CHAPTER 5
HOLLY
Air whistles in and out through my nose because my teeth are clenched too tight for me to gasp in through my mouth the way my lungs want me to.
1. Don’t cry.
2. Don’t throw up.
3. Don’t panic.
4. Repeat.
Over and over, I run down the list in my head as Dr. Williams draws multiple blood samples from my inner elbow. My mind reels at the pinch of the tiny metal needle sliding through my skin. I have a living inside a horror movie amount of fear coursing through me.
Rain pounds on the window, pairing perfectly with the torment in my head and chest. Maybe, if I can focus on the streams of water flowing down the glass, I won’t feel the sharp, cold needle puncturing my vein.
Nope. Not working.
1. Don’t cry.
2. Don’t throw up.
3. Don’t panic.
“Deep breath, Holly. We’re all done,” Dr. Williams speaks kindly as she secures gauze to my arm with a bright purple wrap.
I try to do as I was told, but my jaw locks up.
“You did good. We’ll give you a call in a week or so when we get your results back from the lab, but as long as nothing has changed since last time, we can move to the next step.”
I should say thank you or smile. All I can manage is a nod before I stiff-leg my way out of the exam room, down the hall, through the waiting room, and straight into the restroom where I lock myself in a stall. I don’t even take a second to wipe down the seat before I collapse onto it and stick my head between my knees, fighting off the dizziness and nausea.
After a slow count to sixty, I’m able to stand and leave the stall. My hands still shake as I splash cold water on my face. Knowing that I would be soaked in stress sweat, I packed my deodorant in my purse this morning, which I now reapply generously.
In the mirror, I’m the worst version of myself—helpless and scared. There’s no makeup on my face because I didn’t want it to run and smear if I ended up crying. But this also means there’s nothing to cover the dark bags of a sleepless night or to smooth out the blotchy redness of my anxious cheeks.
Needles always do this to me.
“It’s not the same thing. This isn’t like Mom. You won’t disappear.” My voice rattles over the words. “You’re in control.”
But saying it doesn’t make it true.
I bend at the waist, pressing my forehead into my palms as I grasp at composure.
“It’s worth it. It’s all worth it.”
I’m saving Marcus. Well, really, I’m saving Ben, but it’s all connected.
Still, knowing that the reason is altruistic doesn’t remove my animalistic fear. That tiny metal device destroys me. It makes me feel dirty.
I slide my trembling fingers into my purse, pull out my phone, and navigate to Marcus’s number. My thumb hovers over the Call button.
I want my brother to talk me down, to calm my shattered nerves. That’s always been his job.
He got me ice packs for my bruises and covered my eyes during scary movies. He hugged me when I was crying and defended me when I was bullied. He made my meals and picked me up from school. His steady presence was the anchor in a stormy childhood.
But I don’t press the button. He has a real job now, and it’s not taking care of me. Every day, he suffers because of something real, and here I am, falling apart because of a standard checkup.
It’s time to stop putting my irrational fears on him.
Unfortunately, deciding not to bother my brother doesn’t make leaving the restroom any easier. The idea of walking three blocks in a torrential downpour, so I can catch a bus that will in turn drop me off another four blocks from my apartment is depressing. Even though I’m successfully holding the tears back right now, I’m not sure that miserable commute wouldn’t put me over the edge.
I need to be calm. I need to be in control.
Maybe it’s not the healthiest solution, but I’ve recently found one way to get both of those things.
My phone practically dials itself, and he picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, Holly! What’s up?”
“Hey, Ben. Are you busy right now?”
“Not really. Just got out of class and was about to grab lunch. Why?”
“Is that offer for a ride still on the table?”
“Send me your address. I’ll leave now.”
Ready at a moment’s notice, like he’s Superman. Pairs well with my current damsel-in-distress situation.
“I’m at Dr. Williams’s office. Do you remember where that is?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in fifteen. Twenty at most.”
“Okay. Text me, and I’ll come out to your car. Thanks for doing this. I owe you.”
“Stop saying you owe me. If anyone is in debt, it’s me. See you in a few.”
He hangs up before I can think of a response.
