Chapter 3
Holden
I clenched the steering wheel as my GTO idled in the parking lot outside the auto shop I ran with my brothers. My chest hurt, and my nerves were shot. I inhaled a shaky breath, held it, then exhaled.
And another.
One more.
Therapy always made me feel like trash. It dredged up memories and emotions I’d prefer to bury.
Guilt twisted my insides. I should try harder.
I hadn’t made enough progress in exposure therapy.
Dr. Levy didn’t say that. Wouldn’t say that.
Every recovery moves at its own speed, she regularly said.
But I knew it was true. It was just easier to avoid the problem.
I’d hugged Axel when he was having a breakdown a few months ago.
But I wanted to be capable of touch outside of an urgent situation.
To wrap an arm around Bailey’s shoulders and give him a squeeze when he needed reassurance.
To playfully accept Gray’s slap to the arm, instead of shaking like a leaf.
To hug Axel when he wasn’t in crisis but just needed to see that his family wouldn’t leave him ever again.
Never mind the possibility of kissing someone. Of having intimacy. That was hopeless.
Bailey emerged from the garage, squinting into the sunshine. He probably wondered why I was sitting in the damn car.
With one final breath, I threw open the door and got out.
“Everything going okay with that Honda?” I asked gruffly. “I thought you were finishing it up yesterday.”
Bailey rolled his eyes at my micromanaging. “Yeah, it’s done. Just waiting for the owner to pick it up.”
“Good.” I strode into the garage, the scent of motor oil familiar and comforting. “Where’s Gray?”
“I don’t know.”
I cast a look at the two motorcycles in various states of repair on the far side of the garage. “He better not be fucking around with Emory,” I grumbled.
Bailey snorted. “Would you rather they went at it all night when we’re trying to sleep?”
“No, but those bikes won’t fix themselves. You should have told him to stay.”
Bailey shrugged. “I’m not his keeper.”
“Apparently, that’s my job,” I muttered.
“It doesn’t have to be. You could just trust us to do what needs to be done.”
I chuckled. Ah, trust. That was a tricky word for me. I trusted my brothers, sure. But someone had to manage the business and keep everything on track. Otherwise, we’d slip into chaos, make mistakes, and lose business.
My fingers itched to text Gray and lecture him. I went into my office and shut the door.
My knee jiggled, transmitting my nervous energy. I picked up my cell phone. Put it down. Picked it up again.
Finally, I tapped out a text.
Holden:
Can’t wait to see you tonight.
Shiloh:
Same here! I’ll be waiting with bells on.
Holden:
Literally?
Shiloh:
Ha! You never know.
I smiled, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. Shiloh was always so happy and easygoing. He made it easy for me to shed the anxiety that clawed at my insides so often. I’d initially known him only as ShyGuy, but we’d eventually shared our names and little details about our lives.
Holden:
Tell me about your day.
Shiloh:
Not much to tell. I’m on vacation from the day job. Been binging Netflix. Getting my fill of drrrraaaamma!
He added a drama llama GIF that made me smile before going on a spiel about adultery, betrayal, and characters coming back to life that had me laughing.
The idea of Shiloh sitting around eating too many chips in front of the TV was surreal.
It was difficult for me to picture him in his ordinary day-to-day activities because he was always in sensual mode on camera.
We texted enough that I knew he was a regular guy, just like me, but it was still tough to reconcile the sexy camboy on-screen with the real person I talked to every week.
Gray opened my door and stuck his head in. “Hey, I need a part form.”
I pulled a blank sheet out of the file folder in my bottom drawer. “Glad you decided to show up for work,” I said dryly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? I opened the shop early today. Before even you got your ass out here.”
“So you took an afternoon siesta?”
“What if I did?” Gray challenged. “I’m ahead of schedule on these jobs.”
“More could come in. If you waste the time you have, you’ll limit your opportunities.”
Gray sighed, and his lips twitched in a smile. “The shop is doing fine, Holden.”
“I know that, but we can always do better. We’ve got a mortgage to cover, not to mention Bailey will leave for college in the fall. I have to think ahead.”
Gray nodded. “And I’m going to stay on top of the bike business. Bailey’s going to train a replacement. But no matter what happens, the world will keep turning.”
“Easy for you to say.”
It was a miracle Emory had found a way to save our asses when our asshole foster dad left us in debt. I didn’t ever want to be in that position again.
Gray reached out to comfort me.
I tensed, and he froze, hand hovering an inch from my shoulder.
