Balling his hand into a fist, he covers his mouth with his hand, hiding a smile. “Like a sex video?”

“What… no!” I swat his arm, shaking my head. “Why the hell would you ask that? I was in here by myself.”

He lowers his hand from his mouth, humor lacing his voice. “Oh, you can make a sex video by yourself.”

My cheeks flush and I grab the pillow beside me, hugging it with one arm, as I bury my face into it to hide my mortification. “Well, that’s not what I was doing.”

“What kind of video then?” he asks with interest, and I peek up at him. His hand is on his lap and his fingers are softly stroking my wrist.

“It’s just a video about me,” I say, shivering when his finger grazes a sensitive area on my arm. “Or my thoughts. I guess kind of like a documentary.”

“Or like a Novamentary,” he says. The moment is so real, so raw and fresh, that I can’t help but want to find a way to capture it and keep it forever, because soon it will be replaced by alcohol and weed or numbers and order. Tossing the pillow aside, I pick up my phone. “How about you say something for my Novamentary?”

“You want to record me?” he questions warily, and I nod. “Well, I’m not that great on video.”

“Neither am I.” I aim the phone camera at him, and I have to admit he looks stunningly beautiful on it; clear honey-brown eyes, long lashes, short, soft hair, and very kissable lips. “Delilah did it, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” I keep the camera aimed at him for a little bit longer and then start to lower it when he doesn’t say anything.

“Wait.” He compresses my wrist between his fingers. “I’ll say something.” He pauses. “Do you want honesty?”

I’m taken back by his question, but nod. “If you’re comfortable with it.”

He releases my wrist from between his fingers and scoots away from me. I think he’s going to leave, but then he crisscrosses his legs and supports his elbows on his knees. “Once upon a time there was this guy.”

“I thought you were going to tell something honest,” I interrupt. “Not a fairy tale.”

He holds up a finger. “Give me a minute… I promise it’s not a fairy tale.”

I relax, watching him through the screen as he cracks his knuckles and pops his neck, then stirs in his own silence. His neck muscles are rigid and his skin has gone pale.

“Once upon a time there was this guy,” he starts over. “And he was a good guy. The kind that girls could take back to their parents and who held open doors and who fell in love with the girl he knew he was going to marry.” His forehead furrows and he gazes over my shoulder. “Or at least that’s what he believed… but shit happened and the guy ended up dying, only somehow he made it back, but the good in him remained dead and all that was left was this really bad guy who fucks up shit and who really, really wishes he’d stayed dead.”

He stops and blinks, and for a moment it looks like he’s forgotten where he is, who I am, and who the hell he is. We stare at each other, and I’m trying to figure out what to say to him because he’s openly talking to me—or the camera, anyway—and the pain I’ve seen inside him is slipping out through his words. I want to ask him how the guy died, what happened to the girl, and why the guy thinks he’s such a bad person.

I lower the camera. “Why do you think you’re a bad guy?”

“Because I am,” he says it so simply as if it’s factual, but from what I’ve seen—from what I’m seeing right now—he’s not.

“No, you’re not,” I say. “Not even close.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t even know me, Nova, so you can’t say that about me.”

“I know some things about you,” I tell him. “You make me smile, and no one’s done that in a very long time.”

He offers me a halfhearted smile. “Just because I can make you smile doesn’t mean I deserve to smile.”

“Why? Because you do drugs? Or… or is it because of something else?”

“It’s everything.” He almost sounds frustrated, as if he wants me to stop telling him he’s good. “Everything I do—have done—is bad.”

“That’s not true,” I tell him and set the camera down on the floor. “What we do doesn’t define us, although I think some people would probably disagree with me.” I scoot forward and only stop moving when our knees touch—when I make a connection with him. “I think that sometimes things just get confusing and we get lost, and sometimes you can’t figure out which path is the right path… which is the right decision.” Quit or move forward. Heal or break. Fight or die. I’m still figuring that out.

His eyes crinkle around the corners as his expression softens. “Are you confused and lost, Nova?”

I nod and I feel something break inside as my confession hovers between us. “All the damn time.”

He swallows hard. “I completely understand where you’re coming from.” He sucks in a breath, and then the mood shifts as he rubs his hands together. “So how about some breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds good,” I tell him, which seems extremely ordinary after the conversation we just had. But sometimes ordinary is a good break from complexity, I guess. Or maybe there’s just nothing left to say.

He uncrosses his legs, kneels up, and unzips the tent door. “Now, is there anything you don’t like to eat, besides melted ice cream?” He crawls out of the tent into the sunlight.

