Chapter 24
Holland
I wake up too early.
The world is still bathed in golden-orange light, the sky stained pink—I can see it out my window. As early as it is, though, I’m glad to be awake, because as memories of the nightmare I had last night filter in, I realize it was the worst I’ve had in ages—vivid in a way I had forgotten. They all used to be like that, but they grew fuzzier around the edges as the years wore on.
I blink a few more times, my eyes still bleary. Then I stretch and look vaguely over at the other side of the bed—where I find a sleeping Phoenix, his arm behind his head, his face peaceful. I smile at the sight; there’s something beautiful about the way he looks in sleep, so carefree.
I reach for him, tracing one finger down his jaw and then over his cheekbone. His bone structure is nothing short of a masterpiece. His dark lashes flutter open as I trail my finger over his lips, and I smile.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“Mmm,” he says, inhaling deeply and then yawning. “Hi.” It’s a deep, gravelly voice, one that sends pleasant shivers down my spine.
“Who told you you could sleep shirtless in my bed?” I say softly, fighting my own yawn. I poke his bare bicep, and he responds with a sleepy smile.
“I took my own liberties,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I say, snuggling into my pillow. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Don’t apologize.” He stretches one hand toward me, as though to cradle my face or tuck my hair behind my ear, but then he freezes suddenly; his eyes widen as their sleepy haze disappears, and his smile vanishes as he stares at me.
And it hits me, clearly right as it hits him: We don’t do things like this. Ever. We don’t wake up next to each other; we don’t have murmured, sun-soaked conversations in bed.
I scramble away so quickly that I fall off the mattress and land painfully on the hard floor, banging my head on the corner of the nightstand.
“Ow,” I moan as the sharp pain ricochets through my skull. “Ow—” Tears spring to my eyes, and I roll sideways on the floor, feeling around beneath my hair. When I brush the spot and my fingers come away bloody, my vision swims. “ Ouch. ”
“What are you—good grief, Holland,” Phoenix says when his eyes land on me. He frowns right up until he sees the blood on my hand; then he swears and hurries out of bed and to my side. “You have to be careful ?—”
“Why are you in my bed?” I say as my pulse pounds behind my eyes. “Ouch?—”
“Stop whining,” he says, sounding irritated. He kneels by my side and tilts my head carefully, pressing gentle fingers to the bump. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah, obviously it hurts,” I snap. “Did you not hear me saying ouch? ”
And I’m telling the truth; my head hurts. But that’s not the reason my heart is still racing and my thoughts are so frantic.
We were acting like a real couple—a genuine, loving couple.
“I mean when I touch it,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Come on—up. Stand up.”
“Ow,” I say as he tugs on my arm. “I don’t want?—”
“We have to clean it, Holland,” he says as he pulls me up. For all his grumbling, his hand on my arm is gentle as he leads me into the bathroom across the hall. He gestures to the shower. “Get in. Come on,” he adds impatiently. “Go.” His face is pale, his jaw clenched, and his gaze seems fixed on the side of my head.
I watch, dumbfounded, as he opens the shower door and turns the faucet on, holding his hand under the water until he’s satisfied with the temperature. Then he pulls the little lever that sends the water to the showerhead.
“In,” he says as he gestures once again to the running shower, his eyes still lingering on the bump on my head. “Let’s go.” He places gentle hands on my shoulders and pushes me toward the shower.
And honestly, I’m too shocked to do anything but comply. I’m still in my silk pajamas; he’s still in basketball shorts. But he leads the both of us into the shower anyway with me stepping in first, followed closely by him.
What on earth is going on right now?
“Turn around,” he mutters, taking me by the shoulders again and spinning me around. I’m facing him now, and he is so shirtless, and he doesn’t seem to notice or care at all; all of his attention is focused on me as he steps close and reaches around me, tilting my head under the stream of the shower.
I wince as the water finds the bump, and his eyes dart to mine .
“It’s not terrible,” I say quickly when I see the muscles tense in his shoulders. “It stings a bit, but I’m not in excruciating pain.”
He relaxes slightly and nods before returning to my hair; he rinses it gently under the water, his hands slow and soft, and my heart is going a million miles an hour. No, a billion. A trillion, even.
