Chapter 12 River
Twelve
River
“What are you going to do?” Holden asked. And then I was grabbing him, kissing him. His tongue was in my mouth and mine was in his, and something lost in me came home…
“Hey, Whitmore? You still with us?”
I blinked out of the hazy, heated thoughts and into the glaring white light of the Burger Barn. At 7:00 on a Saturday night, the restaurant was loud with the voices of dozens of conversations and the hiss and spit of meat on a broiler.
Chance, Mikey, Donte, and I took up a booth made for eight, sitting spread out, arms resting on the backs of the seating. Baskets of fries and burgers were strewn between tall milkshake glasses.
“Dude, what’s with the dopey-ass grin?” Donte asked. “You getting some action we don’t know about?”
Chance perked up. “Oh, damn, are you? That’d explain why you’ve been acting so weird lately.”
Shit.
Mikey leaned in eagerly. “Spill it, Whitmore. Who is she?”
“Anyone we know? Give us a clue.”
A clue…
Holden Parish, in the band room, with his lead pipe.
A crazed laugh nearly burst out of me, and I covered it with a coughing fit. I reached for my water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sure about that?” Donte asked. “You looked about ready to rub one out right here at the table a minute ago.”
“Fuck you,” I said, my laughter dying. I leaned back in my seat, casual as hell, and forced myself to say the words. “There’s no one.”
“I call bullshit,” Chance said loud enough that a mom at a nearby table gave him a warning look. “Something’s going on. And it’s not new either.”
“Since homecoming at least,” Donte said. “Maybe earlier. The party…”
He watched me with sharp dark eyes. He was smarter than the other two boneheads, and I cursed myself for being so careless.
“Yep, Homecoming.” Chance said. “When our king ditched the queen in front of the whole school. I still can’t get over that shit.”
Mikey nodded. “Epic.”
“For the last fucking time, nothing happened at homecoming,” I said. “I just wasn’t up to it.”
It would’ve been easy to lie and say my mom hadn’t been feeling well, but I wasn’t going to be a complete scumbag and use her to cover my cowardice.
“You sure you’re not hiding some piece on the side?”
“Christ’s sake.” I gritted my teeth. “There’s no one.”
My stomach felt as if I’d swallowed a stone. My friends’ insinuations were like buckets of cold water, reminding me of what was real life and what were only time-outs.
“Maybe you’ve got blue balls,” Mikey said in a serious tone. “It’s a real medical thing.” His smile turned oily. “That’s what I tell my dates anyway.”
“And it works?” Chance asked.
“Hell, yes, it works,” Mikey said. “I tell ’em all sorts of shit when they’re in my Jeep. I mean, if they’ve gone that far, they’re obviously ready to give up the goods. Most girls just need some incentive.”
Chance looked like he was mentally taking notes. I felt sick.
“You’re a fucking animal, Grimaldi,” Donte said.
Mikey looked to me. “You could’ve had that sweet Violet McNamara. Talk about a cherry ready to be—”
“Fuck off,” I said loudly, earning another death glare from the mom. I lowered my voice. “Don’t talk about Violet like that. She’s cool.”
“Then why’d you bail on her?” His eyes widened as a thought occurred to him. “You tap that ass and it was no good?”
“Dude,” Donte said with a short, embarrassed laugh.
“Or are you tapping her now?” Chance asked. “Is she the mystery chick?”
My skin heated, and I struggled to keep my tone even. “There is no mystery. I’ve been concentrating on my college apps. Dad’s riding my ass about putting in for early acceptance.”
Chance snorted. “Like the Big Ten aren’t begging for you, Whitmore.”
“They are,” I said, slipping on my king-of-the-world mask. “We want to see who begs hardest.”
Christ, I was sick of my own bullshit, but the others laughed. Mercifully, the conversation moved on to the playoffs and who was going to the Super Bowl that year while I picked at the remnants of my food.
I imagined the looks on my friends’ faces if I told them it was Holden Parish who was making me hard under the table.
How they’d laugh at me. At him. How they’d think I was joking.
And when they learned I wasn’t—how they’d been sharing a locker room with me for years—they’d pick me apart like a pack of dogs.
We had gay kids on campus of course, but football was an entirely different game, and it was too late for me to suddenly change the rules.
It’s impossible.
My gaze swung out to the restaurant. It was packed, every table filled with moms, dads, kids.
I tried to imagine my life ten years from now.
Working with Dad at the shop, restoring cars, and taking my own family to dinner here.
I tried to imagine what that family looked like and couldn’t do it.
No wife, but no husband either. Just a blank space.
