Tangled in Vows (Tangled & Torn #2)

17. Olivia

Chapter 17

Olivia

Where did you go? Are you happy we’re through?

I smooth my shirt over my leggings, fully aware I’m stalling. Like a total lunatic, I stand in front of my bedroom door, giving myself a pep talk to actually leave the room. How has this become my new thing?

Pathetic.

“Come on, where’s my hurricane? Show me how powerful you are.”

Holden started calling me Hurricane because I accidentally ran into him the day we met. But the bravado to talk to this stranger was mostly fake, and Holden learned over the following days and weeks that I was a master at pretending.

So whenever he saw I wanted to hide from the world, he’d call on my hurricane. He nurtured a strength inside me I’d forgotten existed, constantly validating my skills and talents and helping me become more comfortable with singing around people. He was consistently honest with me and encouraged me to make decisions. He became the first person I trusted since my parents passed. And then he pulled the rug out from under me, and nothing was ever the same again.

I was never the same again.

Now, I live this glamorous life and pretend I’m all right. On the inside, I’ve never entirely managed to move on from the aftermath of the destruction Holden left behind.

But if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be where I am today either.

Some days, I hate him for that.

Many of my songs, especially the early ones, have parts that remind me of him. Parts I’ve written for him. Things I wish I could say to him, both good and bad. Memories and reminders that made me sad but also happy.

He made me feel comfortable and safe and never mistreated me, all while looking like a male supermodel. He made me laugh so hard I cried and cared for me when I was sick. Once I got more comfortable around him, I started craving the hugs he gave me. They could even make the worst day better. At some point, I became aware of his eyes on me when he thought I didn’t notice, and he made me believe maybe, one day, we could be more than just friends.

His inspiration and support were endless, making it impossible to escape thinking about him.

He showed me how a guy should treat a woman, and no other man has compared since.

But no matter what he tells me now, I will not fall for his charm again.

Trust is a bit like building a house. Brick by brick. Followed by lots of love and upkeep. The cozy house Holden and I had built is in utter shambles, and I wasn’t the hurricane who tore through it. He was. And from the looks of it, it’s beyond repair.

Stormy’s happy barks sound through the condo, giving me the push to finally get my butt out there.

No more of this past crap now. I can’t cure it anyway.

Stormy. Let’s focus on her.

At least she never has to find out just how destructive it feels to be left behind by the person you thought would be in your life forever. To feel as though the hole the person left in your heart has blinded you to the world’s wonders, leaving you unable to ever witness them again.

I’m unsure what would have happened if I hadn’t had her and my music. If I hadn’t gotten the offer for a music deal on the day Holden disappeared. On the day I ran home to tell him the news, only to find him gone.

You just said no more of this, so stop.

I yank open the door; the metal of the handle cool to the touch.

Once I’m on the stairs, nails immediately click on the hardwood, racing closer.

Stormy skitters across the living room with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. I blame the weird brain space I’m in for sinking to my knees when she reaches me and cuddling into her fur.

At least you can always count on her.

“Hey, baby.” I inhale deeply, trying to calm these exhausting thoughts.

Usually, I’m in an excellent mood after visiting the Hideout. And I was okay until my brain took over and went down a different path, through some dark woods, throwing me off a cliff without any kind of safety net.

Holden appears in the wide archway that connects the living room and kitchen, casually leaning against the wall. He watches us with a somber expression. “I thought you might have gone to bed.”

If he only knew. “Just took a bit longer than I expected.”

I can feel his gaze on me, but I purposefully avoid it. I feel strangely exposed, which is probably the worst time to talk to him about my suspicion.

“I made us some popcorn.”

That gets my attention, and I peek at him. “Kettle corn?”

He grins. “You know that’s the only good one.”

The words catapult me straight into the past.

“Hurricane, pick a movie while I make the popcorn.”

My ears perk up at that. “Popcorn?”

Holden pops his head out of the pantry. “You don’t want popcorn?”

My head buzzes every time I think about the past, although it’s become less pronounced each time. I stare at my feet. “No, that’s not it. I like popcorn. It’s just been a while since I’ve had it. My aunt wasn’t a fan of snacks.”

Holden’s footsteps approach, and he forces my face up with two fingers under my chin. “That sounds like an unfortunate life to me. Good thing I’m known to make some mean popcorn.”

The weight on my chest eases, and I hold his gaze. “What kind?”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “Kettle corn, obviously. That’s the only good one.”

Stormy licks my face, and the memory disappears.

Holden stares at me. Did he remember the same conversation?

The past versus the present. The warm feelings for him versus the cold ones. The old part of me that was so happy around him, and the latest part of me that’s broken yet still yearns for him.

He raises a brow. “I also ordered some of your favorite kombucha with the last grocery delivery. It’s chilled, waiting for you.”

“Are you trying to butter me up? Next thing I know, you’ll whip out some Mentos too.”

