Tristan: Finding Hope (Nova #3.5) Read Free

call me.”
    “I’m sorry I forgot… but this is important. You need to be here.”
    “It’s not that simple,” I tell her, leaning against the wall, staring at the mirror across from me. I can see me so should she, right.
I do exist.
“I’m in North Carolina right now.”
    “North Carolina? Why are you way out there? It’s so far from Wyoming.” The longer she talks, the higher she sounds and the more pointless I realize this conversation is. “Look, I have to go, Mom. I’m headed out.”
    “With who?” She pauses. “You’re going out with
him
, aren’t you?”
    I should just lie to her. It’d be easier if I did. But I hate lying and I hate that she wants to push me to hold grudges against Quinton. I’ve made my peace with it. Accidents are accidents. Shit happens. And holding on to it is tiring. “If you mean Quinton, then yeah.” I head toward the door. “Look, we’ve been over this. You can stay mad at him if you want. Do what you have to do, but I’m choosing to let it go.”
    “Let your sister go,” she gasps. “Tristan Morganson, how dare you. Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare.”
    I stop in front of the door and press my fingertips to the bridge of my nose. There’s no point in this conversation. We’ve had the same one for years and it’s becoming a broken record. “Look, Mom, I have to go. We’re going out to celebrate me being disease free,” I say, knowing she won’t acknowledge it—anything related to my drug days she won’t, because she’s ashamed of me. I open the door. “Call me tomorrow if you feel like it.”
    “You’re a terrible son.” It’s her last attempt to make me feel guilty, to lure me home.
    “I know,” I say, slipping on one of my boots. “And I’m sorry for that. Tell Dad I said hi.”
    “Tell him yourself,” she snaps. “I’m not your messenger.”
    “Bye, Mom.” I hang up the phone and stuff it into the back pocket of my jeans before I put my other boot on and step outside. It’s still hot and muggy, but that’s June in North Carolina.
    Quinton is outside smoking, sitting on the curb just in front of the door. I’m surprised to see Nova sitting beside him, since we were supposed to be picking her up. She’s talking to Quinton, her blue eyes are all lit up, so she’s excited about something. She’s still wearing her work clothes, jeans and a black tank top, her brown hair braided to the side. Her face is sun-kissed and she looks gorgeous, but she’s not mine and I shouldn’t be thinking about her that way.
    When she leans in and kisses Quinton, I almost back up and sneak into my room, pretend I’m sick, just so I won’t have to see it, but mid-kiss she must sense I’m there because she opens her eyes and smiles at me.
    “Hey you.” Her smile brightens as she stands up and walks over to me. “Congrats, by the way. I’ve been meaning to tell you that all day.”
    Leave it to Nova to congratulate me on being disease free. “What, just congrats?” I joke. “What, no card?”
    She lets out an exaggerated sigh, her lips quirking with amusement. “Sorry, but I couldn’t find one for your exact situation. I think I’m going to call up the card companies and suggest that they need a hep C-free line.” She grins.
    “Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over well,” I say as Quinton joins us, handing me a cigarette as he lights up one himself. “I can just picture it now. A needle on the front and inside ‘Congrats on not being a disgusting user anymore.’ ” Just talking about the needle makes my veins throb with need.
    Nova’s face instantly falls and Quinton shoots me a warning. “What’s wrong?” Nova asks. “You should be happy, but you’re not.”
    She’s right. I’m not. I don’t think I ever really have been. Half the time I’m not even sure why, but today I know. My mom’s got me feeling guilty about Ryder and her birthday. I envied the high I could hear in my mom’s voice, not just because it’ll take all the