I attempt to smooth out the shaking in my hands and fix the mess that is my hair. Sometimes, I tug at it to calm my nerves.
Almost exactly fifteen minutes after I called him, Ben texts me that he’s outside.
When the front glass doors slide open, he’s waiting with an umbrella. “Not sure if you brought one.”
“I could kiss you, Ben.”
He gives me a funny look, but I just latch on to his arm, so we can both stay dry. The doctor’s office has a small parking lot, so his car doesn’t have to loiter on the street. Without even reminding him, Ben opens the driver’s door for me before collapsing the umbrella and rushing to the passenger side.
When we’re both ensconced in the warm, dry car, I take a moment to appreciate the firm steering wheel gripped in my palms.
I’m driving the car. I’m in control.
“You okay?” he speaks carefully, and I hate it. I’m not made of glass.
“Yeah. It’s just …” I let out a heavy sigh because I know how ridiculous my explanation will sound. “The needles. They get to me.” My head falls back against the seat, and I do my slow-breathing exercises.
“Can I do anything?” He sounds lost.
“I don’t know. I guess, talk to me about something. Anything.” Simply being around him is helping. My pulse isn’t racing anymore, just taking an energetic jog.
“I blew up a toilet once.”
I choke on unexpected laughter.
“What?”
When I turn my head to glance at him, he’s nodding.
Ben is wearing his glasses again today. I like the way the wire rims frame his eyes. His hair is damp from the rain, which brings it to an almost auburn hue. He’s man-spreading in the passenger seat, taking up all the space available to him, and he’s shifted slightly to face me.
“My cousin snuck some firecrackers into school one day. He showed them to me in the restroom, and I decided it’d be cool to light one. When it started going off, I panicked. Threw it in the toilet.” He’s grinning at me as my mouth gapes open. “But it kept going. The whole toilet bowl cracked. Water was spraying everywhere. It was bad.”
Hilarity builds in my chest and busts out of me. “That’s idiotic!”
Ben’s chuckling right along with me. “I know. We were so stupid. They suspended us for a week. Lucky we didn’t get expelled.”
I cover my face as I snort. An image of a wide-eyed younger Ben next to a gushing toilet fills my mind, and it just sets me off more.
As my giggling rolls out, my anxiety fades.
Watching Holly crack up helps ease my guilt.
But it’s not gone completely because this is all my fault. Normally, people have to get blood drawn maybe once a year, and then they can forget about needles and injections until that time cycles around again.
Holly’s just getting started.
If this is what she goes through from a quick needle stick, how is she going to deal with an IV in her arm come surgery time?
It’s enough to make me want to tell her to back out.
But would she listen?
And would I see her again?
She lets out a long sigh after her giggles trail off.
“Okay, I’m better. Where are we headed?”
Maybe she’s good to drive, but she still seems rattled. Her hands clench the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip.
“What do you think would make you happy? Something we could do right now.”
Surprise flashes over her face, and then she turns thoughtful. After a few seconds, Holly gifts me with one of her sweet smiles. “Almond croissants.”
I can’t help but laugh at her tone, filled with longing and reverence.
“You have a place in mind?”
She nods vigorously, and I chuckle some more, mostly from relief.
“Then, by all means, take me to these glorious pastries.”
Holly goes to pull the car out of the parking lot.
“So, Ben, tell me about yourself.”
The request sounds forced, but I don’t mind distracting her.
“What do you want to know?”
I wait as she clicks the blinker on for a left-hand turn.
“Why are you pre-law?”
Of course. The question. It always comes up, and I always give the idealistic answer about challenging myself and serving the public. But I don’t want to bullshit Holly. Also, I’m pretty sure she’d see right through me and call me on it.
So, I give her a bit of the truth.
“It’s the family business. Both my parents are lawyers, and so was my grandfather, Benjamin the second, and his father before him, Benjamin the original. I grew up around legal talk. I understand it. It’s a safe bet for me.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of Benjamins. And lawyers. You find it easy then?”
