I shake my head. “I doubt her mother even knows where she is.”

“What about her father?” Lea asks, clicking the mouse.

“He’s been out of the picture pretty much since she was born,” I say. “And she doesn’t have any other relatives as far as I know.”

“What about Quinton’s father?” she wonders. “You could do a search for him in Seattle where Quinton lived…or did he not live with his father?”

“I don’t know…God, I don’t even know his father’s first name,” I tell her guiltily. “But I guess you could do a search on Quinton Carter in Seattle and see if it pulls up an old phone number or his father’s name maybe.”

“Yeah, but are we even sure his dad would know where he is?” she asks. “Maybe we should just see if we can track Quinton’s phone number down.”

“As far as I know he doesn’t have one,” I reply. “And Quinton Carter is kind of a common name, isn’t it?”

Lea opens her mouth to respond, but Jaxon raises his hand like a kid in elementary school waiting for the teacher to call on him so he can speak. Lea rolls her eyes, but laughs.

“Yes, Mr. Collins,” she says in a fake baritone voice as she rolls to her side.

Jaxon lowers his hand onto his lap and grins as he brushes his hair out of his eyes. “As much as I’d love to sit here and listen to you bounce your brilliant ideas off each other all day, I have an idea that might be a lot simpler.”

Lea flourishes her hand at him and the tension between the two of them appears to have been alleviated a little. “Well, then you have our undivided attention, O brilliant one.”

He covers his mouth with his hand, hiding a grin. “Why don’t I call this Delilah and see if I can sweet-talk her into giving up their location.”

“Because you’re so much more charming than the two of us,” Lea says, playfully prodding him in the side with her foot. “Why would she give up her address to you, if she wouldn’t even give it to Nova, and she knows Nova?”

“Um, because I’m a guy.” He points at himself. “And I can be very charming when I want to.”

“True,” Lea agrees. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.” She looks at me questioningly. “What do you think, Nova?”

“I think it’s worth a try.” I slant to the side to get my phone out of the back pocket of my shorts.

“Let me call her from mine, since she’s been ignoring your calls,” Jaxon says, reaching for his phone in the pocket of his pants.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “Good point,” I tell him as he swipes his finger across the screen. “And Jaxon?”

He glances up at me. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” I say, because even though he doesn’t know it, what he’s doing for me right now means more to me than if he were giving me the shirt off his back.

“You’re welcome…now what’s the number?” he asks, and as I rattle it off, he dials.

“And put it on speakerphone,” Lea tells him, sitting up beside him. “I want to hear how this goes down.”

Jaxon blows out a breath, then hits the speaker button and sets the phone down on the floor in front of him. When it starts to ring, he hastily says, “Wait, what am I supposed to say?”

“I have no idea.” I trade a look with Lea, who shrugs. “How about—”

“Hello.” Delilah’s voice on the line forces me to seal my lips.

“Um, hey, beautiful.” Jaxon glances at me, then Lea, who hangs her head and shakes it disbelievingly.

“Um, who is this?” Delilah asks, sounding mystified.

“My name’s Jaxon,” he says cautiously. “I’m a friend of Nova’s.”

I hold my breath as soon as he says my name, worried she’ll hang up on him, since she clearly has been dodging my calls.

“Is she in trouble?” Delilah asks, not seeming upset, just neutral.

“No…” He pauses, then picks up the phone and puts the receiver close to his mouth. “Look, here’s the deal, Delilah. Nova really needs to get ahold of this Quinton guy…in fact, it’s pretty important, and you seem to be the only person who has a direct connection to him, at least the only person that Nova knows. So what I was wondering is if you could either put him on the phone so she could talk to him or if you could let us know how to get ahold of him. If you could do either one of those things,” he says charmingly, “I would greatly, greatly appreciate it.”

Delilah pauses and I can hear banging in the background. “Fine, hold on…I’ll go see if he wants to talk to her.” It sounds like the phone is dropped on the other end, but then voices flow over the line.

Lea smacks Jaxon on the back of the head. “Really?” she hisses. “You called her beautiful.”

He shrugs, and then covers the receiver with his hand. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Lea sighs before she snatches the phone from Jaxon and tosses it to me and I lean forward to catch it. Then Lea gets to her feet and extends her hand to Jaxon. “Let’s give her some privacy.”

Jaxon takes her hand and she pulls him to his feet. Then they depart for the door with their fingers intertwined. “I’m just in the next room if you need anything,” Lea calls over her shoulder. I nod and they step out and shut the door behind them.

I let a slow exhalation ease out as my pulse slams against my wrist, neck, and chest. I’m actually going to talk to him. What the hell do I say? And what if I say something wrong? I start to panic and crave the solitude of counting, but I refuse to go there.

Never again.

I’m stronger than that.

Deep breaths.

Breathe.

Relax—

“Hello.” The sound of his voice stops my thoughts, my heart, my breath, as the feelings I felt during those couple of months slam straight into my heart like a shot of adrenaline. I can’t find my voice; I’m broken, soundless. Speak, dammit. Speak. “Delilah, who did you say this was?” I hear him say and it snaps me back to reality.

“It’s Nova,” I tell him tentatively. There’s a pause and I’d think that he’s hung up on me but I can hear chattering in the background. “Nova Reed, the girl you met a year ago.”