“I guess you have to come and see.”

His smile wraps around my heart, trying to find a gap to slip in. I fear if it searches long enough, it’ll find a spot I patched up badly.

“Well, let’s see this feast.” I follow him to the kitchen with Stormy hot at my heels.

Lo and behold, there are two bowls of popcorn on the kitchen island, one on each side. I assume Holden’s bowl is the one with the protein shake next to it, while mine has the roll of fruit Mentos and a tall, empty wine glass waiting beside it.

I glide onto one of the barstools while Holden grabs one of the mango passionfruit kombucha bottles from the fridge. He pours the contents into my glass, and I watch it fizz and bubble before taking a sip.

The cool liquid goes smoothly down my throat, and I let out a happy sigh and smack my lips at the delicious taste. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He pauses, brows pulled together. “So . . . uh . . . what did you want to talk about?”

A lot of things. So many, many things, starting with why the fuck did you leave me?

But I don’t say those words out loud, suddenly unprepared to hear the answer. What if he told me he’d had enough of me? That he regretted saving me, or helping me took up too much of his life, after all.

None of that matters now. He needs to know about Felix. He never pushed me much about what made me run away. He’s aware of my family circumstances and that I was supposed to marry Felix against my will, but not much more than that. Everything else still felt too raw and too painful to talk about. I was also embarrassed, not wanting to admit how stupid I was. Since Holden never pressured me to tell him more, it was much easier to pretend it didn’t happen.

I can’t help but wonder if I should have told him back then—laid it all out on the table to lighten the burden on my soul. Maybe it would have kept me from building wall after wall around my past and heart.

Now my time is up because Felix is back in my life. While I’m not sure if he’s behind anything other than sending me the bouquet, he’s up to something.

If he’s also the one who sent the picture, he might be coming after Holden and me because I ran away and Holden’s the one who helped me. Since the news is out about our marriage, Felix knows Holden’s the one who helped me screw up his laid-out future.

“Hurricane?”

Holden’s worried gaze bores into me, and I glance at my lap. Trying to gather my wits and trying to get out of my damn head that’s been way too overwhelmed lately.

I take another sip and let out a humorless chuckle. “Sorry. It’s . . . it’s been a lot.”

He moves to the side, as if contemplating coming closer, but then stops. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for. And I know you might not believe me, but I’m here for you if you need to talk.”

I hate that he can read the situation so well.

Or maybe he can just read you so well.

Regardless of our circumstances, this isn’t just about me, and I’m not stupid enough to risk other people’s lives. So I straighten my spine and look Holden directly in the eyes.

“If you really think we’d be safer in a different location, let’s move.”

He pauses with a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. “Really? Just like that?”

“Yup. Also,” I take a deep breath and force the words out, “remember Felix? The guy I was supposed to marry? I think he’s behind this. At the very least, the bouquet. And possibly the picture too.” I rub my hands on my leggings. “I don’t think he’s behind the naked guy because that would make no sense, but obviously, none of this really makes any sense.”

Seconds tick by, maybe minutes, as Holden just stares at me. His jaw flexes, his whole body so tense I’m getting a little worried. And unless the light is playing a trick on me, the color is also slowly draining from his face.

What the hell?

He finally unfreezes and leans toward me across the island, pushing his entire upper body on his elbows as if he needs the support.

“Why do you think Felix is behind this?” The words come out gravelly, as though he barely managed to get them through his clenched teeth.

Is he upset I brought up Felix?

“Because of the bouquet.”

“The bouquet? You hate ranunculus.”

My mouth opens. “You remember?”

Some tension leaves his face, and he gives me a sad smile. “Of course I do.”

I pick up a discarded piece of paper from the Mentos roll and squeeze it between my fingers. “I never told you why I hated them.”

It’s not a question, but Holden shakes his head anyway. “No, you didn’t.”

Just spit it out, Olivia. You don’t have to tell him everything. Need-to-know basis only.

Right. “So, we had a . . . uh . . . we had a field of ranunculus near my aunt’s house. Since they were my favorite flowers, I always stopped to smell them. Felix . . . he used to pick them for me, and when he gave them to me, he said?—”

“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.” Holden finishes my sentence.

I bite my lip and nod.

I wait for him to ask me what happened with Felix that made me hate my favorite flowers so much.

But he doesn’t ask any of those things.

Instead, he says, “Felix isn’t behind this, Hurricane.”

“Why?” I frown at him. “He has to be.”

His chest expands on a deep inhale, as if he’s trying to gather the courage to tell me something important. A myriad of emotions flitting across his face, confusing me even more—pain, worry, despair, and fear.

The air stalls in my lungs as I hop off the chair and rush around the island. My stomach clenches uncomfortably, and without thinking, I crowd Holden. “What is it? Tell me, please.”

His gaze is unfocused, his eyes two empty pools. “It can’t be Felix because he’s dead.”