Chapter Sixty-Four. Holden
SIXTY-FOUR
Holden
There’s you, still coated in black.
“Can I help you, man?” the bartender asks as I stumble up to the outdoor bar.
“Yes.” I glance around like seeing the bottles is going to add any clarity. “Six shots. Please. Just line them up.”
Six shots.
Sixty minutes.
Then she’s his.
“Preference?”
“Something that’s going to make it hurt,” I say.
“Usually people are drinking like that to take away the hurt,” he says as he sets up six empty shot glasses. “But the customer’s always right. Coming right up.” He pats a hand on the counter and smiles. “You got a name?”
“Holden Simpson.” I’m not sure where that comes from. Maybe it’s because right now I feel as desperate as I was the last time I used that name.
“Great. I’ll take care of you.”
The first one goes down way too fucking smooth.
Stepping backward and out her door while she stood there with eyes begging me to tell her the truth—that I am in fucking love with her—will forever be seared in my brain.
The second just as easy.
“Fight me,” she shrieked. “Fucking fight me.”
But I couldn’t then just like I couldn’t today. She is not the plan. She’s never been part of the plan.
The third has no taste.
Fuck you, Chad. The thought of him touching her makes my stomach pitch. The thought of her letting him even more.
The fourth has lost its burn.
You couldn’t tell her you love her. The one time it mattered in your life to speak up, to sound off, to be honest, and you fucking choked. You couldn’t tell her you loved her and that’s on fucking you, Knight. That is on fucking you.
The fifth tastes like water.
And yet the pain is still there. Stronger than before as I picture her in that dress that was hanging up beside her. As I imagine her walking down that aisle toward me. As I think of the chaos we could sow together.
The bells ring as I’m lifting the sixth to my lips.
My chest constricts and my mouth falls dry despite the shot I just threw back.
She’s gone.
She’s his.
I love you, Rowan.
I went and did the unthinkable. I fell. But what I can’t allow myself is the grace or the weakness to have what I fell for. What I want. You.
I fucking love you.