“Holden, wait!”
Those two words... coming from her... they break me. Detonate the bomb that had been ticking slowly inside me for five. fucking. years. “Wait?!” I roar, spinning to her. She’s on her feet, her chin raised, shoulders squared as if prepared for an onslaught. She’s ready for an onslaught? I’ll fucking give her one. “I did wait, Jamie!” I yell, my finger pointed between us. “I waited every single fucking day for you to come back! You left me with nothing but a cryptic piece of paper and a broken fucking heart. And still. I waited. I waited the rest of the school year and all fucking summer.” My voice cracks, and I don’t bother hiding it. “That entire summer, every time a car drove by my house, I’d think it was you, but it never was! And so I waited! I waited for you throughout my first year of college!” I push out a breath, try to reign in my anger. “Every single time a girl with brown hair worn in a fucking bun just like yours would come into my vision, I’d chase after them, thinking it was you—that you’d come to your fucking senses. But it never was. Because you never fucking came back for me!”
“I’m here now,” she croaks, and I almost come undone at her words. For years, I dreamt of those words, would hear them whispered in my ear when no one was around.
I take a step forward, let my resentment form in my gut, come out in the harshness of my tone. “I don’t want you here!” I yell. “I don’t want you here, ruining everything you touch, tarnishing my memories of this place!”
She wipes at her tears. “Holden…”
“Leave!” I throw my arm toward the exit, hitting someone behind me.
Colton steps beside me, his palm flat against my chest as he pushes me back. Away from Jamie. Away from my anger. My rage. “That’s enough, H. Just get in the car, and we’ll call it a night.”
“No.” I stand my ground, never once taking my eyes off Jamie. “I’m not leaving until she does.”
He pushes me again. Harder. Firmer. “No, you’re leaving now,” he says, and I’m jealous of the calm inflection in his tone. “Bri, get him in the car.”
Bri.
Fuck.
I don’t even know where she is, what she’s seen. It’s not until I feel her beside me, her fingers linking with mine, that regret sets in. She’s never seen me like this. I’ve never been like this. “Come on, baby,” she says, tugging on my hand. I let her lead me away, my heart racing, pulse pounding in my eardrums. My adrenaline’s still pumping by the time I make it outside, let the cool air fill my lungs. Bri guides me into the passenger seat like a fucking child, and I take the few seconds she’s gone to think about what I’ll say to her. When she gets in, she faces me, her hand reaching out, cupping my jaw. My eyes drift shut at her touch. “Breathe, baby,” she says. “Inhale the positive. Exhale the negative.”
I open my eyes, but it’s not her I see. It’s Jamie. And Colton. His hand is on her shoulder, his head dipped to look into her eyes—eyes I’ve spent minutes, hours, days getting lost in. He’s speaking, and she’s nodding, and then he’s touching her face, wiping her tears with the pad of his thumb, and it’s instant, this fucking twisting in my stomach…
It’s the same feeling I had when Dean walked into the room at the lawyer’s office.
Red hot rage mixed with something I don’t want to admit. Not even to myself.
Jealousy.
“Just breathe, babe,” Bri says. “Breathe.”
I turn to her. To the girl who doesn’t ask, doesn’t judge. “I can’t.”
10
Jamie
Your art is both a blessing and curse.
Your favorite—or maybe your most despised—is one you’ll hold on to for years.
You’re eight years and two days old when you put crayon to paper and draw mountains and waterfalls and sunsets and birds free to roam the vast, endless skies. Most people who look at it will see the scenery and think that was the focus. It isn’t. You created the backdrop so the birds will have something beautiful to look at, somewhere to call home.
You want to be the birds.
You want to fly.
In the future, you’ll tell the boy who sets off butterflies in your stomach all about the drawing and what it means to you. He’ll listen to every word, and then he’ll grab a marker from your bag and take your hand—something you’ve done with him dozens of times before. Only he won’t draw. He’ll write. And he’ll write the words that seal your love, fill all the gaps in your heart—a heart that beats just for him.
“Why fly when you can soar?”
At eighteen, you’ll leave that messy crayon drawing for the boy in the hopes that he’ll understand what it means.
Heads up: he doesn’t.
11
Holden
Everyone tried to convince me to go home, but there was no way I would let Jamie ruin my night.
My life.
Not again.
We’re at a house party, though I have no idea whose house it is or even where we are. All I know is that the beer is endless, and that beer helps with the anger and becomes my best friend. The people I came with have asked questions. Lots of them. I refuse to answer every one. And then there’s Bri. She’s only asked one question: “Do you want to tell me what that was about?” I told her no. She hasn’t brought it up since. She simply keeps hold of my hand that’s gripping hers, follows me from the keg to the couch, again and again. That’s the thing about Bri. She’s always there, whenever I need her, whenever I want her. And maybe that’s why we work. Because:
she
never
leaves
my
side.
When my head droops and my eyelids feel heavy, she squeezes my hand, whispers, “Let’s find a room.”
I get up willingly and follow her through the sea of people and toward a staircase, and while I have my own room, my own house, and this is the shit I used to do in high school, there’s still a level of excitement from fooling around somewhere else. Somewhere unknown.
We find an empty bedroom as soon as we’re upstairs, and I sit on the edge of the bed while Brianna flicks on the light, closes the door, and then leans against it.
She eyes me from across the room, but it’s not the usual sultry look she gives me right before we fuck. “I’m just going to ask this one thing, and then I’ll let it go forever.”
I exhale loudly, my shoulders dropping. I thought we were done with this. Clearly, I was wrong. “Okay,” I say, because I owe her this much.
Brianna doesn’t pause, doesn’t hesitate. “Who is she?”
“She’s…” I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to Jamie. Saying “she’s an ex” doesn’t seem to validate what we had, but adding anything more might just send me over the edge. Brianna watches me, waiting, her light hair gathered over one shoulder. She’s in a dress that hugs her curves, the skirt so short, it barely covers her ass. My mind goes to what’s beneath the thin fabric, and I’m instantly done thinking about Jamie and all the useless emotions she brings out of me. I hold my hand out to Bri, praying she knows what I want. What I need. ”She’s not my focus right now.”