“Burnt hot dogs.” I joke as I crawl out of the tent behind him. “Or how about Hot Pockets?”

“Yeah, no more burnt hot dogs. Or Hot Pockets,” he says, offering me one hand as he brushes the dirt off his knees with the other.

I place my hand in his, and he interlaces our fingers, then lifts me to my feet. I breathe in the fresh air and tip my face up to the sun. It’s a nice day, with only a few clouds spotting the sky. The stage is empty and the field is fairly vacant.

“Where’s everyone?” I ask, stretching like a cat in the sunshine.

He smiles, amused at something. “I think they wandered off to the lake.”

“The lake?” I tug at the bottom of my tank top, covering my stomach back up.

He nods and then walks around the tent, towing me along with him. “Yeah, they went to get clean, I think.”

“By taking a bath in a lake?” I ask, maneuvering around coolers and fold-up chairs.

He shrugs, kicking a bottle out of our path. “Yeah, it’s not that big of a deal. I think they have their clothes on.”

“You think?” I ask and then realize how immature I sound.

He shakes his head, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, and then he surprises me by kissing my forehead. “Actually, I don’t think. I went down there a little earlier, and for some reason everyone seems to think this is a nudist colony. Or they all might be tripping on something that gives them that whole I’m-free vibe.”

“Why were you down there?” I scoot to the side out of the way of a tent.

He glances down at me inquisitively, and his eyes look lighter in the sunlight. “Is that your way of asking if I was down there joining in the nakedness, too?”

“Kind of,” I admit, even though my cheeks heat. I chew on my nails, letting my hair fall down to the side of my face. “I don’t know a lot about you, and it would be nice to know if you’re into stripping down in front of a bunch of people.”

“Why? Would you hate me if I said yes?” he asks seriously.

I shake my head. “No, I just want to know more about you.”

He gazes at me quizzically as we veer around a dropped tailgate that’s littered with beer boxes and cigarette butts. “Well, the answer is no. I actually hate being naked in front of people.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and gaze up at the clear sky. When I look back at him I find him staring at me. “What?” I ask.

“I’m waiting for your answer,” he says, slowing us down as we reach Tristan’s rusted old Cadillac.

“My answer for…”

He takes the keys out of his pocket. “On whether or not you’re the kind of person who likes to get naked in front of other people.”

I bite down on my lip and shake my head. “No, not really.”

He smiles as he unlocks the car door. “Good, now we have something in common.”

“Is that the only thing we have in common?” I catch the keys as he tosses them to me.

He stares into my eyes, and I wonder what the hell he can see in them. “No, I think we share a lot more.” He scratches at his head as he considers something. “Can you drive? I don’t think I should.”

I wonder if it has to do with being under the influence or if it’s related to what Tristan said. I wonder a lot of things about him, about me, about him and me together, and why I seem like a different person around him, like I get lost in him instead of numbers, control, and order. My thoughts drift off as something strikes the inside of my head like a lightning bolt. Is that how I was with Landon? Lost? Different? I’d been so consumed by him when he was alive. Have I ever really known who I was?

I climb in and turn the engine on while Quinton rounds the front of the car and climbs in. I start to back up when he says, “Stop.”

I tap on the brakes, panicking, thinking I’m about to run over someone or something. “What’s wrong?” I ask, glancing in the rearview mirror, but the dirt road behind me is empty.

His eyes are slightly wide as he leans over the console, stretching his arm across the front of my chest. Then he grabs the seat belt, pulls it over my chest, and buckles me in. I wait for him to buckle his own, but he relaxes back in his seat, and remains still.

“Aren’t you going to put yours on, too?” I ask, letting the car slowly roll backward.

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m good.”

“Quinton, I…” I trial off as he turns his head toward the window and folds his arms.

“I said I’m good,” he says in a tight voice, gesturing at the shifter. “Now let’s go get some breakfast.”

I want to argue with him, but how the hell am I supposed to force someone to do something they obviously are dead set on not doing. Sighing, I press on the gas, maneuvering the car around potholes. The closer I get to the main road, the more pissed off I get, because he won’t put his seat belt on, and I know he’s probably done a ton of other things that put his life at risk, but this makes it seem like he doesn’t value his life at all, which makes me even more agitated.

Finally, I stomp on the brake a little too hard and it sends us both forward. My seat belt locks, but because he doesn’t have one on, he ends up hitting his head on the dashboard.

“Shit,” he curses, rubbing his head, and then stares at me coldly. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

My foot that’s holding down the brake is shaking as I stare straight ahead. “Because I want you to put your seat belt on.”