Chapter 13 Holden #2
My arms laden with four full grocery bags and rain drenching me to the bone, I took the path down to the beach.
The goddamn cold soaked into my sodden clothes and wrapped itself around me, squeezing.
I trudged slowly on the rocky path, my shoulders screaming and the plastic bag handles digging into my hands.
I stumbled more than once; water lapped at my boots.
Lightning crackled in a gray sky over the ocean.
“Just singing and dancing in the rain…” I sang weakly, my teeth chattering, trying to keep my brain occupied.
But Alaska came anyway.
The cold rain and the endless walk awoke memories of forced midnight marches through black forests, the counselors berating us for being worthless while we stumbled half-dead from lack of sleep and cold.
By the time I got to the shack, tears mingled with the rain on my face. I dumped the bags on the wooden table and lit the lantern with shaking hands. No sign of Ronan or Miller.
Because of course not, dumbass. In this storm?
But Miller said we’d meet, and he kept his promises too. I blew on my fingers, determined to wait it out. But PTSD racked my body with cold as much as the storm. I couldn’t let them see me like this, sodden and shivering and on the verge of breaking down.
They’re your friends. They’ll want to help.
Even if I believed that, the rain wasn’t letting up. No one in their right mind would make that trek in weather like this.
With fear curling my stomach, I pushed myself out of the shelter of the shack and back into the storm.
The return trip felt like it took ten times as long with memories of Alaska whipping at me over every step. The Uber I’d called while huddled against a utility building came mercifully quick, the female driver’s eyes widening with concern as I climbed in, drenching the back seat.
“Honey, what happened?”
I shook my head, my jaw stiff with cold. “Sorry about the water.”
“Don’t be sorry. What do you need, baby? What can I do?”
I hunched tighter, willing the tears back with everything I had.
“Take me home.”
***
My phone chimed a text just as I stepped inside the guesthouse, dripping water all over the floor. With trembling fingers, I pulled it from my pocket. Miller.
Where are you?
My house.
You dropped the food and then left?
I said I would, I typed.
Why’d you leave?
In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a fucking hurricane out there.
The shack is fine, Miller wrote. Not even a leak. Come back. Or we can come to you?
The urge to go to Miller and Ronan—people I’d lay down my life for—nearly sent me back out.
But my reflection in the mirror over the fireplace was a horror show.
A drowned rat stared back, haggard, with dark circles around red-rimmed eyes that were lit with fear.
I couldn’t go back out into the storm of memories.
Not again. And if my friends saw me, they’d want to know why I looked like this.
I’d ruin their Christmas with my fucked-up past that trailed me wherever I went, reminding me that a normal life was always out of reach.
I’m not feeling up to it, I texted.
Bullshit. Get back here. Or give me your address.
I imagined them lugging all that shit I’d bought through the rain. For me.
Another text came in. You went through all that trouble with the food. Come back.
Another. We didn’t want to spoil it, but since you’re being an asshole, we got you a space heater. You’ll be warm. I promise.
I closed my eyes, tears stinging.
Rain check, I texted. Because…actual rain.
Not funny. Then, Please come, H.
Merry Christmas, Miller, I wrote, my vision blurring.
My phone lit up with his number. I hit Decline. He called again. Decline.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered and turned my phone off.
I was just about to take off my dripping coat when a knock came at my door.
River…
It was Beatriz, bundled in a raincoat and scarf over her head. Her warm smile morphed into a stricken expression at the sight of me.
“Mr. Holden? What happened to you?” she asked in Portuguese.
“Nothing,” I replied. “I took a walk.”
“In this storm?”
“A bad idea, looking backward. What are you doing here? Eu pensei…” My Portuguese failed me. “I thought you were with your family?”
“I am. We made biscoitos.” She hefted a basket covered in red cloth.
“For me?”
“Sim.” She pressed the basket in my arms, her face twisted in concern. Lemony-orange scents wafted from the cookies on warm currents. “Are you alone today, Mr. Holden?”
“No,” I whispered and cleared my throat. “No, my friends are coming over. I just got off the phone with them actually. I should get ready. Take a shower and warm up.”
The cold was making my jaw tremble, and Beatriz’s brown eyes widened in alarm.
“Sim, sim, go. Warm up or you’ll be sick. Your friends…they are coming?”
“Any minute now.”
“Okay, good. That is good.”
“Thank you for the biscoitos, Beatriz. Muito obrigado.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Holden.” Her hand came up and touched my jaw. “Feliz Natal, doce menino.”
Merry Christmas, sweet boy.
She left, and I shut the door behind her, then sagged against it, willing back tears.
Like picking at a scab, I wondered what my parents were doing right now.
If the family was gathered around the huge tree with hundreds of glittering lights and gifts tastefully wrapped in expensive paper.
Mom would be playing her Bing Crosby, and Dad would be on the phone with Tokyo or London, arguing about oil futures until someone lured him away with brandy and a cigar.
I set the basket down and turned my phone back on. A string of texts and three missed calls from Miller and Ronan waited. None from Seattle. None from River.
I turned the phone off and left it off.
I took a shower as hot as I could stand to drive out the cold that had settled into my bones, then dressed in pajama pants, a long-sleeved undershirt, another shirt on top of that, and my robe. The fire roared, and I turned the thermostat up to eighty.
With Beatriz’s cookies and the rest of Reg’s scotch, I settled on the couch.
