55. Holden #3
“You’re the leader. Signed up for it. Nobody’s asking you to quit doing that.
” I let that breathe. “But you have got to stop confusing being the leader with being alone. They’re not the same thing.
You’ve welded them together in your head, and we’re tired of watching you carry it like it makes you noble—especially when it hurts Sage.
But even more than that, you’re hurting yourself too. ”
He looks away.
“When I was on patrol, I had a partner. Carl Steyer. Seventeen years on the job, best cop I ever worked with. Had a heart attack in our cruiser, three months out from his pension. Carl was the guy—the one who never asked for anything, who held it all behind the seam of his uniform until his heart quit. Every man on his shift cried at that funeral, and not one of us told him while he was breathing that he didn’t have to carry it alone.
” I look at the bottles behind the bar. “I don’t want to cry at your funeral, Eli.
I don’t want to stand there filled with regret because I stood by and watched you refuse the one thing I know will make you happy. ”
He laughs, still looking at his beer. “Do you realize how insane that sounds? How insane it all is? Even if I overlook the things we do, there are five of us and only one of her.”
“What’s your point?”
He closes his eyes. Shakes his head like I don’t get it. But I do. I fucking do.
“I’m in love with her too,” I say bluntly.
“Whether we’re all ready to admit it out loud or not doesn’t change the truth of it.
We’re all in this. You. Me. Those three outside.
There’s no version where you get to be the pure one standing apart while the rest of us carry the guilt for wanting her.
We claimed her together. She claimed us together. ”
“Holden—”
“You don’t have to decide anything today.
You don’t have to joke with Milo or kiss Micah in the parking lot or do any of the shit you use to scare yourself into keeping your distance.
You just have to stop pretending you’re not already in this.
The only thing the pretending does is make the rest of us feel like assholes for being honest.”
He’s quiet a long time.
“Her roommate teaches at my school, Holden.”
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Sure. I’m a detective, Eli. I do detective things like knowing who the fuck is living with our girlfriend.” I lift a hand before he can snap. “And yes, I know it’s a problem. A real one. But it’s not a reason to burn the whole thing down before we’ve even tried to manage it.”
He huffs.
“What did Milo say to you out there?”
He’s quiet for a second. “He said I didn’t have to do this alone.” He shakes his head. “But I can’t risk the classroom because I can’t keep my dick under control. Amy could end my career with one sentence.”
“We’ll handle it. We build a cover if we need one. Keep your school life and Sage’s apartment life from touching where they shouldn’t. If Amy asks questions, we answer carefully. If it gets official, I handle the official. You don’t solve it alone—that’s the whole point we’ve all been making.”
He drinks, draining his glass.
“Holden.”
“Mm.”
“When did you know you could do this? The sharing. Specifically.”
I could lie. I don’t.
“The morning after I had her with Milo. We woke up and found her curled up on Knox’s lap, both of them asleep on the couch.
I stood there looking at them together, felt the jealousy hit, then felt the relief underneath it.
She needed him. She needs all of us for different reasons.
As fucked as sharing her is—I’d commit a federal crime for that woman without asking what the crime was. ”
He nods. Slow.
I finish my drink and pick up the rest of the glasses in the tray.
“Come on. We’ve got ends left, and the visor’s going to use your spleen for a doormat if we forfeit.”
We walk back. Milo lights up like Christmas morning when he sees us coming.
Micah takes the beer I offer, and his eyes find Eli’s.
Eli looks back. Neither of them says a word, but the look holds two seconds longer than any look they’ve traded all afternoon.
Micah’s grip loosens around the bottle by a fraction.
It’s progress.
We lose. We lose badly—21 to 6, and the woman in the visor shakes each of our hands with a grip like a bench vise, telling Milo, without a flicker of sarcasm, that he has “a lot of enthusiasm.” Milo decides this is the finest compliment he’s ever received, declares us moral victors and league champions five weeks early, and tries to trademark BALLS OF FURY on his phone during after game drinks.
We pile out into the long Sunday light. Milo’s already re-telling Knox’s shot, embellishing. Micah’s half-smiling. Eli’s walking a little closer to the group than he has all day. “Sage’s?” I ask when we reach the parking lot.
There’s a chorus of agreement as they head for their cars.
All but Eli.
He stands by his car and watches the rest of them turn out of the lot, wanting written all over his face and nowhere to put it.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” I ask.
He hesitates. Then he shakes his head.
I shrug and open my car. “Talk soon.”
“Holden,” he calls out.
“Yeah?”
“Tell Milo I said thanks for organizing today. Turned out okay.”
I give him a half smile. “Tell him yourself, Eli. You’ve gotta choose. Either you’re in. Or you’re out. We’re not helping you live outside us anymore.”