Chapter 29 Holden #2
I didn’t actually give a shit; when River started to answer, I swooped in, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.
Instantly, every sensation I’d been starving for rocketed through me. The clean taste of him, the roughness of his stubbled cheek, the warm softness of his tongue sliding against mine.
He answered my kiss immediately, as if he’d been waiting for it too.
The book tumbled from his hand, and he grunted, gripping me by the lapels of my jacket and pressing me against the bookshelf hard enough to make it shiver.
His mouth invaded mine, another resuscitation after drowning in a lake of alcohol for a year.
My hands went everywhere, over his broad back, into his hair, greedy to touch him. I felt the heavy hardness of an erection grow in his jeans and press against my own.
A store clerk cleared his throat delicately in passing, and River wrenched himself from me.
“Fuck,” he gasped breathlessly, his mouth reddened, his hair askew. His gaze bored into me, frustrated and heated at the same time. Then he bent to retrieve the book off the floor, slammed it on the little table, and stormed toward the exit.
I smoothed my rumpled clothes and followed him through a side door that led to a cobblestoned street.
“I didn’t want to do that,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Your dick told me otherwise,” I said, then flinched at his murderous gaze. “Sorry. Can’t help myself.”
“Neither can I. That’s the problem. I can’t let you go. And I don’t want to. But Christ…” He became still, his eyes hard. “I can’t kiss you when you fucked someone else just last night.”
My arms dropped, and shame rushed through me like a wildfire. The sun was starting to sink, casting shadows over the cobblestone streets.
“Who is he?” River asked, his voice low.
“You really want to talk about him?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“He’s no one. A good guy,” I amended. “But he won’t last. Like the others.”
“Others.”
“Yes, others. Lots of others. Because that’s what I do.”
My words struck River hard, and I hated myself more.
He stared at me, then barked a short laugh. “God, I’m a fucking idiot. I thought maybe you needed me. That it meant something that you sent me your books. But no, nothing’s changed. Except you’re over here living it up while I’ve been a goddamn monk, jerking off to you every night.”
I sucked in a breath, the truth hitting me as hard as mine had hit him. “No one?” I gritted my teeth. “I never asked you not to see anyone. I’ll never—”
“You’ve never asked me for anything, and you never will. Yeah, I remember your little mantra.”
I stared back, desperate to harden myself against him. “What do you want? Why are you here? To bring me back with you?”
“Why not? What are you doing here except drinking yourself stupid and fucking everything that moves?”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”
River scrubbed his face. “Christ…Holden.”
“What am I supposed to do, River?” I shouted. “Go back with you and do what? I’ll be the same mess there I am here.”
“You can get help. You can try again.”
“Yeah, and while I’m stumbling around, flailing and falling down, what are you doing? You’re picking me up while taking care of your sister and dad and keeping the shop running at the same time. Like fucking Atlas, carrying all of us on your back. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re doing the same old shit too. Boxing up your feelings and stowing them for later. When has that ever worked out for you?”
“At least I’m doing something. At least I’m trying.”
He has you there, said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Beatriz. Or Ms. Watkins with a Portuguese accent.
We stared each other down for a few more moments, and then I sank onto a wrought iron bench against the side of the bookstore, feeling tired down to my bones. Tired of the old pain that wouldn’t leave me alone. Tired of missing him.
River stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze on the ground. “Do you love him?”
“Of course not. He’s a distraction. They all are.”
He’s not you.
River nodded and sat down on the bench beside me. “What’s happening tonight?”
“Another party.”
“On your dime?”
“Of course.”
“Cancel it. Text your so-called friends and tell them you’re not coming.”
“What am I doing?”
“You look tired, Holden. Let’s get something to eat and go back to my hotel.”
I mustered an arched brow and a sly smile for old time’s sake. “That sounds promising.”
“We’re not sleeping together. You need to get actual sleep.” River sighed. “I do too.”
I nodded and then tilted into him, rested my head on his shoulder. After a moment, River moved to put his arm around me. I could have slept right there, listening to the beat of his heart and nothing else. But night was falling.
Eventually, we hauled ourselves off the bench and went back to the eighth arrondissement to a little bistro near his hotel. Over chicken Kiev and beef bourguignon, he told me about his first car restoration.
“It’s slow, it costs more money than it’s making—so far—but I love it.”
“If you need help with anything,” I began. “A little start-up cash?”
“No,” he said, stabbing his chicken with a fork. “I got this.”
I rolled my eyes. “Christ, people are so damn weird about money. I’ve pissed away enough to build you a state-of-the-art garage six times over.”
River grinned. “I have a sneaking feeling I’ll appreciate my state-of-the-art garage more if I build it with my own two hands.”
“Duly noted.” I poked at my food. “It may come as a shock, but I actually have some idea of what you’re talking about.”
He shot me a dubious grin. “Are you telling me Holden Parish actually got a job?”
I snorted. “Let’s not be ridiculous. But yes, I’ve earned a couple of paychecks. Two of my stories have been published in magazines.”
River’s face lit up with pure happiness. “No shit? That’s awesome. Congratulations.”
“Okay, okay.” I waved my hands. “The point is I understand what you mean about working for something. The pay is a drop in the bucket, but seeing those checks with my name on them felt a million times better than when my inheritance came in. That money still feels like it belongs to my parents. The magazine money is mine. I earned it. What a concept.”
“Do you think you’ll ever speak to your parents again?” River asked in a quiet tone.
“Never. They’re the reason you’re in Santa Cruz and I’m here.”
“Doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Yes, it does. You’ve seen me at my worst.” I swallowed hard. “I’ve seen you in a banged-up car with blood trickling out of your ear.”
