Page 30 of Saving Sparrow
I frowned at Elliott, confused. He’d made sure to schedule his appointments during Quentin’s off-season training practices. He’d been going to therapy during that time. Or at least that was what he told us.
“I don’t want to go.” Elliott sounded steadier.
Amelia sighed, as if she didn’t care about what Elliott did and didn’t want. “You know our terms.”
“I never talk when I’m there anyway.”
“Therapy was part of the agree—”
“You just want to torture me!” he yelled.
Quentin and I both tensed. We’d never heard Elliott raise his voice before. Most of the time he didn’t speak above a whisper.
“How ironic,” she said in a cryptic tone before moving on. “Therapy is non-negotiable. Sometimes breakthroughs take time.”
Breakthroughs?
“He can stay with us.” Quentin stepped forward. “If forcing him to go is the only way he can live with you, then he can stay here with us.”
“And what will your parents think of that, young man?” she asked, speaking her first words to him.
“We live here with my stepdad,” I answered. “And he wouldn’t care.” I didn’t know if that was true, but if he cared, he’d know better than to say it out loud. Elliott looked over with both gratitude and sadness in his gaze.
“Say goodbye to your little friends, Elliott. I’ll be waiting in the car.” Without another word, she left, leaving the sickly sweet fragrance of her perfume behind.
“You don’t have to go with her.” Quentin clasped Elliott’s biceps as he moved toward the door. Elliott tensed.
“Quentin,” I warned, resting my hand on his forearm.
“Sorry.” He let Elliott go. “I’m just pissed.”
And afraid. The last time Quentin didn’t act, our lives changed forever.
“It’s okay,” Elliott said softly to Quentin. “I’ll go to the next practice.”
Elliott left, and I blocked Quentin’s path when he went to go after him. Or maybe Amelia was his target. He let out a roar of frustration when the front door closed, taking the steps upstairs two at a time. It was the first time he’d ever skipped practice.
We grabbed flashlights and sneaked through the woods to Elliott’s house that night. “Wait.” I grabbed Quentin’s arm before he could step through the tree line onto Amelia’s lawn. “What if she has motion sensor lights or a security system or something?”
“I don’t give a shit. We need to make sure he’s okay.”
“We don’t want to be arrested while doing it,” I reasoned. “What good will that do if we aren’t home for him tomorrow?” But the truth was, Quentin had always been braver than I was.
“Look.” I pointed to the large windows atop the stone staircase in the backyard. The lights were on in the house, and Amelia and Elliott were at the dinner table. I squinted, shoving my glasses up as if that would help me see better from here.
“We should have brought binoculars,” Quentin complained.
“Maybe we can zoom in using my phone.” It helped a little, and we watched as the two of them sat on opposite sides of the long table, not talking to each other. Elliott wasn’t even eating. He just sat there staring at his plate while Amelia sipped from her wineglass.
Quentin looked down at me, his eyes just as sad as mine. We reached for each other’s hands.
“We’ll talk to him tomorrow. See what we can do.”
“She has control of him until he turns eighteen,” Quentin reminded me. We didn’t even know his birthday.
“Maybe we can prove she’s unfit, and then your dad can temporarily adopt him or something.” It was a stretch, but seeing Elliott’s pain made me desperate.
“Yeah, maybe.” Quentin didn’t sound optimistic.
