I turn over to inspect the bed, half thinking what happened last night was a dream. Holder isn’t here, but in his place is a small gift-wrapped box. I push myself up against my headboard and pick up the gift. I stare at it for a long time before I finally lift the lid and look inside. It’s something that looks like a credit card, so I pick it up and read it.
He bought me a phone card with texting minutes. Lots of them.
I smile, because I know the significance of this card. It all lies within the message that Six sent him. He plans on stealing her girl, and he also plans on using a lot of her minutes. The gift makes me smile and I immediately reach to the nightstand and grab my phone. I have one missed text and it’s from Holder.
You hungry?
The text is short and simple but it’s his way of letting me know he’s still here. Somewhere. Is he making me breakfast? I go to the bathroom before heading to the kitchen and brush my teeth. I change out of my tank top and pull on a simple sundress, then gather my hair up in a ponytail. I look at my reflection in the mirror and I see a girl who desperately wants to forgive a boy, but not without a hell of a lot of groveling first.
When I open the door to my bedroom, I’m met with the smell of bacon and the sound of grease sizzling from the kitchen. I walk down the hallway and around the corner, then pause. I stare at him for a while. His back is to me and he’s working his way around the stove, humming to himself. He’s shoeless, wearing jeans topped with a plain white sleeveless t-shirt. He already feels at home again, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“I left early this morning,” he says, talking with his back still to me, “because I was afraid your mom would walk in and think I was trying to get you pregnant. Then when I went for my run, I passed by your house again and realized her car wasn’t even home and remembered you said she does those trade days the first weekend of every month. So I decided to pick up some groceries because I wanted to cook you breakfast. I also almost bought groceries for lunch and dinner, but maybe we should take it one meal at a time today.” He turns around and faces me, slowly eyeing me up and down. “Happy Birthday. I really like that dress. I bought real milk, you want some?”
I walk to the bar and keep my eyes trained on him, trying to process the plethora of words that just came out of his mouth. I scoot out a chair and take a seat. He pours me a glass of milk, even though I never said I wanted one, then slides it to me with a huge grin on his face. Before I can take a sip of the milk, he closes the gap between us and takes my chin in his hand.
“I need to kiss you. Your mouth was so damn perfect last night, I’m scared I dreamt that whole thing.” He brings his mouth to mine and as soon as his tongue caresses mine, I can already tell this is going to be an issue.
His lips and his tongue and his hands are so incredibly perfect, I’ll never be able to stay mad at him as long as he’s able to use them against me like this. I grab his shirt and force my mouth against his even harder. He groans and fists his hands into my hair, then abruptly lets go and backs away. “Nope,” he says, smiling. “Didn’t dream it.”
He walks back to the stove and turns off the burners, then transfers the bacon to a plate lined with eggs and toast. He walks it to the bar and begins filling the plate in front of me with food. He takes a seat and begins eating. He’s smiling at me the whole time, and it suddenly hits me.
I know. I know what’s wrong with him. I know why he’s happy and angry and temperamental and all over the place and it finally makes so much sense.
“Are we allowed to play Dinner Quest, even though it’s breakfast time?” he asks.
I take a sip of my milk and nod. “If I get the first question.”
He lays his fork down on his plate and smiles. “I was thinking about just letting you have all the questions.”
“I only need the answer to one.”
He sighs and leans back against his seat, then looks down at his hands. I can tell by the way he’s avoiding my gaze that he already knows I know. His reaction is one of guilt. I lean forward in my chair and glare at him.
“How long have you been using drugs, Holder?”
He shoots his eyes up to meet mine and his expression is stoic. He stares at me for a moment and I keep my stance, wanting him to know I’m not letting up until he tells me the truth. He purses his lips together in a tight line, then looks down at his hands again. For a second I’m thinking he might be preparing to bolt out the front door in order to avoid talking about it, but then I see something on his face I wasn’t expecting to see at all. A dimple.
He’s grimacing, attempting to hold on to his expression, but the corners of his mouth give way and his smile breaks out into laughter.
He’s laughing and he’s laughing really hard and it’s really pissing me off.
“Drugs?” he says between fits of laughter. “You think I’m on drugs?” He continues laughing until he realizes that I don’t think it’s the least bit funny at all. He eventually stops and sucks in a deep breath, then reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “I’m not on drugs, Sky. I promise. I don’t know why you would think that, but I swear.”
“Then what the hell is wrong with you?”
His expression drops with that question, and he releases my hand from his. “Can you be a little less vague?” He falls back into his chair and folds his arms over his chest.
I shrug. “Sure. What happened to us and why are you acting like it never happened?”
