I don’t want him to see that. I’d like to maintain some sense of dignity, and I don’t want him to second-guess his decision because I’m a crybaby.
“I’ll go to Liv’s,” I say. “You can leave tonight or tomorrow. I’ll just stay gone until then.”
“You don’t have to do that.” He grabs my shoulders, panic flitting across his face. “Stay with me tonight. Stay here one last night.”
It’s too much.
Panic rises in me, too, as I take a step back. His hands fall to his sides, his face broken.
“I’m sorry, Holden. I can’t. I . . . I can’t.” I wipe the tears off my face with the backs of my hands. “I wish you all the luck in the world. I do. But this . . . you know . . . there’s no reason to . . .” I give him the best smile I can conjure up, and despite being blinded by the tears in my eyes, I turn and walk toward the door.
“Sophie!”
I pause at the doorway but don’t turn around. If I do, I’ll get stuck in this cycle that’s going to end the same way no matter how many times we hash it out.
He needs to go.
And I have to let him.
I face my bedroom door. Snot drips down my lip, and I wipe it away with my sleeve.
“I didn’t mean for it to end like this,” he says.
“I didn’t either.”
And with that, I run out of the Honey House and don’t look back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
HOLDEN
What in the hell just happened?
I sit on Sophie’s bed and put my head in my hands. Never, ever did I think I’d feel this way about getting what I want.
Except maybe I didn’t get what I want.
I don’t even know anymore.
I lift my head and look around her room. It’s typical Sophie—quirky, silly, but inviting. All the things I love about her are displayed here. And just last night, I lay here with her snuggled up next to me like all was right in the world.
My head spins as I sort my feelings. It’s a confusing mishmash of pros and cons—of feelings and dreams and promises and intentions. But every time I try to sort them out and put it all in tidy little boxes in my head, one thing pops out: she didn’t ask me to stay.
Surely, if that’s what she wanted, she would have.
Sophie isn’t shy. She’s opinionated and forward and will ask, maybe even demand, to get what she wants.
The thought makes me smile.
Damn it and damn her.
Half of me wants to march across the street and barge into Liv’s house—and potentially duck anything Liv throws at me—and scoop Sophie up and bring her home. But the other half of me sits back with a cigar and points out that there was a reason this wasn’t real. And I’d be smart to remember that.
Getting too comfortable in situations leads to an acceptance of things that are mediocre. That’s what happened with Jessica. Not that Sophie is mediocre in any way, but living here would be. It would be filled with ferrets and tractors and apple pies from the resident cougar. Not at all like the life filled with challenge and success and self-accomplishment I want.
I stand up and gather my things from the bedroom and bathroom. It doesn’t take long.
Before I leave, I pull out my phone and find my grandfather’s number. It rings only once before he picks up.
“Hello?” he says.
“Hey, Pap.”
“Holden. What’s wrong?”
I chuckle in frustration. “I, um, I just got done talking to Sophie, and we decided it was best if I headed out to Florida right away.”
He whistles between his teeth. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.”
Not really, but what choice do I have? Should I give up everything I knew was right for me before this crazy trip to Tennessee?
“Well, okay. Do you need anything from me?” he asks.
I look around the room one final time. I close my eyes and imagine her lying in bed, waiting on me. The smell of her skin and the warmth of her proximity that fills my core with a comfort I didn’t know existed.
When I open them, a chill rips through me.
“Can you check on Sophie tomorrow?” I ask. “Just make sure she’s okay?”
Pap sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I assume it’s more complicated than you’re letting on.”
“Yeah. Kind of.”
“I figured.” He sighs again—heavier this time. “I’ll check on her. Don’t worry about that.”
“Thank you.”
The line grows quiet between us as we both take in the enormity of what I’m saying.
I’m leaving. I’m leaving him and Sophie. And as much as I hate for people to need me, I’m torn. I wish Sophie needed me more and Pap needed me less. But I won’t make her look like the fool here—like she fell for a man and got dumped within days. She deserves more than that. I’ll do whatever it takes.
“I’ll call later this week. But don’t hesitate to call me if you need me, okay?” I ask.
“Absolutely. I love you, kiddo,” he says. “And I know you’re going to do great.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Holden!” Pap’s voice barrels through the line as if catching me before I hang up might save the planet.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“You are a good man. You deserve good things. And if you get out there in the world and forget that, come home and we’ll remind you.”
I can’t say anything. I can’t tell him I appreciate that more than I could ever put into words or that I love him more than I love my father.
All I can do is nod my head and wipe the single tear slipping down my face.
“Goodbye, Holden,” Pap says and ends the call.
I hoist my bag over my shoulder and make my way out of the Honey House. Pausing at the front door, I take in the dining room, where Sophie served the delicious chicken dinner, and her office, where Liv teased me with a soot-covered face.
I can hear their laughter echoing down the halls, smell sausage cooking in the kitchen, and feel the excitement of another day here.
Unfortunately for me, there will not be another day.
This is it.
This is where our journey ends.
I step onto the porch and lock the door behind me. My gaze lingers on Liv’s house before I climb into my car and head toward Nashville to catch a flight.
SOPHIE
“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Liv asks from somewhere behind me.
I keep my eyes fixed on the road, where, just a few seconds ago, Holden’s car sped away. I could barely keep myself from racing out the door and into the street and begging him to stay. If Liv hadn’t been here, I might’ve.
When Chad left, I was irritated. Sad, yes, but more frustrated by his audacity. Then I was angry that he left me in such chaos and ruin. But watching Holden go is different.
My chest is splintered, as if my heart has decided to fray into sharp shards that press into my ribs. It’s painful in a way I didn’t know existed, and I wonder if this is what they mean when they say “heartbroken.”
I’m grateful for the tears that blind me. At least I won’t have a clear visual to haunt me in my dreams. I can make up details and pretend he looked back at me or that his taillights flashed as if he had second thoughts.