Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
HOLLIS
It’s been a couple of days since I got that apology text from Pres.
I took Jonas’s advice and replied almost immediately and told her it was water under the bridge.
I was way out of line anyway.
Then neither of us talked about it again. We resumed our constant stream of texts and voice memos, slowly getting to know each other, but neither of us brought up Jace again.
Did it bother me? A little.
Okay, more than a little. I hate the idea of her dating someone who treats her like shit. But I hate the thought of never hearing her voice again even more.
I don’t want to lose this friendship—this connection to my past—and I know that if I don’t control this jealousy I’m feeling, it will push Pres away.
So that’s exactly what I do.
All week, I push those feelings to the back of my mind.
I treat Presley like the friend she’s always been and remind myself she is not mine to protect.
But then, my phone rings, and it all goes to shit.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hearing the pain in her voice almost instantly. I set down the plate I was about to shove in the dishwasher and dry off my hands.
“It’s been a rough night,” she says in a defeated tone.
“Aren’t you at your parents tonight?”
“Yeah,” she answers. “How do you know that?”
My brow scrunches. “You told me the other day, Pres. It’s not that hard to remember.”
My answer seems to give her pause because it takes a moment before she responds.
“Jace came with me tonight, and I thought he wanted to spend time with my family, but…” She pauses, taking a deep ragged breath that I can hear through the speaker of my phone.
“He was just hoping the band would be here so he could meet Asher and hang out with celebrities.”
What the actual fuck…
I force myself to take a second and think before I answer because I have a feeling that if I fly off the handle again when it comes to her boyfriend, this will be the last time she confides in me.
Plus, I need that second to calm the storm brewing in my mind—the one that dreams of ripping this fucking guy apart.
“Where is he now?” I ask, leaving the kitchen to take a seat on the living room sofa. I was supposed to go out to dinner with Jonas tonight to finally have that talk about expanding the club, but I’m going to have to cancel.
This takes priority.
“Gone. He took a bottle of my parents’ Grey Goose and headed for the beach.”
My fist clenches at my side, but I manage to keep my opinions to myself.
Because it doesn’t matter what I think right now.
I’m sure she knows exactly what everyone thinks about Jace. I’m sure deep down she even knows they’re right. But bringing that up right now will only make her feel worse, and I won’t be that guy.
I want to be the person who makes her smile.
“Okay, do me a favor,” I say. “Can you go to the pantry?”
“The pantry?” There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, and it’s the first time since I answered her call that I sense anything in her voice besides sadness, so I run with it.
“Yup.” I smile. “You heard me.”
“Is there a secret passage in there I’m unaware of?”
“Maybe,” I tease. “But you won’t know if you don’t get your ass in there.”
That earns me a laugh, and the sound of it makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something truly remarkable. “This is a really weird request.”
“Pres.”
“I’m going, I’m going!” she assures me, her voice still a bit stuffy from the tears she shed.
I wish I could be there to wipe away every single one of them.
I hear her footsteps clack against the hardwood, and it feels like I’m right there with her.
I can practically see the wide oak planks and the huge center island with the marble top.
I still remember walking into that kitchen and thinking it looked like something out of a magazine.
I expected to see a chef pop out of nowhere and offer us hors d’oeuvres, but instead it was just Tilly with pizza bites and Capri-Suns.
“You there yet?” I ask, running a hand through my unruly hair. In high school, I used to keep it on the shorter side because I was insecure about the color. It’s on the darker end of the ginger spectrum, but it still made me stand out.
And since I was always the new kid, thanks to my mom, I hated any extra attention directed at me.
“Yup,” she replies. “Does whatever we’re doing only work with the door shut, or can I leave it open?”
“You can leave it open,” I tell her. “Now, go to the back left corner.”
The Creed family pantry is spacious, able to comfortably fit several grown adults or at least five teenagers.
Believe me, we tried.
“Okay, now what?”
“Sit down. Face the wall.”
“Am I in time out?”
“Depends. Have you been bad?” My eyes widen. “Fuck, I mean—”
Laughter fills my ears, and I exhale in relief. “What am I doing in here, Beck?”
