Beauty and the Baller

A few minutes later, we back out of his garage in his silver Ferrari. He lets the car idle at the exit. “Connecticut, I presume?”

“Yeah.”

He pulls out on the road and points the car away from the city.

I gaze out the window at the passing buildings. I roll my neck. This entire day I’ve been unsettled, a pricking sensation eating at my insides. It’s fear, that I’m fucking something up, but I don’t know how to stop it.

“You’re quiet. Whatcha thinking?” Tuck asks a few minutes later, glancing over at me.

I smirk ruefully. “That you’re my best goddamn friend in the whole world. I might not be where I am today if it wasn’t for you. You got me dry. You sent me Leia. Like a boss. You bought an outfit and found the perfect girl. Fuck. I love you, man.”

I hear him sniff. “Asshole. Why are you making me cry like a girl?”

I huff out a laugh. “You’re almost a girl anyway.”

It’s close to ten by the time we pull into the landscaped and well-lit memorial garden. Tuck drives through the park, around the curves and hairpin turns. We stop at the bottom of a hill, park, and get out. He leans against the car and crosses his legs. “Take your time, bro.”

I nod and walk to Whitney’s grave. It’s set next to her grandparents’, a gray stone carved into a heart that ends in a flat stone on the bottom. Her parents picked it out, and I feel like she would have loved it. I sit down next to it and stare at her name, the date she was born. It’s been over two years since I visited. In the beginning, it was a lot, sometimes with Tuck, sometimes without. It usually involved a bottle of whiskey.

The last time I came was the day after the Mercer Hotel.

I settle my hands on the stone. Is it possible to have two (or more) loves in a lifetime? Does fate select your possibilities, and if the stars are aligned, you meet them? Is it possible to love them differently?

Whitney was the first girl I let into my heart. Our love bloomed into a gentle thing, sweet and uncomplicated. I planned a happy life with her. Then watched her die.

Nova. Jesus. I’m in deep with her. I love who she is. How strong. How sure she is of her feelings for me. How she treats others. How she’s devoted to Sabine. How she puts up with Lois. How her accent thickens when she’s pissed. Her hair. Her smile. Her damn cat. Her spunk. Her old cowboy boots. Her words about living a meaningful life, and fuck me, I miss her.

I glance up at the night sky, stars gleaming. I swallow thickly. Whitney’s up there in heaven, scowling and huffy. I bet she has her little round glasses on, the ones I said made her look like a professor. She’s pointing her finger at me, telling me I’m a fool, that I need to let go and live my life.

I exhale. My gut knows that to feel alive, to taste what life has to offer, I must conquer my fear of losing people and letting them down. I need to loosen the guilt that burdens me. Fear and guilt have built a fortress in my heart, the stones laid with anguish and pain. It’s whispered to me that it’s safer to just skim through life, lurking in the dark, never living in the light.

But . . .

Now I have another chance, and I’m too scared to reach out and grasp it.

Nova called Andrew a coward.

I bend my head, unable to look at the stars.

I’m. The. Fucking. Coward.

Chapter 28

NOVA

On Monday morning, I park the Caddy in the school parking lot. Sabine and I head up the sidewalk and step inside. It feels like any other day. Teachers arriving. Kids milling around the hall, leaning against lockers, and chatting. Spirits seem high, despite the absence of Ronan.

I wonder where he is, if he woke up with the same sense of loss I did. I touch my hair as I catch my reflection in one of the lockers. It’s clean, but I let it dry on its own last night. Untamed, it hangs around my face in chunks. Sure, I brushed it, but it’s unruly. I prefer to wear it straight with a flat iron. Maybe I should put it up in a messy bun—

“Nova?”

I stop, blinking. “Yeah?”

Sabine cocks her head. “I’ve been talking to you about New Zealand. You’re just staring off into space.”

I ease out of the way of a passing student. “I do that sometimes.”

“You did it all day yesterday.”

I wince. “Sorry. I love New Zealand. Isn’t that the place with the caves lit by worms?”

“Correct. Waitomo Caves. That glowworm species is only in New Zealand. People take boat rides to see them.”