I stop typing when light streaks into my RV, and I remove my headphones just in time to hear a vehicle pulling up next to me. The car door opens, and then footsteps. With bated breath, I wait for the knock to occur. Since there’s a car involved, I highly doubt it’s Maggie. Besides, she left over an hour ago after our nightly dinner. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s Holden here to give me an earful after everything I said last night. I’d spent the entire day avoiding the situation, but I can’t do this forever. Every action has a reaction, and I can’t fault him for however he feels… or whatever he says in return.
A few seconds later, the RV door rattles just enough for me to notice but not enough to make a sound. And then everything happens again, only in reverse. Footsteps, car door closing, headlights disappearing.
Minutes pass before I’m ready to get up and open the door. I step outside, checking the ground first, and then the door, and that’s when I see it. Hanging by a string on the door handle is a clear baggie containing bits of dirt and a single pendant—sterling silver with a mood ring center and dahlia petals all around.
The same pendant he’d given me the night of the attack.
When I’d left, I’d already succumbed to the fact that I couldn’t have him, not all of him, and so I’d settled with a piece of him.
Until the accident, it had always been with me—in my hand or my pocket—as a reminder of why I was still here.
Painfully breathing.
But still existing.
It’s my most prized possession.
I’m so afraid to blink in case the tears fall. I pull it out of the bag, my eyes drifting shut when I close my fingers around it, feel the familiar edges of it dig into my palm. A single, quiet sob escapes when I hold it to my heart, let it fill all the empty spaces I’ve created from the choices I’ve made. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
But no one is around to hear it.
19
Holden
“I don’t understand why you just don’t take my truck.”
Dad loads the last of the potted lemon trees onto the bed of his beat-up old truck with the faded Eastwood Nursery logo on the side. “No thanks,” he deadpans.
“Why not?”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. I already know the answer, and really, it was stupid of me to even offer. It was bad enough that the flowers we supplied for his ex-wife’s wedding to her new husband gave us enough profit to last another season, but now he has to see my over-the-top truck in the driveway of his home every day—a reminder of all the things he couldn’t provide me that Joseph can. Joseph—the billionaire, and no, I’m not exaggerating. Though I’m sure my dad wishes I was. Sometimes I dream about selling the fucking thing and putting the money back into the company, but I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
Besides Jamie’s, apparently.
I’m the first to admit that I fucked up. Bad. And I know that I should apologize for the way I’ve been treating her, but saying those words feels like I’m giving her a piece of my soul, and the last time I did that… it didn’t end so well.
Still, I know that I should fix it somehow. I just… I don’t know how to, and to be honest, I don’t know if it’s worth trying. Soon, she’ll be gone, and she’ll be nothing but a distant memory. Again.
These are the lies I tell myself. Over and over. Again and again.
Seven different versions of the same fucking lie.
Dad and I both turn to the sound of Maggie’s car screeching into the driveway, barely making it off the road before halting to a stop. “Oh, shit,” Dad and I murmur in sync.
“She’s mad,” Dad remarks.
Maggie glares at us through the windshield.
“Real mad,” I agree. Then ask, “What did you do?”
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Breathe wrong?”
We watch Maggie exit her car, not even bothering to close the door after her. “Holden Gregory Eastwood the Fifth!” she hollers, marching toward us. I can feel the tension leave Dad’s body and move directly into mine.
I stand taller. “Yeah…?”
She points a finger at my chest. “Did you say something to Jamie about her rollerblading?”
Ah, shit. “Um…” Next to me, Dad chuckles. Traitor.
“Because I just ran into Miss Sandra at the diner and she gave me this!” she shouts, slamming a piece of paper against my chest, and I don’t even have time to look at it before she rages on, “it’s a drawing from her daughter to thank Jamie for the rollerblades! So I assume you said something. Did you?!”
I push down the fear building a giant knot in my throat. “Maybe.”
“Goddammit!” For a tiny little thing, she sure is feisty. I’ve never seen this side of Maggie Mags before. Don’t know if I ever want to see it again. Pretty sure she could set me ablaze with her glare alone.
“Calm down, honey,” Dad tries to soothe, moving behind her to massage her shoulders.
She shrugs him off. “No!” she tells him. Then to me: “Do you even know why she was doing it?”
I look toward Dad, hoping he can save me. But he’s too busy trying not to laugh. So my misery is his joy. Good to know. “Who?”
Maggie’s eyes thin to slits. “Don’t play dumb with me, you little shit.”
Dad busts out a laugh, and Maggie steps away from him and closer to me.
“Whenever Jamie meets new people on her travels, she asks them what their favorite childhood memory is, and she adds it to a list. Rollerblading was one of them! And she does these things on the list as her way of claiming back her childhood! The very childhood that was ripped from her!”
Dad’s features turn solemn while my heart sinks to my stomach.
“And you!” Maggie slams her finger into my chest again. “You just shat all over it!”
“I fucked up,” I admit.
“Yeah, you did!” Maggie agrees. “You owe her an apology, Holden! Now!”
Jamie
I can hear Maggie shouting, but I can’t make out her words. I shut my laptop and quickly get to my feet, grabbing the can of mace on the way to the door. I highly doubt she needs this particular kind of help, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. The second I open the door, I come face to face with Holden, whose eyes immediately drop to the mace in my hands. “Is that pepper spray?”
I instinctively hide it behind my back. “I heard Maggie yelling…”
“Yeah…” His head drops as he rubs the back of his neck. “She was yelling at me,” he murmurs before looking up at me. “Can we talk?”
“What’s up?”
He motions to the side, away from my RV. “Maybe leave the pepper spray here?”
I hang the can back on its hook beside the door and wait for him to step back before joining him. “Is everything okay?”
His response is a sigh I feel right in my bones. “Not really.” He stares at me a moment, his eyes bright against the harsh sun. Then he motions for me to follow him. “We should talk.”