River’s fork clattered to his plate. “That accident was not your fault.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I do understand. It’s that goddamn conversion therapy, Holden. Every goddamn word of it was bullshit.”
“Logically, I know that. But it goes deeper than thought. What they did… It burrows down into the marrow of your bones so that you’re cold even when the sun is shining.
” I blinked hard. “So when the person you love says he loves you too, the first inclination is to call him a liar. Your second is to run away. Your third is to fuck someone else. And your fourth is to drink and make it all go away.”
“How long can you do that for?”
“What’s the alternative? I was in a sanitarium for an entire year. Round-the-clock treatment. It didn’t help. Nothing will.”
“You deserve another try. You deserve a lot.”
“In the immortal words of Pretty Woman, the bad stuff is easier to believe. Especially when it’s been ingrained in me since birth.
My parents have been telling me I’m a mistake since the day they learned who I was.
You want to take that on?” I shook my head.
“I won’t do that to you, River. I won’t force my mess on you. ”
He looked as if he wanted to say something else but kept it to himself. We finished our meal over lighter talk. I had to practically wrestle him for the check, but we left the bistro with me victorious and River with a cute glower on his face.
We walked to his grubby little hotel, up four flights with no elevator. He unlocked a door that opened on a tiny room, hardly bigger than my closet at the Bristol.
“This is cozy,” I said, glancing around. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall.” River smirked at my aghast expression. “It’s not Versailles, but it works.”
A cutting joke came to my lips, but I was with River. The room could’ve been a literal hole in the ground, and I’d never want to leave.
We stripped down to our underwear, me in a sleeveless T-shirt and boxers and him in a plain white shirt and boxer briefs.
“How exactly is this going to work?” I asked. “The bed is small, and you cannot sleep on this dirty floor. I will not allow it.”
“We’ll both sleep on the bed. But that’s all we are doing. Sleeping.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve made it abundantly clear there will be no fucking.”
He smiled grimly. “I’m reminding myself.”
We lay side by side on the bed that was too small, River on his stomach, me on my back. He draped his arm over my chest. My arm curled under it, my fingers playing in his hair. Exhaustion weighed over me like a heavy coat.
“I don’t know what to do,” River said after a few moments, his voice heavy with sleep. “I want to help you, but I don’t know how.”
“Neither do I.”
“But I can tell you that if I didn’t have a car to restore, I’d be wrecked too. It helps to have something to work toward. Something real that’s not damn thinking.”
I inhaled. “An agent approached me a couple weeks ago. The night I sent you my journals, actually. He wants me to write a book.”
River lifted his head. “Holden… Shit, that’s amazing. Do that.”
“I can’t write a book.”
“You’ve already written a hundred books,” he said with a grin. “What’s one more?”
“Stop it,” I said. “If you smile like that at me one more time, I’m going to have to sleep on the floor. I won’t be able to keep from kissing you.”
“I changed my mind,” River said, his voice gruff. “I’ll kiss you good night.”
He pushed himself up on his elbows. My heart stopped as he lowered his mouth to mine and started again at the first touch of his lips.
A soft groan rumbled from his chest as I opened for him and his tongue slid inside.
He kissed me deeply, thoroughly, and then I took my turn, tasting every corner of his mouth, sucking at his tongue, biting at his lips.
No one tasted like River—clean and pure and good.
Kissing him was more potently intimate than anything I’d done with anyone else over the last year, erasing them all, leaving me a clean slate.
No one had mattered since River, and no one ever would.
Too soon, the kiss was over, and River lowered his head heavily to his pillow, while I now had to contend with a hard-on tenting my underwear.
I gestured at it with a frown. “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
He chuckled. “You’re not alone. I’m as hard as a rock down here.”
“There’s a remedy for that. More than one, actually.”
“Go to sleep, Holden,” he said, his eyes already falling shut. “Good night.”
“Good night,” I said, but as tired as I was, sleep wouldn’t come.
Tell him. Tell him you love him with your own voice.
But River’s breathing was already deep and even. His face relaxed. Content.
I’ll tell him in the morning, I thought. In broad daylight. And maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe Alaska will stay away, and we can be happy.
I fell asleep with a different life dancing in my thoughts, but when I woke up, that broad daylight showed me an empty bed. River’s things were gone, and a note sat propped on the small desk.
Holden,
I got a text from my sister. Dad’s had an accident. Not bad, just a fender bender, but Amelia’s freaking out. I’m going back. I think maybe it’s better I go anyway. If I stay, my willpower will break down, and I won’t get out of that bed with you.
And that’s not why I came here. I came to tell you that even thousands of miles away, I’m still here for you. I can’t make you believe me when I say that I love you, but I do. I think you love me too, and when you come back to me, I’ll be waiting.
Love,
River
The note fell from my hand. Paris outside the window blurred. A feeling expanded in my chest—pain that he was gone already but something good too. Bigger. Like dawn breaking after the darkest night.
Moving stiffly but quickly, I dressed and went out. River had already paid the hotel bill. I called a cab and took it back to Le Bristol.
The remnants of a small gathering—empty glasses, a room service cart, and overflowing ashtrays—littered the suite. All signs that Alexandre brought the party here in order to charge everything to my room.
Jean-Baptiste was still asleep in my bed.
I gently woke him and explained that our brief affair had come to an end.
He took it well—we’d never been anything to each other but decent conversation and a good lay.
When he was gone, I fished around in the closet, searching through pockets until I found Elliot Lash’s card.
I hit Call, my damn heart in my throat, beating for the first time with hope instead of fear.
“Elliot Lash speaking,” he answered.
“Elliot, it’s Holden Parish.” I inhaled. Exhaled. “Let’s write a book.”