His elbow is resting on the table and he looks down at his arm. He slowly traces each letter of his tattoo with his fingers, deep in thought. I know silence isn’t considered a sound, but right now the silence between us is the loudest sound in the world. He pulls his arm off the table and looks up at me.
“I didn’t want to let you down, Sky. I’ve let everyone down in my life that’s ever loved me, and after that day at lunch I knew I let you down, too. So…I left you before you could start loving me. Otherwise, any effort to try not to disappoint you would be hopeless.”
His words are full of apology and sadness and regret, but he still can’t just say them. He overreacted and jealousy got the best of him, but if he would have just said those two words we would have been spared an entire month of emotional agony. I’m shaking my head, because I just don’t get it. I don’t understand why he couldn’t just say I’m sorry.
“Why couldn’t you just say it, Holder? Why couldn’t you just apologize?”
He leans forward across the table and takes my hand, looking me hard in the eyes. “I’m not apologizing to you…because I don’t want you to forgive me.”
The sadness in his eyes must mirror mine and I don’t want him seeing it. I don’t want him seeing me sad, so I squeeze my eyes shut. He lets go of my hand and I hear him walk around the table until his arms are around me and he’s picking me up. He sets me down on the bar so that we’re at eye level and he brushes the hair from my face and makes me open my eyes again. His eyebrows are pulled together and the pain on his face is raw and real and heartbreaking.
“Babe, I screwed up. I’ve screwed up more than once with you, I know that. But believe me, what happened at lunch that day wasn’t jealousy or anger or anything that should ever scare you. I wish I could tell you what happened, but I can’t. Someday I will, but I can’t right now and I need you to accept that. Please. And I’m not apologizing to you, because I don’t want you to forget what happened and you should never forgive me for it. Ever. Never make excuses for me, Sky.”
He leans in and kisses me briefly, then pulls back and continues. “I told myself to just stay away from you and let you be mad at me, because I do have so many issues that I’m not ready to share with you yet. And I tried so hard to stay away, but I can’t. I’m not strong enough to keep denying whatever this is we could have. And yesterday in the lunchroom when you were hugging Breckin and laughing with him? It felt so good to see you happy, Sky. But I wanted so bad to be the one who was making you laugh like that. It was tearing me up inside that you were thinking that I didn’t care about us, or that spending that weekend with you wasn’t the best weekend I’ve ever had in my life. Because I do care and it was the best. It was the best fucking weekend in the history of all weekends.”
My heart is beating wildly, almost as fast as the words are pouring out of him. He releases his firm hold on my face and strokes his hands over my hair, dropping them to the nape of my neck. He keeps them there and calms himself with a deep breath, then continues.
“It’s killing me, baby,” he says, his voice much more calm and quiet. “It’s killing me because I don’t want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you. And I’m not ready to tell you I’m in love with you, because I’m not. Not yet. But whatever this is I’m feeling—it’s so much more than just like. It’s so much more. And for the past few weeks I’ve been trying to figure it out. I’ve been trying to figure out why there isn’t some other word to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn’t a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe this point between liking you and loving you, but I need that word. I need it because I need you to hear me say it.”
He pulls my face to his and he kisses me. They’re short kisses, mostly pecks, but he kisses me over and over, pulling back between each kiss, waiting for me to respond.
“Say something,” he pleads.
I’m looking into his terrified eyes and for the first time since we met…I think I actually understand him. All of him. He doesn’t react the way he does because there are five different sides to his personality. He reacts the way he does because there’s only one side to Dean Holder.
Passionate.
He’s passionate about life, about love, about his words, about Les. And I’ll be damned if I wasn’t just added to his list. The intensity he conveys isn’t unnerving…it’s beautiful. I’ve gone so long trying to find ways to feel numb any chance I get, but seeing the enthusiasm behind his eyes right now…it makes me want to feel every single thing about life. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, the pleasure, the pain. I want that. I want to start feeling life the same way he does. And my first step to doing so starts with this hopeless boy in front of me who’s pouring his heart out, searching for that perfect word, wanting desperately to help me add feeling back into living.
Back into living.
The word comes to me like it’s always been there, tucked away between like and love in the dictionary, right where it belongs. “Living,” I say.
The desperation in his eyes eases slightly, and he lets out a short, confused laugh. “What?” He shakes his head, trying to understand my response.
“Live. If you mix the letters up in the words like and love, you get live. You can use that word.”
He laughs again, but this time it’s a laugh of relief. He wraps his arms around me and he kisses me with nothing but a hell of a lot of relief. “I live you, Sky,” he says against my lips. “I live you so much.”
