Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
Holden
Five years ago…
I’d pretty much spent the last few days in a drunken haze. Duncan, Jill, Katherine, Meg, and I left my mom’s wake and I proceeded to get black out drunk.
And I stayed that way all through the funeral.
Today was my first day not drunk… and only because I knew I needed to drive back to school.
I arrived home to an empty house and didn’t bother unpacking. I left my duffel bag tossed carelessly in the hallway and went straight to the fridge to grab a beer.
Settling on the couch, I kicked my feet onto the coffee table and took a long sip. The quiet condo was both unnerving and nice all at once. Though I couldn’t tell if I was happy that my roommates weren't home or if I was bored.
I took another long sip of beer, the cold liquid soothing my throat but doing little to ease the ache in my heart. As I sat alone in the quiet condo, my thoughts inevitably turned to my mom.
God, I missed her.
The grief caught me by surprise.
Even though it had only been a week, it felt like she’d been gone for years in some ways. Like I was always living on the precipice of losing her; she was gone when she was drunk.
But I always knew she’d come back… even if it was hungover.
A painful lump formed in my throat as I thought about how I'd never hear her voice or feel her comforting touch again. She'd never see me graduate or go to law school or God forbid, maybe get married or have kids of my own.
It wasn't fair. She was supposed to be here.
Tears stung my eyes and I angrily wiped them away, finishing the rest of my beer with a hearty swig. The alcohol provided a numb escape, however temporary. I knew I shouldn't rely on it, but right now it was the only thing keeping me from completely breaking down.
Jumping to my feet, I yanked the silver tequila from our house stash and yanked the cap off. The sharp aroma of tequila filled my nose, making my head swim. But I didn't care - anything to numb the pain. I grabbed a shot glass and poured it to the rim.
The clear liquid filled the shot glass, its edges catching the light from the dim overhead lamp. I could see myself reflected in its surface, my pained expression and tear-streaked cheeks. The tequila glinted dangerously, promising a release from my emotional turmoil.
I tipped it back fast.
The fiery burn coated my throat, bitter yet strangely satisfying. Its heat spread through me, chasing away the cold emptiness that had settled in my chest.
It was like swallowing liquid fire, each drop a scorching kiss on my tongue, a fleeting distraction from the pain that threatened to consume me. I poured another shot, hoping to drown the memories and sorrow in a sea of tequila.
For the first time in my life, I understood my mom.
I understood why she reached for booze. Why she ached for this numbing sensation.
Very quickly, the pain receded and a glorious dulled sense of life mucked up my brain.
I looked up at my reflection in the glass door of the cabinet, blinking at the sight.
I was turning into her.
Downing shots alone in my dark home to avoid feeling…
Well, feeling anything.
I was her. I’d turned into the one and only thing I hated about my mother.
But at least I wasn’t turning into him . I can live with becoming my mother. But my father? I would sooner die.
Suddenly, the burning in my throat was nothing compared to the burning behind my eyes.
“Fuck!”
I slammed my fist into the cabinet door, glass spraying the floor around my feet.
The sharp and acrid smell of blood filled the air and I looked down, watching the red lines drip off my knuckles and mix with the spilled tequila like a watercolor painting.
The condo suddenly felt suffocating. I needed to get out, to do something to distract myself. Grabbing my keys, I left the empty bottles on the table and headed for the door. Maybe I'd go for a long drive, anything to outrun the grief threatening to consume me.
I stumbled out of the Uber onto Main Street. The tequila was already hitting me as I squinted up at the lit sign on the front of the bar reading Mulsey’s.
Even though I hadn’t texted Duncan, I knew the guys would be here. On Sundays, students drank for half price… it was impossible for college kids to resist. And even though me and my friends didn’t usually need to clip coupons to afford a night out, we tended to follow where the college aged girls went…
And most of them were here on Sunday nights.
I slid inside and immediately spotted Duncan and Jake at the bar.
The bar was crowded and noisy, filled with shouting college kids getting an early start on the night's revelries, despite it being a school night. I made my way through the sea of people, shouldering past sorority girls in tight dresses dancing on guys who could barely do the drunken college shuffle to the beat of the music.
Duncan saw me first as I dropped into the empty stool beside him. His eyes went wide with concern as he glanced me over with a slow gaze. But he knew better than to say a goddamn word. Instead, he gestured at the bartender for another beer.
Jake, on the other hand, didn’t know better. “Dude… what the hell happened to you?”
I just shook my head, not wanting to get into it. The tequila was hitting me hard and the edges of the room were starting to blur.
I must have looked like hell—face splotchy, eyes bloodshot, my knuckles shredded and bloody.
"Rough night, huh?" Jake said, not dropping it.
Duncan on the other hand, simply nudged a fresh pint of beer towards me. I lifted it to my mouth and drank half in one gulp, wincing as the alcohol burned my raw throat.
"Yeah, rough night," I muttered, gesturing to the bartender for a shot of tequila. “Rough night. Rough month. Rough year.”
The bartender raised his eyebrows at my busted hand but poured the shot without comment. I downed it in one gulp, relishing the burn.
"Dude, what happened to your hand?" Jake asked.
I shook my head. "“My fucking mom died, that’s what happened to my hand. Got any other questions, asshole?”
“Dude,” Duncan said, his tone softer than usual.
I couldn’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead, I pretended to find the wood grain of the greasy bar fascinating. “I'm fine."
I wasn't fine. The booze and bar noise weren't enough to mute the pain.
They got the hint and didn't press me further. We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping our drinks. The booze was starting to hit me hard and the bar swam before my eyes.
