Page 161 of Saving Sparrow
Quentin told him to take a hint, that we wouldn’t be coming to Queer Life ever.
I’d never felt more embarrassed. I’d never felt less loved by someone who’d sworn I meant everything to them.
Kayden and Rachel stopped speaking to me after that, only offering pitying smiles and sad waves when Quentin wasn’t looking. I offered them neither in return.
I spent more and more time in our walk-in closet over the next several weeks, sometimes falling asleep in there. I’d wake up in bed with Quentin almost crushing me, his way of keeping me there. I was starting to feel trapped by our love, missing the days when it made me feel free.
I held on, though, repeating the same three words to myself over and over again.
Everything I need… Everything I need… Everything I need…
Quentin
Then
“Fuck!” I punched the air after screwing up my fourth pass of the game. Coach benched Sanchez, sending Harrison in, but my problem wasn’t with the receivers today. It was the pretty little pain in my ass, goading me from the stands.
Catching my breath, I squinted, watching Elliott giggle with some asshat. They sat middle row and weren’t high up, making it easier for me to make them out from this side of the field. As if he knew I was watching him, Elliott laid a hand on the asshat’s shoulder, tossing his head back like he’d just heard the funniest shit ever.
It was all for my benefit, to make me batshit crazy, because Elliott knew I didn’t want his hands on anyone besides me and Miguel. He also hadn’t laughed in weeks, so pretending to find whatever this dickwad said amusing was a sure way to make me fucking insane.
It was selfish of him because he knew making me jealous could potentially end with someone getting hurt.
Suddenly, Elliott turned to the field. I couldn’t see his facial features clearly, but I knew he was staring at me,daringme. They stood, working their way past the spectators in their row.
“Son of a bitch.” I called a timeout, ignoring Coach’s confused expression as I raced past him. I shot into the bleachers, making it to Elliott’s row just as he cleared it.
“Where the hell are you two going?” He didn’t even look shocked to see me there, breathing hard and hovering over him.
“We’re going to the bathroom. Is that a crime?”
I glanced over at the clumsy asshat stepping on people’s feet as he stumbled through the row. I recognized him from our school. A huge Hawks fan, always sporting the hat and T-shirts, always shouting “kill it, Q” as I emerged from the tunnel.
“It’s not a crime, but it’ll definitely cause a crime scene. You piss in your pants, and you do it from the sidelines.” I gave Elliott a hard look, letting him know I was as serious as a heart attack. In the distance, I heard Coach shouting my name.
Elliott looked around at everyone now watching us. Good, let them see how far I’d go for what’s mine.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Quentin. I’m not allowed down—”
“You either walk there, or I fucking carry you.”
“Quen—”
“On your feet or over my shoulder, Elliott.” I hadn’t called him that since we first met. Even while testing my patience with his brooding and passive-aggressive digs at me, I still called him my pretty girl. I could tell by the way he gripped the railing that I’d hurt his feelings.
“Oh, hey, Q!” the asshat said from beside me. He’d finally stumbled his way to freedom. I gave him a scalding look that sent him shriveling back. I returned my glare to Elliott.
“I’ll walk,” he gritted out, the tips of his ears going crimson.
The crowd had grown restless, and there was confusion on the field. Coach waited with his hands on his hips. I left Elliott behind the bench area with one of the team trainers. “Guard him with your life, Garcia.” I headed over to Coach.
“What the hell is going on, McAllen?” He gestured to Elliott. “He can’t be down here!”
“If you want me to help us win the game, I need him right here.”
Coach looked between me and Elliott, a million questions in his gaze, but time was running out. “You’re lucky I don’t suspend you. Get your ass on the field,” he growled, “and you’re running drills after practice for a whole damn week.”
“When are you going to stop being upset with me?” I’d gotten special permission to drive myself to and from the away game, and Elliott and I were on our way home. The tension between us grew with each minute we stayed quiet.
