Nova gets to her feet, picking up the two coffees beside her, then stretches out her legs. “Hey.”

It’s such a casual word, but it doesn’t fit the environment or situation at all, and neither does she. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, sounding like a dick, when really all I want to do is run up and hug her, let her warmth spill all over me.

Tristan steps aside and gives me a strange look, like he doesn’t understand what I’m doing.

“I came here to see you.” She holds my gaze and it throws me off, scares me, confuses me. She steps forward, looking straight at me, like Tristan doesn’t exist, like we’re the only two people in this world. When she’s right in front of me, she extends her hand and hands me a coffee. “I got this for you.”

“What about me?” Tristan asks.

“I forgot to get you one,” Nova says without looking at him. “But I’m sure you’ll live.”

Tristan makes a face and then winds around her, taking his cigarettes out of his pocket. He lights up and then rests his elbows on the railing, staring at the parking lot. “Quinton, make this quick. We gotta go.”

I’m not even sure what he means by “make this quick.” Make what quick? Make talking to her quick? Make drinking the coffee quick? Make f**king her quick…God, I wish it were that one, and for a second the crystal in my body makes me feel like that idea is okay.

Nova glances over her shoulder at Tristan and then turns around and leans in toward me. “Can I talk to you alone for a little bit?”

I shake my head, staring at the coffee, knowing I should take a sip, but I’m not thirsty and my jaw hurts. “I need to go somewhere.”

“Please,” she says. “I came all the way here to see you.”

My eyes lift to hers. “I didn’t ask you to…and if you would have told me you were planning to come here when you called, I’d have told you not to.”

“I still would have come,” she admits with a shrug. “I needed to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s just something I need to do.”

I pick at the label around the coffee. “And what if I said that I’m not going to talk to you? That it’d be a waste of your time?”

“I’d say you were lying,” she replies, trying to act calm, but I can tell by the way she fidgets with the hem of her shirt that she’s uneasy. “Just like you’re pretending to be an as**ole to try to get me to walk away.”

“But I’m not going to talk to you,” I say simply, but on the inside I shudder because she’s so right it scares me how much she understands me.

“But you already are,” she retorts, and the corners of her mouth quirk. “Since we’re standing here talking right now.”

I rub the back of my neck, stiffening as I massage my tender muscles. “Nova, I’m not in the mood for this,” I say, because she’s the one thing right now standing in the way of my getting to Johnny’s house. And when I get there this—my confusion and this entire conversation—will be a vanishing thought in my mind. “Please just go away and leave me alone.”

She shakes her head. “Not until you talk to me.”

“I’m busy,” I lie, wishing she’d go, but also wishing she’d stay. Wishing I could stop thinking about Johnny’s and meth, but even thinking about not thinking about it sends my fear and anxiousness soaring.

“I only need like an hour,” she replies without missing a beat. She pauses as I deliberate what she’s asking and I can’t believe I’m even considering it. “Please,” she adds. “It’s important to me.”

Tristan’s taken an interest in our conversation and he shakes his head at me, like don’t even go there, but I want for a moment, just for a second to remember what it was like to be with her, talk to her, feel the presence of someone who cared about life and who maybe could care for me. Just an hour. Do I deserve an hour? I don’t think so, yet I want it. But at the same time I don’t because it’s an hour I have to spend away from lines of crystal, and crystal always makes it easier to think. It’s like a tug-of-war. Go. Stay. Nova. Johnny’s. Feeling. Sedation. Thinking. Silence. Meth. Meth. Meth. I want it.

“Nova, I don’t think…” I trail off as her expression falls and then I say something that surprises all three of us. “Fine, you have an hour.” But I’m not sure how much that time is going to stick. I remember all the times I talked to Nova and how lost I got in her and how time just drifted by.

She cups her hands around her coffee and nods, not smiling, not frowning, just blowing out a stressed breath. “Can you go for a drive with me? I’d rather not stand out here and talk.”

I’d rather she not be standing out here either, not just because it’s a crack house, but because I’m worried that Trace and his guys could randomly show up to make good on their threat and I’d hate myself forever if she were here when something like that went down.

I nod, even when Tristan huffs in frustration. “I think I can do that,” I tell her, but I’m not so sure.

As I start to follow her across the balcony, Tristan shoots me an irritated look and then says to me, “If you’re taking off, then I’m going back inside. I’m not going to wait around for you.”

I’m torn because I know what he means by “going back inside.” He’s going to go finish off the last of the heroin he was going to use this morning before he decided to do lines with me because he thought it’d help me feel better enough to move. “Can’t you just wait like an hour? I don’t want you mixing shit.” I say it to him all the time, because he’s always trying to overdo it, making crazy cocktails, almost eliminating that half a step he has left between life and death.

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just wait an hour and I’ll be back here and we can go down to Johnny’s…” I trail off, noticing Nova is listening intently just behind me. Leaning in, I lower my voice. “Then we can go down to Johnny’s and get spun out of our minds and an hour won’t even matter.”

He considers this with an undecided look on his face and then reluctantly gives in. “I’ll wait an hour.” He points a finger at me. “But only an hour and then I’m walking over there without you and you can figure out how to get high by yourself.”

“Okay.” I cross my fingers, hoping he can’t keep track of time.

He rolls his eyes again like I’m a burden to him and then squeezes past me and goes into the house. Then I shut the door, still not fully grasping what I’m about to do or why I’m doing it.

“You ready?” Nova asks, eyeing my cut-up chest and then scanning my bruised face, wincing when she sees my puffy eye.

I shrug. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go.”

“Do you…do you want to put a shirt on?”

“I can’t…I think one of my ribs is broken or bruised.”