Suddenly a familiar face appeared in my wavering vision. Katherine. Her wavy blond hair fell softly around her shoulders as she leaned against the bar only a couple people down from Duncan, waiting to order. And the way the lights from above bounced off the bright blonde of her hair created a halo effect that made her look even more like the angel she was.
She was breathtaking as always.
I’m dreaming. I must be hallucinating… Katherine doesn’t go to bars. She doesn’t drink.
And Mulsey’s certainly wasn’t her scene.
“Holden?”
She was leaning against the bar and Jill was standing beside her. A giant black X was drawn on the back of her hand, indicating that she was underage.
The bartender handed her a soda and a glass of ice water.
Reading my mind, Duncan scooted over to make room for her.
Katherine slid onto the barstool next to me, her blue eyes immediately drawn to my bloodied knuckles. "Oh my god, Holden. You’re bleeding! What happened to you?"
Her voice was filled with concern as she gently took my hand in hers to examine it closer. I winced, the cuts stinging under her delicate touch.
"It's nothing," I mumbled, pulling my hand back and taking another swig of beer. I could feel her gaze burning into the side of my face, but I stubbornly kept my eyes forward.
"That doesn't look like nothing," she said softly. "Please, tell me what's going on."
I shook my head, my throat tight. I didn't want to drag her into this mess. This was my grief to bear alone.
But Katherine didn't back down easily. She moved closer, placing a hand on my arm. "You know you can talk to me, right? I'm here for you, no matter what."
Her voice was so gentle, so full of warmth and compassion. If I closed my eyes, she almost sounded like my mother.
I felt my resolve weakening.
"I...I got in a fight," I said reluctantly, my eyes downcast.
"A fight?” she gasped. “With who?"
I winced, hesitating for a moment. “With the liquor cabinet.”
“Aw, come on, man! You punched my dad’s liquor cabinet?” Duncan shouted.
“I’ll pay for a new one.”
“Damn right you will. And that shit was from Ethan Allen.”
Ethan Allen furniture? Not exactly how I wanted to spend my trust fund.
Katherine threw Duncan a look over her shoulder as she gathered a handful of napkins from the bar. “I’m sure the cabinet will be replaced one way or another. Just tell your Daddy that the football team broke it celebrating a win.”
“Hm,” Duncan said, looking thoughtful. “That could actually work.”
Katherine unsuccessfully tried to repress a roll of her eyes as she pulled some ice cubes out of her water glass and wrapped them with her napkins. Then, gently taking my hand, she pressed the cold, damp ice napkin to my knuckles. “Here,” she said quietly. “Looks like the liquor cabinet did a number on you.”
“Nah,” I said, “You should see the other guy.”
That earned me a little smile. “I didn’t think you’d be back for finals,” she said.
“The show must go on, right?”
She snorted and shook her head. “No. Not when it comes to family and loss and grief ? —”
“I have no family anymore,” I said, darkly.
Mom was my family.
And now she’s gone.
“Holden—” Katherine whispered, but I interrupted before she could say another word.
“My father doesn’t know the meaning of being a family. He’s made that clear. So I’m done basing my life decisions around him.”
Her eyes fell to where I was nervously fidgeting with my grandfather’s spinner ring and we both froze.
My grandfather. My father. They’re the same.
They’re both living breathing examples of who I never want to become.
Who I vow to never become.
I blinked back my tears and looked up into Katherine’s shiny blue eyes. “So… the show must go on. It will go on. You and I? We’re going to be the best Romeo and Juliet this school’s ever fucking seen.”
The smile that spread on her face was like a beam of light in a pitch black tunnel. It lulled me in, guided me to her. “Does that mean you’re coming to the Kennedy Center show?”
“Yes,” I said definitively. “I’m not letting you down again. Never again.”
She tilted her head, smiling softly as she held the makeshift ice pack to my injured hand. “Pretty strong words coming from a drunk guy with bloody knuckles.”
I met her gaze, my eyes tracing over her delicate features - the fair sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the wisps of blonde hair framing her face. In that moment, with her this close, I was struck by how truly beautiful she was, not only on the outside, but the inside, too.
“Well, how’s this for strong words… Katherine, you're the most incredible, talented, beautiful woman I've ever known.”
A little gasp escaped from her wet, cherry red lips. “Holden, are you saying…”
“I’m saying I want to be with you, Katherine. I want to do this with you. For real, this time. I lost my way briefly when my mom died, but now more than ever, I know what I want… and it’s you.”
I might have been drunk, but I meant every word. I reached out with my free hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her cheek. Katherine leaned into my touch, her lips parting slightly.
In the dim light of the bar, with our faces just inches apart, I could no longer fight the growing pull between us. I drew her closer, brushing my lips against hers in a gentle kiss. She melted against me, her arm circling my waist as she returned the kiss eagerly.
When we finally broke apart, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone. "Wow," she whispered.
I lifted my brow at her, a smile quirking my lips. “I tell you I want to be with you and all you say in return is wow?”
She cleared her throat, pulling back from me. “You’re drunk. And grieving. I’m not going to hold you to any of this ? —”
I caught her chin gently with my good hand. “This is the first time since you and Duncan and Jill left my house that I feel any semblance of normal. I may be drunk, but I don’t need you to hold me to anything. You’re it for me, Katherine. I just… know. I’m your Romeo. And you’re my Juliet… Forever.”
“That doesn’t exactly end well for either one of them, Holden.”
I brushed my thumb over her lower lip, desire and tenderness welling up inside me. “Then we’ll rewrite the ending, you and me. Star-crossed lovers who beat all odds.” I held out my pinky finger to her. “That’s a promise.”
The svelte line of her throat bobbed as she hesitated for only a moment. Then, quickly, she hooked her pinky into mine with a nod. “Star-crossed lovers who beat all odds. If anyone can do it, it’s us, right? ”