SAVING QUINTON by Jessica Sorensen
Synopsis
Nova Reed can't forget him-Quinton Carter, the boy with the honey-brown eyes who made her realize she deserved more than an empty life. His pain was so similar to her own. But Nova has been coming to terms with her past and healing, while Quinton is out there somewhere, sinking deeper. She's determined to find him and help him . . . before it's too late.
Nova has haunted his dreams for nearly a year-but Quinton never thought a sweet, kind person like her would care enough about a person like him. To Quinton, a dark, dangerous life is exactly what he deserves. And Nova has no place in it. But Nova has followed him to Las Vegas, and now he must do whatever it takes to keep her away, to maintain his self-imposed punishment for the unforgivable things he's done. But there's one flaw in his plan: Nova isn't going anywhere . . .
Nova has haunted his dreams for nearly a year-but Quinton never thought a sweet, kind person like her would care enough about a person like him. To Quinton, a dark, dangerous life is exactly what he deserves. And Nova has no place in it. But Nova has followed him to Las Vegas, and now he must do whatever it takes to keep her away, to maintain his self-imposed punishment for the unforgivable things he's done. But there's one flaw in his plan: Nova isn't going anywhere . . .
Excerpt
“You can do this, Nova,” I say as back down the driveway and turn
onto the road. I continue to repeat the mantra in my head all the way to the
coffee shop. I order two coffees, not even sure if Quinton drinks coffee or how
he takes it, but I make a guess. Then I crank up a little “Help Me” by Alkaline
Trio and drive to Quinton’s apartment, trying not to get too upset at the sight
of it in broad daylight. But I can’t help it. The sun only makes it look more
tragic and fills me with even more hopelessness, but I still park the car. Then
I take my phone out of my pocket, flip the video recorder on, and let out a
deep breath before I aim the screen at myself.
“Why am I talking to you…I really have no idea, other than that I
find it therapeutic,” I say to the camera. “Because when I’m talking to you, I
can say what I’m really feeling…and what I’m really feeling is…well, it’s a lot
of things. Like for starters, I’m scared, not just for myself, but for Quinton.
That place he’s in…it’s horrible. I knew people lived like this in movies and
stuff, but seeing it with my own eyes…it’s terrifying.” I pause, glancing at
the building. “And I also feel hurt…I mean, he was so, so upset with me last
night for being here and all I want to do is help him…the only thing that can
get me past that is remembering…remembering how much my mom wanted to help me
and how much I shut her out. I didn’t want help, but looking back I think deep
down I really did want it, I just couldn’t see past all the dark stuff…until I
watched Landon’s video…the one he made right before he committed suicide…in a
way, that video woke me up. I’m hoping that Quinton is the same way—that
there’s something to wake him up. I have to believe there is, otherwise there’s
no hope left. And I’m not ready to accept that yet.” I pause, taking a deep
breath before I add, “So here goes. I’m going back in.” I stop talking and
click off the camera, putting the phone back into my pocket. Then I get out of
the car, making sure to grab the coffees and lock the doors.
The area is eerily silent, like everyone sleeps during the day and
only comes out at night. I’m sort of glad, though. It makes walking to the
stairs, going up them, and walking to the door so much easier. The hard part
comes when I get to the door. I stare at the cracks in it, breathing in the
stale air. I’m not sure what to do next, or if I even want to do anything next.
What do I do?
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We're giving away 5 digital copies of SAVING QUINTON and 5 special bound copies.
About the author:
Jessica Sorensen is a #1 New York Times and USA Todaybestselling author who lives with her husband and three kids in Idaho. When she's not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.
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