Page 111 of Saving Sparrow
“Please,” Quentin murmured tightly.
Dylan grunted. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word come out of your mouth. At least not since you were a little boy.”
I could see it in Quentin’s eyes. He wanted to make a sarcastic comment about his childhood, one that wouldn’t have gotten him to his goal. Dylan’s gaze narrowed to see if Quentin would give him areasonto deny him again. Quentin stayed quiet, and so Dylan did it without one.
“There’s nothing to be done. You’ll have plenty of time to find a placeafteryou graduate. You’ll have the whole summer to search.”
Miguel finally spoke up when it seemed Quentin couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. He kept the corners of his mouth soft, but his hold on my hand tightened.
“Quentin starts practice in July. We need to be in Wembly by then.” He left out the part where we’d be leaving months before then, only giving Dylan the bare minimum. “We found a place that meets thefreshman distance-based exemption for living off campus. It’s within walking distance. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a small kitchen.” Miguel paused to take a breath. “It’s the last available unit, and they’re only willing to hold it another week for us. We’ll need to cover the rent even though we’re not there, but it’s perfect for us.”
More units would be available right before the fall semester, and Quentin could live in the dorms until then, but Miguel and I couldn’t. This apartment would be the only way we could be together.
“We’d appreciate it if you could get Quentin access to his grandfather’s trust early.” Miguel dropped his gaze from Quentin’s before whispering, “Please.”
The color drained from Quentin’s face. “Don’t beg him,” he breathed. “Not after all he’s done to you.”
Dylan didn’t seem to hear his son’s hushed words. He was too busy smiling softly at Miguel, as if his stepson’s plea had meant everything to him. Dylan was complicated—too complicated for me to try to figure out.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dylan replied. “And what aboutyourtrust?”
Quentin’s money came from his grandfather, but when Gabriela died, Dylan had personally set up a trust fund for Miguel.
“I don’t want it,” Miguel said.
“Get out.” Quentin’s words were brutal, but Dylan nodded instead of reminding him whose house we were in.
Quentin paced away once we were alone. Miguel and I went to him.
Miguel slid a hand along Quentin’s neck, pulling him into him. I hugged him from behind, resting my cheek on his wide back, my hands sandwiched between their chests. Quentin smelled of grass and sweat. We both did.
He wrapped one arm around Miguel, reaching behind him as best he could to put the other one around me. The angle made it awkward, but we were touching each other. Nothing else mattered.
“Why couldn’t he have been different?” he asked. “Why didn’t I deserve better than him?”
Miguel backed away, and I shifted to stand beside Quentin. Miguel’s indecisive stare turned determined. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Don’t, Guelly.” Quentin raised a hand to stop him. “Please… just don’t. He’s a monster. Nothing changes that.”
I realized he’d been about to tell him about his mother’s note, and Quentin wasn’t ready to hear it.
“I gotta take a shower.” Quentin left us standing there, both of us watching him go.
“Let me,” I said when Miguel made to go after him. “You can stay here and feel however you feel. You get to do that. I’ll talk to him.”
“Okay, I’ll be by the pool.” He still stared after Quentin.
“I think I left the book I was telling you about down there. You can start it if you want.”
“Thanks.” He hugged me before whispering, “You need a shower too.”
Quentin was already in the shower when I got upstairs. He stood under the water, head lowered, back to me. I undressed and stepped inside.
Without a word, I soaped up his bath sponge, then stepped in front of him. I started with his shoulders, and he exhaled, lifting his arms robotically so I could clean his armpits. His stomach muscles tensed when I ran over them, and he turned so I could get his back. Soapy water ran down the rest of him. That would have to be enough.
I shampooed his hair next, scratching along the center of his scalp like I’d seen Miguel do so many times. A rumbling sound came from his chest.
I rinsed his hair clean before speaking over the noise of the water. “You’re nothing like him.” When he turned, my breath caught at his intense expression.