I lean back in my seat, letting Holly’s questions sink in. “I wouldn’t say easy. Even going part-time, my days are pretty full of studying and writing papers. And this is just undergrad. From the stories I’ve heard, law school is when the real grind starts.” I try not to grimace as I think about it.
“Do you enjoy law?”
Do I enjoy law? I think back, trying to remember if I’ve ever been asked that before. Nothing comes to mind. It’s always been whether or not I’m good at it, which I’m sure I can be.
“Some of it is interesting. And, if you work at a successful firm, then you can make a pretty good living.”
Holly snorts as she merges into another lane. “Way to give me a non-answer, Ben. I wasn’t asking how big your salary would be. I want to know if you enjoy it. If you look forward to becoming a lawyer one day. Does it excite you? Make you happy?”
“Not everyone is going to be super over-the-top happy about their job. Making a decent living is important.”
When did this turn into a debate? And why do I feel like I’m arguing for the wrong side?
“Yeah, I get that. For a lot of people, making enough money to support their family is what makes them happy. But that’s usually because they come from a place of financial instability. You come from a well-off family, so you have the freedom to explore multiple avenues.”
I open my mouth, on the verge of speaking, when I realize that I have nothing to say. Luckily, Holly stops me with a shake of her head while still keeping her eyes solidly on the midday traffic.
“Sorry. I’m attacking you. Let’s just table that. Instead, answer me this; if money and career stability weren’t issues, what would you choose to do?”
That has my mind stumbling, and I blurt out my question without thinking, “No family expectations?”
We’re at a red light, so she can safely take her gaze off the road and examine me. Those dark eyes of hers see more than I want them to.
“No family expectations.” The light turns green, and she smoothly moves us forward.
Again, I debate on giving a false answer, saying, I don’t know, or, I’ve never thought about it.
But how could I lie to a girl who called for my help when she was vulnerable? That’s a dick move.
With a deep breath, I make a decision. “I can show you.”
“Show me?” I flick my eyes over to his side of the car but only for a second because Philly traffic is not something you can navigate on instinct.
Still, my nanosecond glance catches Ben’s fingers reaching for the top button on his shirt. Another quick peek and another button undone.
“Dude, if you want to be a stripper, then go for it, just not while I’m driving.”
Ben’s hands stop. “Hmm. That’s an idea. Probably make some decent cash at it. What would my stage name be?” He taps a finger against his chin like he’s in deep thought. “Ben the Pre-Law Player?” I snort, and he grins. “What about the Dirty Dialysis Dancer?”
I chew my lip as I think and then start bouncing in excitement. “Oh, oh, I know! Benjamin Get-Hard the Fourth!”
There’s a pause, and then the joyous sound of his laughter booms through the car. It’s infectious, and I find myself grinning along with him.
Once he catches his breath and wipes the tears from his eyes, he returns to the task of unbuttoning his shirt.
“Seriously, Ben, why are you …” My question peters off because I finally catch a glimpse of what he’s revealing. Then, I get an eyeful.
A car horn honks, and I flinch, realizing I’ve slowed down at a green light.
“Okay, wait. I can’t drive while you’re doing this. Just give me a second.”
Thankfully, he nods, and I check for open spaces along the sidewalk. Once I’ve pulled into an empty spot, I put the car in park and turn to face him.
“Are those tattoos?”
Ben nods again and releases a few more buttons until he’s revealed close to half of his chest.
Like the ink on his skin is magnetic, I can’t help reaching over to touch the designs. My fingers hesitate before they land on his skin because, even if we’re friends, that doesn’t mean I can start feeling him up without his permission. Instead, I meet his wide eyes.
“Do you mind?”
Tight-lipped, he shakes his head, so I finish my gesture, fingering the first tattoo I caught sight of. From what I can see, it appears to be the bow of a ship, and when I push his shirt open further, the rest of it is exposed along with more pictures. There’s a shovel with a pair of shoes dangling from the handle, a bat in flight, a castle surrounded by trees, and the head of a blue dragon.
The tattoos are not a continuous scene, but somehow, the shapes and lines of each seem to complement each other. Ben has a colorful collage on his chest, and it’s all I can do to keep from undoing the last few buttons to discover how far it goes.