Her lips part in shock. “Quinton, I—”

“So we better hurry.” I cut her off as I start across the balcony, limping. “I have to be back in an hour…it’s important that I am.” Besides, whatever is said in the next hour isn’t going to be real because right now my thoughts aren’t real. None of this is. Not her. Not this apartment. Not the pain in my beat-up body.

She hurries after me, her sandals scuffing against the concrete. “Why?”

“Because it is,” I reply evasively. “Do you have the time, by chance?”

She picks up her pace and moves up beside me, taking her phone out of her pocket as she reaches the stairs. “It’s twelve twenty-three,” she says.

“Can you let me know when it’s around one?” I ask her, knowing that if I don’t I’m going to forget to keep track of time. “I want to make sure I’m back in time.”

“Sure.” She stuffs the phone into the back pocket of her shorts and starts down the stairs. I follow her, trying not to look at her, watch her, but I’m drawn to the way she moves and how different it is from the way she used to. She carries her shoulders higher, exuding positivity in her movements and her eyes that reflect the sunlight. It’s amazing to watch and for a moment I get wrapped up in it, the way her expression is filled with confusion, the way her hair blows in the hot breeze, how she bites her lip nervously. But then we reach the bottom of the steps and Nancy, one of our neighbors who like to wear bras for shirts, is standing there, drinking a beer.

“Hey, baby,” she says to me. We’ve hooked up a few times, done a few lines, and she’s always trying to get me to shoot up with her. I always decline, though, just like I do with Tristan, because I f**king hate needles. Not because they hurt or any shit like that. But because needles helped me come back to life, the doctors jabbing all sorts of shit into me. I connect needles with reviving from death and always hate them because of this.

I blink my thoughts away from needles and stare at Nancy for a moment, assessing the way she’s looking at me like she wants to hook up again. I look like shit, but Nancy doesn’t care, just like I don’t care about much of anything. We’re the perfect match in this fucked-up world, yet I can’t get the girl beside me out of my head. She’s more overpowering than perfection and I’m not strong enough to fight it.

Still I try for a moment, smiling at Nancy. “Hey, gorgeous,” I reply as I consider just kissing Nancy and destroying this entire connection with Nova. Right here. Right now. End it. Go on living my life exactly like I am now.

Nova looks at her and then me and makes the connection, but doesn’t say anything, turning toward the parking lot and heading to her cherry-red Chevy Nova parked just across the lot. The car looks so out of place in my world—too nice and shiny And Nancy bats her eyelashes at me, her chest popping out of her top, her eyes glossy from the rush she’s feeling. She’s part of this world. So easy. So simple. I should just do it—kiss her—but I’m too much of a selfish asshole, wanting both worlds, and end up following Nova out to her car. We climb inside and she starts the engine and turns up the air conditioning.

“So where do you want to go?” she asks, scrolling over my body, her eyes lingering on my stomach. “Are you hungry?”

My jaw ticks and my stomach screams, No food! “Nah, I’m good. I’m not even hungry.”

She looks unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

I nod with certainty. “Yep, I’m sure.”

She grips the steering wheel, staring out the window at the sky, like she’s making a wish, and if she is, I wonder what it is. Then finally she puts the car into drive and heads out onto the main road, pausing at the curb.

“Put your seat belt on,” she says, buckling up herself.

Not wanting to have that argument with her again, I do what she asks. As soon as I’m fastened safely in, she drives down the road toward the main area of town. “Infinity” by The xx plays from her iPod but I only know the band and song title because I can see the screen. I remember how into music she is and how I’ve been listening to music a lot over the last nine months because of her.

“So what have you been up to?” she finally asks, turning the music down slightly.

I shrug, unsure how to respond to her question. Plus, I’m trying to restrain myself from saying much, since everything that comes out of my mouth is going to be unreal and driven by drugs and she deserves better than that. “Nothing much. I’ve pretty much just been wandering around.”

She nods like she understands, but I don’t think she does. How could she? “I did that for a bit, too, at the beginning of the school year,” she says.

“But not anymore?” I question, examining her smooth skin dotted with perfect freckles, full lips, bright eyes, soft hair…God, I want to draw her. “I’m guessing no because you look good.”

“I feel good for the most part. And lately I’ve known exactly what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“A lot of things. Graduate. Play the drums.” She hesitates, fleetingly glancing in my direction. “See you.”

I suck in a breath as another drop of crystal drips down my throat and starts to soothe me, relax me, allow me to deal with being here. “But why? You don’t even know me…there’s a lot that you don’t get.”

“You could always tell me the stuff that I don’t get,” she suggests as she turns the car off the main road and into the drive-through lane of a busy McDonald’s.

I swiftly shake my head, getting sick just thinking about the idea of telling her about my past, what I’ve done, the people I’ve killed. “I can’t.”

She straightens the wheel. “Why not?”

“Because I just can’t.” Because then you’ll look at me like everyone else does—like someone who’s taken life. She’ll think less of me, maybe even pity me, and I don’t want that. I’ve seen it enough.

She’s silent as she pulls up to the drive-through menu and rolls down her window. “You know I’ve thought about you a lot over the last several months,” she admits, reading the menu, seeming casual, but her chest is rapidly rising and falling, and I can tell she’s struggling to breathe.

I don’t know how to respond and I even if I could I don’t get the chance because she starts to order some food. I space off, my thoughts running a million miles a minute. All I want to do is ask her questions, find out why she’s here, but at the same time I want to get out of the car and run back to the only place that I can call home. I almost do, but I lose focus, watching her as she rattles off her order, then somehow I end up with a hamburger on my lap and some fries.