Hearing her call me by my last name makes me smile. There’s something so familiar and easy about it, and I know then that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this friendship between us.
Not dropping flirty innuendos would be a solid start…
“You’re treasure hunting,” I inform her. “Now, what do you see in front of you?”
“Beans.”
“Huh. Your mom used to keep the cookies there. Guess she’s moved some things around.”
“I think they’re both on a health kick now—low sugar and sodium for my dad. We usually bring our own desserts now.”
It’s strange hearing her talk about her parents. Mostly because I still don’t know how I feel about the eldest Creeds. As angry as I was when everything went down with my mom during those last few months of my senior year, I knew none of the blame fell on Presley or Hendrix.
I still distanced myself from them, but I never blamed them.
Tilly and Lance, though? I wasn’t so sure.
They promised I was family. They loved me like a son, but the second my mom showed up at their door, they just stood there and let her take me away.
They didn’t fight for me.
As an adult, I can rationalize why. I know their hands were tied, but the younger version of me didn’t understand the legal issues they faced, and so I carried around that anger for a long time. It’s a hard thing to let go of.
“Makes sense. Okay, so there’s a story that goes with this, but first I need you to move those beans,” I tell her, and then say with a chuckle, “And if that isn’t a sentence I thought I’d ever say…”
She laughs, and I can hear the sound of cans being moved around and stacked. “Well, I didn’t expect I’d be sitting in my parents’ pantry tonight, so big surprises all around.”
“Find it yet?” I ask, suddenly feeling anxious.
“Find what? Wait…what the hell?” I smile, because a small part of me wondered if Tilly may have erased it, but I’m glad to know it’s still there. “Who wrote, ‘Sometimes life sucks, but cookies never do,’ on the wall in here?”
“Your mom.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yup.” I swallow, trying to maintain the levity in my voice as the memory replays in my mind.
“She caught me in there not too long after I moved in, just sort of hiding. I’d had a shitty day, and everywhere I went in the house, there was someone.
I wasn’t used to being around that many people.
And my room…” I let out a breath. “It didn’t feel like mine yet. ”
“So you went into the pantry.” She doesn’t form it like a question. More like a statement—one she understands. We were always alike in that way.
“Yeah,” I reply. “And when Tilly found me in there, she didn’t miss a beat. She just walked over to that shelf, reached down, grabbed the Oreos, and handed me a stack. The next time I came in, I found that note.”
I feel a lump in my throat.
That single motherly act was more than my own had ever done for me, and Tilly followed it up with a hundred more tiny gestures over the year I lived in that house.
She was the closest thing to a real mom that I ever had.
And then one day, she was just gone.
They all were.
“Thanks, Hollis,” she says. “I really—”
“Hollis?” A voice I haven’t heard in years echoes in my ear, and before I know it, I’m sitting up, heart pounding.
“Mom?” Pres says. She obviously isn’t talking to me. Guess I should have had her shut that door after all.
“Did I hear you say Hollis?” I hear Tilly ask.
Pres pauses, and I realize she’s waiting for me to say something. To tell her what to do, because although we haven’t outright said anything, both of us have been keeping this thing between us on the down low.
“It’s okay,” I finally say. “You can tell her.”
I may have complicated feelings about Tilly Creed, but I do not want to force Pres to lie to her mother on my behalf.
“Yes,” she answers hesitantly. “We reconnected a week or so ago.”
“You did?” Even I can hear the slight hurt in her voice. “Were you going to tell anyone?”
“Of course, Mom,” Pres starts to say, and that lighthearted tone she had just moments ago is gone, and I hate that I’ve put her in this position.
So it’s time to fix it.
I will not be that guy who makes her sad.
Not tonight. Not ever.
“Let me talk to her,” I tell her, sitting up straighter like I’m preparing to face the principal at school.
“What?”
“It’s about time I say hi, Pres. It’s not like we have anything to hide, right?”
“Right,” she agrees, although I can detect a hint of worry in her tone. Is that for me? “Mom, he wants to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
Then she hands the phone over, and I take another step further into the past.