allowing me to choose Elliott over him without putting up a fight was something different.

Quentin’s phone rang. “Shit, I gotta go for real.” He wore the same look he did when we had to separate for a class, like he didn’t know how he’d make it until the bell rang.

“We’ll be here when you get back,” I promised. Quentin nodded, hugging me before sprinting away.

“Please don’t take your dad’s convertible,” I called after him.

“You know I will,” he shouted back.

He’d take it because it was off-limits. Quentin was attracted to anything that would piss my stepfather off.

His fixation on making Dylan’s life a living hell might’ve been warranted, but I worried all that anger wasn’t good for him.

Hypocritical since I had my own anger to deal with, but Quentin and I expressed ourselves differently.

I tried my best to avoid and ignore Dylan, whereas Quentin did the opposite.

If I had my license, then maybe I could drive sometimes and choose one of the cars Dylan couldn’t care less about. I had no interest in driving, though, because Quentin loved having me dependent on him. I secretly loved it too, so I took any opportunity to give up control to him.

Elliott watched him round the side of the house with a strange look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, guessing at the possibilities. It was the same curious look we got in school—minus the disgust.

“Nothing,” he said.

Already missing Quentin, I waited until the purr of the engine faded into the distance before speaking again.

“Unfortunately, I’m not the fun one. I mostly read.” We were less than a dozen feet apart, but with Quentin gone, I felt the need to be close to someone. Elliott didn’t flinch or back away when I moved closer to him.

“What else do you do?” he asked. I tilted my head, confused. “You said you mostly read. Is there something else you do when not reading?”

Instinctively, my gaze drifted to the spot Quentin had vacated. “Not really.”

Elliott nodded, his stance relaxing as he slipped his hands into his back pockets. The gesture looked unnatural on him. Almost like he was playing at being cool, doing what he thought he should be doing. “You can be yourself with us.”

“Myself?”

“Yeah. Shy and a little awkward. Come on.” I gestured for him to follow me. “We’ll grab something to eat from the kitchen. Then I’ll show you my leather-bound Tolkien collection.”

I made us a couple sandwiches—about the only thing Quentin and I made well. A vacuum started up somewhere, startling Elliott. “That’s just Olga. The housekeeper.” I snagged a couple bottles of water. “Let’s eat in my room. It’s off-limits to anyone but us.”

Quentin and I did our own cleaning, and if someone needed us, they called. My stepfather was rarely home, but his bedroom was on the opposite side of the house. He stayed clear of us as much as possible. Seeing us triggered his guilt, and Quentin didn’t hesitate to lean into it.

Elliott took the chair in the sitting area, placing his plate on the broad arm before biting into his sandwich. I sat on the couch, trying not to laugh when a glob of mayonnaise left a long streak down his shirt. I handed him my napkin.

He poured water onto the napkin before attacking the stain, then frowned when it only made things worse.

“I’ll get you something clean to put on when we’re done.” Pointing to the corner of my mouth, I said, “You’ve got a little mayo right here.”

Elliott flushed, reaching up to wipe it away. Not knowing what to do with it, he licked his finger clean. I smiled around a bite of roast beef, and Elliott flushed harder.

“You don’t have to be shy with us.”

“I’m not,” he shot back, clearly irritated by my second evaluation of him.

“Sorry.” I didn’t want to upset him.

“It’s okay.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt again.

I finished up my sandwich in the tense silence that followed.

Elliott alternated between scrubbing a hand over his brow, watching the wet stain dry, and glancing at the bedroom door.

“Be right back.” I rushed into the closet, returning with a pale blue, flowy summer dress.

I gestured for him to take it. Elliott slowly pushed up from his seat.

“It was my mother’s,” I whispered. I hadn’t planned on saying any more than that, but then I remembered what he’d shared with us when he didn’t have to.

“Where are your parents?”

“They died.”

“She died too. It’s okay,” I said when his expression turned flustered. It wasn’t okay, but I hated seeing the hurt in his eyes. “Anyway, she never wore it. I’ve still got a lot of her stuff, most of it brand-new.” My stepfather had a bad habit of apologizing to her with gifts.

Elliott ran trembling fingers over the silk before snatching his hand away. “I-I can’t.”

I wondered if he turned it down because of who it belonged to, or because he felt ashamed for wanting it.

“Please.” I held it out to him. “You can wear it whenever you’re here.”

Elliott’s lips moved fast like they had in the woods that first day. He was quiet, but I made out the word “God.”