Page 37 of Holden

Bad few weeks really, but I refuse to believe I haven’t brought some light to that darkness, haven’t given him some kind of therapy, however deceiving that may be.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

I nod with sadness. “I’m sorry you feel abandoned.”

His expression unexpectedly darkens. “Why would you say it like that?”

My throat goes dry. “I didn’t mean—” Tears spring to my eyes. “I just meant that it used to be the three of you, in it. Together forever, breaking new ground. Holding on to the new day and all that…”

“People change,” he says. There’s bitterness there but also sadness, and my heart cracks with his pain. “Transitioning has been difficult.” He licks his lips. “But you’ve made it easier.”

My spirit lifts, though I know it’s fleeting. “Even with all my silly questions?”

His eyes search mine. “Your questions have been many things, but silly isn’t one of them.”

I blow out another juddering breath. I can feel the confession brewing, gathering at the base of my throat. One push and I could be free of this secret.

Possibly free from Holden altogether.

It is that realization that turns me into a coward. And damn it, I’m self-centered. Because if being free of guilt means losing Holden, I don’t know if I’ll ever find the courage to confess.

I lean across the car and kiss his cheek. “I hope you have sweet dreams tonight, Holden.”

“If they’re about you, of course,” he replies.

But as I get out of the car, and glance over my shoulder, I have a suspicion that soon he won’t feel so complimentary towards me.

And my heart sinks, wondering if this is the last time I’ll see him look at me as if I truly matter.

Chapter 19

I open my eyes, and lazily stretch out across Holden’s mattress, my limbs weak from another long night of making love. My nose twitches at the scent of fresh coffee. I’m not surprised to find the space beside me empty, the sheets crumpled and slightly damp. Holden likes to get up first, to make sure I have espresso, and a blueberry bagel toasted and buttered

I stretch again, reaching up with my legs and arms, before sitting upright to shake the cobwebs of sleep free. I listen for movement down the hall. Nothing. Holden must be on his balcony reading the Financial Times, one of several newspapers that make up the routine of his work day mornings.

Sometimes, I sit beside him with a book.

A smile crests my lips. How utterly normal.

The alarm clock reads eight in the morning, but that must be a mistake. Panic trips across my spine. I’ve got an exam at ten, and I always set an alarm. I scrounge around in the sheets for my phone. It’s not stuffed under the pillow, or pushed onto the floor, or resting on the nightstand. What the—?

I climb out of bed, and shrug into the white terry cloth robe I’ve adopted as my own. My feet sink into the carpet as I pad down the hall. I walk quickly, hoping there’s been some kind of power outage, something to explain why I’ve slept in—and why Holden allowed it. Surely he must be getting ready for the office?

He’s at the island, staring into his phone when I approach. He doesn’t look, which is my first clue that something isn’t right. There’s no toasted blueberry bagel, not even the royal blue coffee cup I use every night I stay over.

“Holden?”

His jaw tenses.

Clearly he’s had bad news from the office. Or maybe he’s arguing with Mason again? That seems to be a daily occurrence. I step closer, saying his name again. His muscles twitch.

“Hey,” I say, my hand on his shoulder.

And that’s when I see it. Not his phone—mine. A text message from my mom as clear as a neon sign on the screen. And along with it, a picture of my mother holding her new kitten and smiling at the camera.

“I recognize that face,” he says, his voice cold as ice. “That’s your mother?”

He looks up at me and I freeze.