“These are amazing! How many do you have?”
“I stopped counting after twenty.” His voice sounds weird.
When I take my eyes off his ink, I find Ben watching me with his lips pinched tightly between his teeth.
Does he think I’ll judge him?
Honestly, I’m just trying to let my mind catch up.
Never would I have guessed that glasses-wearing Ben with his pre-law status and rich family would reveal this. Sure, tattoos are becoming more popular, and if he’d told me he had one or two, I wouldn’t have thought much about it. But this is a different level.
“How far do they go?” I brush my hand down his warm chest to emphasize my question.
He shivers under my touch.
We’re getting close fast, but I can’t seem to retract my hand. I want to see more.
Ben clears his throat. “My whole chest and back. Shoulders. My upper thighs and … my ass.”
Normally, curse words put me on edge and make me flinch. But, when Ben lets that one slip, my cheeks warm as I imagine what kind of ink he might have on those firm mounds.
I need to stop touching him before I ask for a private show.
With the will of an Amazon warrior, I pull myself back and settle into my seat, hands tucked in my lap, fingers laced so that I won’t stretch them out for another caress. There’s been enough time spent touching my new friend. He’s not a goat in a petting zoo.
“So, you made sure you could cover them up?”
“Exactly. Tattoos might be more mainstream now, but no one wants a lawyer who’s sporting visible ink. Also, my parents …” He lets that sentence trail off as he pops the buttons back in place.
As his chest disappears, I want to protest, but I can’t think of a logical reason to demand that he not wear a shirt.
“Your parents don’t know about them?”
Ben gives a half-shrug, half-headshake. “They know I have a few. But they’ve never been fans, so I stopped telling them.”
He reaches up to scratch his neck, and I’m suddenly very annoyed at Mr. and Mrs. Gerhard.
“I’m sorry. I think they’re beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” He looks at me like I’m talking crazy.
“Yeah, Ben. Your tattoos are beautiful. Deal with it.” I lightly punch his shoulder, trying to be playful. And also maybe because I’m having a hard time with not touching him. “Do they mean anything?” The pictures seem personal.
“Each one is a book I’ve read.”
“Really?” I want to rip his shirt open for a chance to guess which ones. “What’s the ship for?”
“Treasure Island. My granddad read it to me when I was a kid.” His voice has gone heavy with memory.
“The shovel and shoes?”
“Holes by Louis Sachar.”
“Nice. I loved that one, too. The bat?”
“Dracula.” He actually puts on a Romanian accent for that, and I roll my eyes while smiling.
“The dragon?”
“Eragon. Well, the whole Inheritance Cycle series actually.”
“Hmm, never heard of it. I’ll have to look it up. Okay, and the only other one I saw during your striptease”—he snorts—“was the castle.”
“Ah, yes. Have you ever heard of this magical place called Hogwarts?”
“Of course! You’re speaking to a certified Ravenclaw.”
“Well, I’m a Hufflepuff. But we can still be friends.”
We grin at each other like the geeks we are. But then I get a pang in my chest when I try to think back on the last book I read for pleasure. It’s been months, maybe even over a year.
“Hey. What’s wrong?” His hand cups mine, and I realize I’m frowning.
“Nothing. Just … you’re reminding me of some good books. And I used to love reading, but I feel like it’s been so long since I did it for fun.” I sigh and press my fingers to the growing ache in my forehead. “My schedule is so full. And, when I do have free time, I feel like I should be studying or working.”
Maybe Pops has a point.
“Careful you don’t burn yourself out.” Ben massages my fingers.
I’m surprised by how comfortable it is to have someone to hold on to.
But this is straying toward serious again. I want the lightheartedness back.
“Wouldn’t want your organ donor crapping out on you, now would we?” My lame joke falls like a cement block between us, and I immediately regret it.
Hurt clouds Ben’s emerald eyes. “Holly—”
“No, I’m sorry!” I wave my hand to cut him off. “Bad joke. My humor is off today. Back to tattoos. You don’t have one for every book you’ve read, do you?”