A Christmas Story was playing on its endless Christmas Day loop.
The storm outside raged harder, rain lashing the windows.
Lightning flashed, followed by booming thunder that made the house shake.
I ate a little, drank a lot, and time slipped out from under me.
The movie played over and over, the scenes shuffling around like a deck of cards.
I couldn’t keep straight if I was watching the same movie or if it had begun again.
Judging by how dark it was outside, night had fallen (#science). At some point, I must’ve gotten up to use the bathroom but didn’t make it back to bed. My old friend, the hardwood floor, welcomed me back.
“This is where I live now,” I said, chuckling. “I live on the floor.”
Thunder shook the house, pounding, as if trying to bang the door down. I thought I heard someone call my name.
“Holden?”
The storm is talking to me.
“Holden, are you there?”
River.
He pounded on the door, hard and insistent. “Holden, open the door.”
“This is a new development,” I murmured, my stupid heart begging me to let him in.
I can’t. I can’t let him in.
The pounding became a slower, more forceful bang. Once, twice, and then the door slammed open, bringing with it the sound of rain and heavy footsteps.
“Jesus, it’s an oven in here,” River muttered, then he was kneeling beside me, his face floating across my blurred vision. Rainwater coursed down his jacket and made his dark hair hang over his forehead.
“You broke the door down?” I asked. “My hero…”
“Are you okay? Christ, I’ve been calling for hours.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why?” He glanced around, shaking his head. “Because… What the hell are you doing?”
“The room is spinning, so I’m holding the floor down.”
River sat heavily beside me with an exasperated sigh. “What are you doing? Drinking yourself stupid on Christmas? Where are your aunt and uncle?”
“Seattle. With my parents.”
“They left you alone?”
“I told them to go.”
His eyes darkened, his voice tinged with anger. “You shouldn’t…do this. You shouldn’t hurt yourself like this. And they shouldn’t have fucking left.”
“There you go again,” I said, chest aching. “Always saying things you have no business saying.”
“Come on.”
His strong arms went around me and hauled me to my feet. I sagged against him and lifted my heavy, alcohol-soaked head. My bleary eyes scanned his face, wanting to preserve every detail.
“You’re really a handsome bastard, you know that?”
“You’re drunk,” he said and hefted me with a sexy grunt.
“It’s not even subjective,” I continued as he half carried me to the bedroom. “Just fasts. Fats. Facts. No one would ever kick you out of bed.”
He smirked grimly. “You did.”
The floor tilted, and I gripped the lapels of River’s letterman jacket. His blue eyes were filled with concern and something deeper. Something I’d never seen before, except that I wanted to live in it.
I smiled sadly and touched his cheek. “I’m going to miss this face.”
“Holden…”
“You said it yourself, but did we listen? Ohhhh, no. Not us. Not me.”
“What did I say? When?”
“At the pool. It’s a mistake. We’re a mistake.”
His frown deepened, and he held me tighter. “I was flipping out. I didn’t know what I was saying. I—”
“Yes, you did,” I said softly. “And you were right.” I pushed out of his embrace and crawled onto the bed, flopping onto my back. I patted the space next to me. “Stay with me a little. Just a little while…until I fall asleep. Won’t take long.”
River hesitated, then took off his jacket and sat down on the other side of me.
“I don’t get what happened,” he said. “A few days ago—”
“I lied. My big speech about keeping things casual?” I shook my head. “I can’t do it. Not with you. And you can’t be seen with me.” I sang weakly, off-key, “So let’s call the whole thing off.”
He swallowed hard. “That’s what you want?”
“That’s what I want. It’s best for both of us.” I poked him in the side. “And you know it.”
A silence fell, the only sound the rain spattering the windows and the thunder, growing more distant.
A grimace hardened River’s handsome face. “I don’t know what to say. Or do.”
“Just stay with me the night, okay? And be gone in the morning.”
He warred with himself and then nodded, and my last flicker of hope went out.
What did you expect? That he’d fight for you? He won’t. He can’t.
I rolled over onto my side, my back to him. I felt the bed dip and knew he was lying down too.
“I don’t want to leave here unless I know you’re going to be okay,” he said.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Tonight isn’t giving me a whole lot of confidence.”
“It’s what I do. I have like…an episode. A bender. I get it out of my system, and I move on.”
“Don’t you think you need professional help?”
“Why? As far as I know, I’m delightful.”
“I’m being serious.”
“I’ve had year-round, round-the-clock professional help,” I said, pressing the side of my face into my pillow. “This is the best they could do.”
I felt River turn on his side to face me and scoot closer. The warmth of him grew stronger. His head lay close to mine. All I’d have to do was turn over and…
We’d make the same mistake all over again.
“Holden?”
“Stop worrying,” I said. “I’ll be fine, and our brief affair will become a distant memory. You’ll see me from across the quad at school one day and think to yourself, ‘There goes Holden Parish. Nice fellow. Once put my dick in his mouth.’”
River pressed his forehead between my shoulder blades. “Christ.”
I chuckled and then wanted to cry as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back tight to his chest. I held his arms that held me.
“You sure?” he asked hoarsely.
“It’s better this way,” I whispered, my eyes falling shut.
“Then why does it feel like shit?”
“That’s a catch-22. The solution to our dilemma is inherent in the problem itself.”
“Which is?”
“We both want something we can never have,” I said as sleep dragged me down on whiskey fumes. “A normal life.”