Chapter 18 Hollis
Me: Miss me?
I set my phone on my stomach and grab the remote. I flip through the channels as I wait for Crew or River to respond.
There’s a show about a guy hunting for a monster in a river.
A lot of shows about cooking, which I could probably get into, but Judy’s box of snacks is long gone.
The most interesting thing is an old Western movie that has such poor audio that I can’t get into it.
But I need to get into something because my brain won’t stop thinking.
“I think you think that no one would ever stick out the hard times with you. That you’d never be the first pick.”
The girl has my number. How? I don’t know. But it sure feels like she and River are on the same page.
That’s scary.
“What is it with everyone on my ass about this right now?” I ask aloud. “And why is no one texting me back?”
I hop to the floor and press out a few push-ups. The movement helps move things through my head.
They’re both right in that I think—that I know—that people don’t stick around when shit gets hard. But they’re both wrong in that they think it’s something I can fix.
It’s a flaw in the system of my life. I didn’t design it this way.
When your mom quits on you, there’s a deeper problem than what an attitude adjustment can fix.
Would I like for it to be untrue? Abso-fucking-lutely. I wish I was a normal person like River or Crew or Larissa and could just decide, Yeah, I’m gonna flip this switch and live a normal happy life with people who adore me. But that just doesn’t work in my world.
My phone buzzes, and I scramble to my feet.
Crew: Not yet. How are you?
Me: Good, actually.
Crew: Wow. Did you pop a little kid’s balloon or something?
Me: You know, I’ve forgotten how NOT funny you really are.
Crew: I’m just kidding. What’s going on? Big plans for New Year’s Eve?
When I planned on coming here and just hanging out until the Catching-A-Cares banquet, I figured I’d spend the holiday in this room alone.
And while that might be true at this moment, it’s not going to be true tonight.
Larissa gave me no out. She demanded I accompany her to this party, telling me I’d already told Boone I would go—which I believe isn’t true.
Oh, well. I would’ve gone without her bringing Boone into it.
The party at Larissa’s aunt’s house is apparently a big fucking deal. She was going on and on about it when I left her house this morning. But, hey—at least she wasn’t asking me questions for once.
Me: I do, actually. I’m going to a party.
Crew: Good for you, man.
Me: What are you up to?
Crew: Recuperating. Making life choices. The fun stuff.
Me: Ouch.
Crew: Did you make any decisions about things?
Me: No.
I think about leaving in a couple of days.
It’s not the leaving part that bothers me. It’s what it entails.
I love campus life. I always have. It’s like the big family I never had. There’s always something going on and someone around to do something with.
Wanna act like a complete idiot? There’s a person. Need a workout buddy? No problem. Looking for a guy who has your homework paper done a week early? Someone knows someone—don’t panic.
But the thought of going back to campus doesn’t sit right in my stomach. I have to do it. When I took the scholarship, I promised Coach that I would graduate with a diploma, and I’ll be damned if I don’t honor that agreement. Besides, all those classes for four years should get me something.
I’m good with going back. I just wish I wasn’t so far away from here.
Which is fucking stupid.
Me: How are you doing about Pops? You okay?
Crew: Yeah. I mean, I’m making it. Talk to River today?
Me: No. You?
Crew: Not yet. I’m going to try to call him later.
Me: Cool.
I glance at the clock.
Me: If I don’t talk to you, Happy New Year, Hollywood.
Crew: Back at ya, Hollis.
I lock my screen and get to my feet.
My suitcase is on the other queen-sized bed in my room. I sort through what I brought to figure out what to wear to Larissa’s aunt’s house. It’s mostly a bunch of T-shirts and flannels, but I do spot a black button-up shirt.
I pull it out. It’s not too wrinkled, and there’s an iron I saw by the door that I could use to fix it up.
I second-guess my choice and look back at my clothes.
Shit.
I reach for my phone and find Larissa’s number.
“Hey,” she answers immediately. Her voice is bright and cheery. “What’s happening, handsome?”
I look at myself in the mirror and laugh.
I’m such a tool.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head at how stupid I’m acting. “I have a question.”
“Finally!”
I snort.
She laughs. “I’ve been waiting for this moment. Go for it.”
“Can I wear jeans to this thing?”
She bursts out laughing. “Clearly, you haven’t seen your ass in jeans, or you wouldn’t be asking me this question.”
Her flattery feels good, which is weird because it’s usually unwanted. But, coming from her, it feels like it means something. It feels … honest.
“So that’s a yes?” I ask.
“Yes. You can come in anything you want, and it’ll be fine. I promise.”
I walk to the window.
I haven’t seen her since I left her house this morning and I both love and hate the way I feel about it. She had to go help put the finishing touches on the party, which I understand. But I’m bored.
And I miss her.
That does not bode well for me, I know.
But instead of focusing on that, I’m trying to roll with it. Enjoy it. Enjoy her.
“Did everything go okay today at your aunt’s?” I ask.
“I just got home to get ready.”
“Should it take you long?”
“No. I picked everything out this morning after you left.”
I grin. “What do you have to do? Shower and get dressed?”
The thought of her naked and wet sets my blood aflame. I adjust my cock, groaning at the contact.
“Yeah. It shouldn’t take me long,” she says.
I glance at the clock again and do some quick math.
“What time do you have to be there?” I ask her.
“Let’s see, it’s six now,” she says. “Everyone will show up around eight or eight thirty, I bet. As long as I’m there by nine, it’ll be fine. What time are you planning on coming?”
I grab jeans, shirt, and keys and head for the door. “Right now.”
“Already?”
“Look,” I say, opening the hotel room door and walking into the hallway, “if you’re planning on being in the shower and I’m just here by myself—”
“I’ll go unlock the door.”
I laugh. “That’s my girl.”
And I might just mean that. Maybe.