Ben watches me for a moment before answering, “No. I’d be completely covered. These are books that I’ve loved or that meant something to me.”
“Even on your butt?” That slips out before I can think about what I’m asking.
Ben just laughs. “Yes, Holly. Even on my butt. Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll show you one day.”
He winks, and I have no response other than to stick my tongue out at him. His smile grows.
“Okay. So, you’ve got a load of hidden tattoos, and while they’re fun to look at and I’d definitely like to get a peek at more, I’m not seeing the alternative career path here.”
His humor fades, and I watch discomfort rise to the surface. But he doesn’t shut down. Instead, he shares another hidden piece of himself with me. “I drew all of the designs myself.”
So, that’s it. Ben has an artistic soul, but he’s living an analytical life.
“Wow, really? That’s so amazing!”
He grins when I shove his shoulder.
“Do you only draw tattoos? Or do you draw pictures and then decide to get them tattooed on you later?”
He shrugs. “A bit of both. I started out just drawing. Then, I got interested in the skill and technique that went into tattooing. I wanted to see if someone could translate my drawings onto skin. And they could.” He’s quiet for a moment, but I get the sense he has more to say. “I wish I could.”
“You want to learn how to tattoo?”
“I mean, yeah. In an ideal world where I’m not sick and I don’t have to get a real job to support myself.”
“Tattooing is a real job. Plenty of people do it. Probably don’t make as much as lawyers, but I’m sure they make a living wage.”
Ben nods noncommittally. He’s lost his happy amusement, withdrawing his hand from mine.
I decide to let the subject drop. For now. And, since I’m no longer sitting next to a stripping Ben, I’m confident I can drive us to the bakery without accidentally running over any pedestrians.
“Thank you for sharing with me,” I speak quietly as I maneuver the car through crowded streets.
“No problem.”
“I mean it though. Your artwork is beautiful.”
Ben’s smile is tight, like it pains him to hear my compliment.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” Immediately, I regret my question. I don’t deserve a favor after already demanding so much from him today.
“Anything.”
“Never mind.”
“Ask me, Holly.”
Normally, I don’t give in to demands easily, but Ben’s smooth voice makes it hard for me to refuse him.
“Would you draw me something?”
“You want me to draw you something?”
No one’s asked me to create anything for them in a long time. Now, here’s this intriguing girl driving my car and asking that I draw for her.
“Yeah.” She throws a smile at me before returning her eyes to the road.
“What do you want?” I want to ask her that question all the time. And not just about art.
What do you want from your life? What do you want to be happy? What do you want in a man?
But I’m also trying not to scare her away.
“What should I want, Ben? Draw me what you think I’d want.” Holly delivers these instructions as she parallel parks on a street I’m not familiar with.
She wants me to choose?
The request suddenly sits heavy in my mind. Like, if I figure out the right thing, I’ll win a magnificent prize. But, if I get it wrong, I’ll lose out on the chance of a lifetime.
When she glances over at me and chuckles, I’m pretty sure it’s because the worry sits clear on my face. “Calm down, Ben! First off, you don’t have to do it right now. Just whenever you feel inspired. And I’m not gonna judge you. I want a Ben Gerhard original.”
Before I formulate a response, she’s out of that car, sprinting through the rain. I pop my door open and follow after her to a small storefront while trying to think of what in the world I should draw for this girl.
Walking inside, I’m surrounded by the scent of warm, fresh bread. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I miss carbs, but my strict diet doesn’t allow me to indulge often.
“Mmhmm. This is what I want heaven to smell like.” Holly’s voice is dreamy.
When I glance her way, I find her eyes are closed, and she’s standing still in the middle of the shop. Some patrons are moving toward the exit, and she’s right in their path. I put my hands on her shoulders and gently guide her to the side. She starts at my touch, but when she realizes the cause for her redirection, I’m rewarded with a grin.
“Sorry. Just got lost in the moment there.”
“No problem.”
Being in this shop seems to have relieved the last of Holly’s jitteriness from earlier. She grabs my hand and pulls me to the counter. After placing her order for an almond croissant and a medium jasmine green tea with a dab of honey, she reaches for her wallet.