“Sorry.” He dropped his hand. “Reflex.”
“No.” I swallowed hard. “You can do…that.”
“It’s fine.”
I took a breath. “You were just going to squeeze my shoulder, right?”
“Yeah, but it was just reflex, like I said.”
I visualized the touch. Gray reaching out. Squeezing my shoulder gently. My mind tried to go down a different path, a darker one, threatening to turn that image into something frightening and painful. I cut the thought short. I could do this.
“Please do it,” I rasped. When he hesitated, I added, “Exposure therapy.”
“Okay. If you’re sure…”
I nodded, and he reached out again, moving slowly so I could stop him.
I bit back the urge. It was easier with Axel.
He’d been part of my life the past decade while Gray had been away.
But I trusted my brother, even if he’d only returned six months ago.
I focused on my breathing. On registering five things that would anchor me to the here and now.
The floor beneath my feet. The cool metal desk under my fingers.
The photo we’d taken of the new Forrester Bros sign after we’d renamed the shop.
That was three. What else? I inhaled, the scent of motor oil washing over me once more.
Then I listened to the calm, easy rhythm of Gray’s breathing. That was five.
His hand landed on my shoulder, squeezed gently, and withdrew. The ghost of the touch lingered. My skin tingled uncomfortably, but I breathed through the sensation.
Gray wouldn’t ever hurt you, I reminded myself. You’re fine. You’re fine.
“Holden? Are you okay?”
I blinked open my eyes. Let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Great.”
His smile turned sympathetic. “Didn’t look very enjoyable.”
“No, but…it’s more about building tolerance with the people I trust.”
“Well, thanks for trusting me.”
I eyed him. “Doesn’t mean I think you should take breaks during the workday.”
He barked a laugh. “You’re such a hard-ass. Jesus.”
“I’m kidding,” I lied.
It was a work in progress, loosening my grip on everything around me.
I’d unearthed enough in therapy to know that I was controlling because it made the world around me feel safer.
If I were in control, no one could hurt me the way my parents did.
I’d been helpless and powerless during the years of my abuse, and my urge to control every situation was a defense mechanism.
But that didn’t mean my brothers enjoyed being bossed around like children.
Gray chuckled like he knew I was full of shit. “Okay, well, I better get back to work. Wouldn’t want to squander any opportunities.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, knowing I deserved the sarcasm.
He left, and I straightened my desk. Someone had moved my daily calendar. I shifted it two inches to the left and read the Word of the Day. Equanimity. I could sure use more of that in my life. Jesus.
I finished out the day updating our expense sheet, running an invoice for the Honda owner who finally showed up, and RSVPing for the Chamber of Commerce Community Influence event.
The phantom imprint of Gray’s hand continued to burn on my skin, making me shudder now and then. Not in revulsion or even fear. Just my body’s nervous system reminding me that touch wasn’t safe.
“But I’m fine,” I said aloud to the room. “So get the fuck over it.”
I clenched my pen tighter, trying to will my body to fucking understand that this shit wasn’t necessary.
Dr. Levy’s voice echoed in my head. “You can’t force your way past trauma.”
If I could, I’d have been beyond it by now. I hated this lack of control. It was why I’d fallen into a pattern of avoiding, rather than dealing with, my touch aversion.
I took dinner in my room that evening. My brothers cast each other concerned looks, but they didn’t try to talk me into staying. They were used to my moods after a therapy session.
I closed myself into my bedroom and set my plate of leftover goulash on the nightstand. I wasn’t hungry.
I pulled up some panda videos while I reclined in the bed.
It was a silly therapy tool Dr. Levy had encouraged me to try.
The bears were cute and ridiculous and silly.
They fell over, somersaulted, and popped right back up, as eager as ever to take on the world.
Something about watching their endless optimism soothed me, but it wasn’t enough tonight.
I wanted Shiloh. Wanted the sense of control he gave me in our sexual interludes.
I picked up the phone.
Can we go early?
Shiloh took a few minutes to respond. I fidgeted on the bed, my heart rabbiting. What if he said no? What if he was busy with another client? Jealousy twisted my gut, even though I had no right to it. I wanted Shiloh all to myself, but I couldn’t have him like that.
Finally, my phone beeped with his response.
Shiloh:
Give me ten minutes to get pretty.
Holden:
You don’t need to do that. I like you however you are.
Shiloh:
You might change your mind about that tonight.
Holden:
Never.