“I remember,” he says, not sounding happy at all, and it crushes almost all my hope, until he adds in a lighter tone, “Nova, like the car.”

“That would be the one.” I flop down on the bed on my back, searching my mind for the right words, but knowing that they probably don’t exist. That everything I say is probably going to sound awkward and might piss him off, but I’m going to have to just go with it if I’m going to go through with this. “I was just calling to see how you were.”

“I’m fine,” he replies in a formal tone.

“Umm…I hear you moved from Maple Grove.”

“Yeah…things got to be a little too intense there for some people, I guess, but me, I’ll live wherever.”

“Where are you living?” I wonder, brushing my finger across my tattoo. Never forget. Remember, move forward. Do things differently.

“Delilah didn’t tell you?” he asks.

“No, I didn’t even ask her.” I lie, because I did. A thousand times on her voice mail, but she never would answer or call back.

He gets quiet and I hear a door shut and the chattering quiets down. “We live in Vegas…her, Dylan, Tristan, and I…it’s kind of intense here, too, but I guess it works for everyone.”

“Vegas,” I say, a little shocked because that’s not what I was expecting. Honestly I don’t know what I was expecting, or if I really expected anything. I think part of me might have believed that I would never talk to him again. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he replies in a terse tone.

I force my tone to be cheerful, even though his irritation hurts. “Well, what do you do in Vegas?” I ask and then shake my head at myself. “I mean, does anyone work there…at all?” I smack my hand against my head. God, I sound like a rambling idiot.

“Sort of,” he replies, being evasive, and I think I know why. Because maybe they’re doing the same thing as at the concert—dealing drugs.

My heart starts to fracture as pressure builds in my chest and all I want to do is hang up and find something to count, but I keep going. “Are you drawing a lot?”

“Sometimes…I’ve actually drawn you a couple of times,” he says, and then the line goes silent. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? You can draw me if you want to.” I think I might mean it and it feels strange after spending all that time viewing it as cheating on Landon if anyone else ever drew me. When did I get to a place where I’m okay with it?

His quietness is maddening but then he speaks again and his voice is lighter. “So what have you been up to?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Not a whole lot. School. Work. I’ve been playing the drums again, too.”

“Really,” he says and I hear him flick a lighter. “You know, I never did get to see you play.”

“I know.” Memories flood me, like water, rising…rising…rising. I can hear, smell, feel the concert we were at a little less than a year ago. “But there’s still time. I could come visit you or you could come visit me.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, his mood instantly deflating, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. “Look, Nova, I got to go. Tristan needs my help with something.”

“Hold on a second.” I quickly sit up, not ready to stop the conversation. I haven’t even accomplished anything yet, talked to him enough, saved him. God dammit, what the hell am I supposed to say? What is the right thing to say? “I’ve actually been wanting to use that video clip you made for a project I’m working on…the one you made in the tent when we were at the concert. I know it’s sort of personal and everything, so I won’t use it unless you say it’s okay.” I’m getting desperate to keep him on the phone, keep hearing his voice.

He pauses, but only for a second or two. “I really don’t care if you do, Nova. So much has happened between then and now that I can barely even remember what I said on it.”

My chest aches and I ball up my fist and massage my hand over it, seeking relief but not getting any. “Thanks, but I also need you to sign a release. My professor won’t let me use the clip unless I have one from each of the people in the video.”

“Okay…how do I sign the form?”

“Can I mail it to you?” I ask, reaching for a pen and paper on the nightstand, feeling like a real asshole for not telling him my ulterior motive for getting his address.

“Sure,” he responds, then he tells me the address and I jot it down. As I set the pen and paper down on the bed, I hear someone say something in the background about getting a move on. “Look, Nova, it’s been great talking to you, but I have to go.”

I’m afraid to let him go, cut the connection, not know he’s okay, but I know that I have to. “Okay, I understand.”

I wait for him to hang up, but then he says, “Are you okay?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. I’m just worried about you and I have no idea how to go about this. I have no idea what I’m doing.

“Are you sure?” he asks again and I remember all the times last summer when he asked the same thing.

“Yeah, but it’s been really nice talking to you.” I open my eyes, trying to think of something epic to say, but I just can’t get there. “Would it be okay if I called you again?”

He wavers. “I guess, but I don’t have a phone.”

“That’s okay…I can call Delilah’s. Just make sure to mention to her that you want to talk to me the next time I call or else I don’t think she’ll let me talk to you.”

“Okay, I will,” he says, but I don’t think he means it. “Take care of yourself, Nova.”

“I will.” I feel like a part of my heart has died the moment he hangs up the phone. The line goes dead and it reminds me of the sound of a flat line after a heart stops beating, desperate to be revived. And I want to do that for him. Help him. Revive him.

I feel so helpless, just like I did with Landon.

I know I have to do something, but I’m not sure what exactly. What way is the right way or if there even is a right way. This isn’t some story or fairy tale where I’ll set out on this mission to save someone and after a long, exhausting battle we’ll reach our happily ever after. I actually don’t believe in happily ever afters. They’re sappy in my opinion and super unrealistic.

But what I do believe in is not giving up on something that I feel passionate about. And I feel passionate about helping people. I’ve been doing it on the phone for months now, at the suicide hotline I work at. I talk with people. I try to help them see that they’re not alone. That there are other people in the world who have felt the same way and they’ve survived.