“Slow down there.” I stop her searching hand before she can pull out money. “I asked where you wanted to go because I wanted to treat you.”
“I can pay for my own food, Ben.”
She’s ready to argue. But so am I.
“There’s no doubt in my mind that Holly Foster can and does pay for all of her own food. But you did me a huge favor today. So, now, I’m treating you.”
“What are you talking about? You’re the one who did me a favor by coming to pick me up.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have needed picking up if you weren’t donating your kidney to me.”
The barista watches our exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, head bouncing back and forth.
Holly stands with one fist on her hip, glaring at me, while I grin back. We’re still holding hands, which I have no intention of pointing out to her.
“But the kidney exchange is happening because your cousin is donating to my brother.”
“Aha! Exactly. That’s two whole different people. They don’t come into play.”
“Of course they come into play!”
She is so fucking adorable; I want to drag her into my chest and kiss her angry mouth. Instead, I give her my snarkiest smirk and shake my head.
“Nope. This is between you and me.”
She huffs out a dramatic sigh. “My croissant.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She gestures to the cash register. “You can buy my croissant. I’m paying for my tea.”
I make like I’m thinking over her proposal before nodding. “We’ve reached an accord.”
She rolls her eyes and tosses a few singles on the counter. But I’m not fooled; I can see the little curve at the corner of her mouth.
After squeezing her hand, I let go to pull out my own wallet.
“How many ounces are in your small cups?” I try to approach my order as directly as Holly did hers, but apparently, my question confuses the young guy behind the counter. Or maybe he’s still rattled from our verbal sparring session.
“Oh, um, I’m not sure. I’ll go ask—”
“Small is twelve, medium is sixteen, and large is twenty.”
Of course Holly knows. And she doesn’t deliver this information like she’s exasperated with the barista. Instead, she uses a teacher’s tone, pleasant and informative. I smile at her, but she’s fixated on the pastries in the glass display case.
“I’ll take a small jasmine green tea. No honey or sweetener.”
She glances up at me then, returning the smile, and then walks off to grab a table while I pay my part of the bill.
“You like green tea, too?” she asks when I sit down across from her.
“Haven’t given it much of a shot. But I figure, someone who comes here all the time knows what’s good.”
“I’d love to come here every day, but I only treat myself on special occasions. Or when I’m badly in need of a pick-me-up.”
“Why?”
“Money.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Can’t really budget for fancy teas and gourmet pastries on my salary.”
I’m not sure how to respond, but luckily, our teas and food arrive before I have to.
For the next few minutes, I get to watch Holly slowly pick off pieces of flaky croissant and place them in her mouth. Each time, she closes her eyes and hums to herself. The precise way she eats her pastry shouldn’t turn me on, but goddamn, it does. I’m focused on her mouth and her slim fingers, wanting both to be worshipping me the same way she is a piece of bread.
“Your turn.”
I choke on the swallow of tea I have in my mouth and spend the next minute coughing the hot liquid out of my throat. When I focus on Holly again, she’s no longer in the middle of a spiritual experience with her food. Instead, she’s examining me with concern.
“You okay?”
I nod even though my throat is raw. “My turn?”
She pushes the plate across the table, offering me the last few bites of her precious treat.
“Oh no. That’s yours.”
I go to push it back, but she shakes her head. When I still don’t move to eat it, she picks a piece off the plate and holds it in front of my mouth.
“Eat.” Somehow, she glares at me but also pleads with me.
I consider getting into another debate with her. The first was so fun. Instead, I obey.
It’s just one bite. No harm can come from something that small. Right?
When I open my mouth and lean forward, she blasts me with a grin. The buttery crust hits my tongue, and I go to bite down, only to feel my teeth gently nip the ends of her fingers. Holly’s eyes widen. She pulls her hand back but does it slowly. Her skin slides against my lips during the retreat.
The pastry tastes delicious, but it’s not what I want in my mouth right now.
Her hands wrap around her cup of tea, and she stares at me like I’m a puzzle to be solved.
I hope she takes the time to try.
“So, what do you think?”
“Best I’ve ever had.”