Because that life will never happen.
Whatever scenario I envisioned, the result was the same. Like a math problem, there was only one answer, exact and unchanging.
Impossible.
“Who you going to ask?”
I blinked again. “What?”
“Jesus, Whitmore, you’re a goddamn zombie,” Chance said. “We’re talking prom.”
“It’s months away.”
“Yeah, but you gotta nail down the hottest chicks fast, or else they start getting uppity and looking at college freshmen,” Mikey said with authority.
“So who you thinking about asking?” Donte asked me.
“Don’t know yet. I’m weighing my options.”
“Attaboy,” Chance said and slugged me in the shoulder, but Donte watched me through narrowed eyes.
Shit.
The lights in the restaurant were too bright. My jacket was too heavy, and my breath felt tight in my chest. My carefully constructed life was squeezing with a claustrophobic fist, punishing me for my weakness. For taking things too far with Holden.
For starting something that had nowhere to go.
“I gotta go,” I said, climbing out of the booth.
“Where?”
“To see who?” Donte asked, eyebrows raised.
“Your mom,” I muttered. “She hates it when I’m late.”
The others laughed, but Donte only shrugged, wearing a small knowing smile I didn’t like. “Tell her I said hi.”
I strode through the restaurant and shoved open a side door to the parking lot, my face on fire as if I had a fever.
A storm was brewing off the ocean. The sky was heavy with clouds, and chilly wind swirled a red-and-white candy wrapper around the black asphalt.
Against the side wall of the restaurant, I pulled out my phone.
I can’t make it tonight.
The reply came a few long moments later. Sounds ominous.
I let my head fall back against the bricks and hit the Call button. Holden picked up but said nothing.
“Hello?”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Look…I can’t do this.”
“This.”
“Us. Whatever the fuck we’re doing.”
“Since when?” Holden demanded. “Did something extraordinary happen between now and three hours ago when we were sucking face in your entryway?”
“No, nothing happened,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Okay, yes. Life happened. My messed-up life. It’s not fair that you should put up with my shit while I try to figure it out. You deserve more than my conflicted ass running hot and cold on you every other damn minute.”
“Shut up.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I said, shut up,” Holden snapped. “You’re worried about what I deserve?
As if you have the monopoly on being fucked up.
I have trust issues. I don’t set healthy boundaries.
I close down emotionally before people get too close, and I sabotage relationships because I want to be the one who leaves first.”
“That’s…a lot of information.”
“It’s my official résumé. I broke into the head doctor’s office in the sanitarium one night and read my file.”
I snorted a laugh despite myself. This guy… In that moment, I sort of felt bad for anyone who didn’t know Holden and proud that I did. Even if he was going to fucking ruin me.
Holden felt me relent, and his arrogant tone returned.
“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t mind being your dirty little secret. Emphasis on dirty.”
“You’d be okay with that?”
“Spare me your pity party. I’ll survive if you don’t want to hold my hand in the hallway or make me your prom queen. We can keep it casual.”
“Casual.”
“You’re leaving to play football after graduation, and I’m going to jump on a plane and get the hell out of Dodge. What else can there be?”
Nothing was the correct answer. There shouldn’t be anything between us. Not even this. But the sense memory of Holden’s hot mouth on mine and his body pressed against me came roaring in to make its case.
“Friends with benefits,” Holden said in my ear, his voice low and husky. “Secret friends with benefits. Isn’t that what you want?”
No. I want you. All of you.
“Well?”
“I’m on my way.”
***
I drove up to the huge white craftsman and parked along the side.
Holden had texted me to take the side entrance, so I pushed through the gate and stepped into an immaculate backyard.
The grass was cut to military precision, and the pool was clean and sparkling with several deck chairs surrounding it.
Just the sight of the pool gave me flashbacks from that first night together. I knocked at the guesthouse, feeling as if the windows in the main house were watching. Holden opened the door, and my breath quickened.
Holy hell.
Fresh from the shower, his silver hair was damp and slicked back from his face. He wore a thick maroon bathrobe—untied—over striped pajama pants and a white V-neck shirt. It clung to his chest and torso, hinting at cut abs that tapered to a narrow waist.
A heated push of want and denial, of need and guilt, swept through me.
“Uh-oh,” he said, reading my face, stepping aside to let me in. “Second thoughts? Didn’t we just talk about this?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “I know, but I’ve never…”
“Been alone with a guy?”
“Maybe,” I said. “And maybe don’t be a dick about it?”
“You’re right. Sorry. I keep forgetting I’m the slut in this relationship. Beer?”
“Sure.”