“Your face is turning too red,” he says, the words stiff. “Breathe properly, please.”
“Sorry, but we are in the shower, Phoenix,” I say in a tight voice.
His hands freeze, and I realize belatedly that I’ve called him by his name.
Gonna pretend that didn’t happen. “We’re in the shower in our clothes,” I go on, “which is uncomfortable.” Uncomfortable because he’s so close to me, and his hands are so gentle, and—perhaps the most disturbing—he seems legitimately worried.
He’s taking care of me.
Think about something else, I tell myself. And my nightmare from last night jumps into my mind; I guess talking to the therapist about what happened pulled it all to the surface. The feel of the steering wheel, the slide of the tires, the endlessly bizarre sensation of falling with no road beneath us—I pull in a shuddering breath and blink rapidly, trying to dispel the thoughts and images that years later still haven’t left me.
“Water in my eyes,” I say when Phoenix raises one brow at me.
Breathe in; breathe out. The memories and the fear and the sorrow are overpowering, but something else is rising in my chest, too—something just as powerful: a savage sense of pride and satisfaction.
Because I’m doing something. I’m reliving this trauma more vividly because I’m in the process of rooting it out. I didn’t realize how powerful that knowledge would feel.
My heart is heavy. My eyes are swollen. I have a headache. But I’m doing a good thing.
I let my eyes trail over Phoenix as he stands in front of me, tilting my head this way and that, working the blood out of my hair. This is twice, now, that he’s found me having a nightmare in the middle of the night—twice that he’s seen me at my absolute lowest, my most broken. It’s not something I want anyone to witness, but especially not him. I almost wish he would laugh at me, because I could respond to that with anger. It would be easy to handle his teasing or his mocking.
But he holds me instead. He holds me close and lets me cry and strokes my hair and makes me feel so inexplicably safe . How am I supposed to react to that? What am I supposed to do with that behavior? How is it supposed to make me feel? Because what I find inside myself right now is something dangerously like hope—although hope for what is harder to put my finger on.
All I know is that he can’t keep holding me while I cry. He can’t wash my wounds so tenderly. I can’t handle behavior like that. It makes me feel…things. So many things.
I sigh as the inevitable question creeps into my mind: Do I like him? Do I actually like Phoenix Park, my husband—this man who takes care of me in the most begrudging of ways?
Of course not, my brain says.
You agreed to stay married to him, a smaller part of me whispers. And your pulse is racing right now. What do you think that means?
“I think you’ve got it,” I say as my feelings twist into knots low in my stomach .
“Head wounds bleed a lot,” he says, turning my body to the side so he can look. “But this doesn’t actually seem too bad.” Then he turns me to face him again. “Do you feel okay?”
I nod.
“Don’t lie,” he warns, his hand clenching on my shoulder.
“I’m not,” I say softly. “It’s a little tender, but other than that, I feel fine.”
His gaze darts over my face for a second, searching for the truth, until finally he nods. Then he leans past me and turns off the water, plunging us into silence broken only by the sound of dripping water and our mingled breaths.
I’m completely soaked; under the stream of the warm shower it was fine, but now I shudder. Phoenix’s eyes flit over me before he squeezes them shut, exhaling roughly.
“Get out,” he says as his hand clenches tightly on the handle of the shower door. He slides it open, his eyes still closed, and I step carefully out. I wrap a towel around myself and then turn back to him.
“Thank you,” I say before backing out of the bathroom.
He doesn’t respond.
Work crawls by at a glacial pace; I enjoy the salon, but today I can’t wait for my shift to be done. I make absentminded conversation with my clients, paying just enough attention to do a good job. I leave at two o’clock on the dot, and I barely pause on the way out to say goodbye.
I spend the afternoon with Nana Lu, which is much more enjoyable than work, even if it doesn’t keep my mind as occupied as I’d like. We video call Maggie, who we catch on her way to class; Nana listens with genuine interest as Maggie tells her about the last test she took, smiling and bobbing her head and asking questions in her feeble voice.
I want Nana to live forever, sweet and full of unwavering love. It’s selfish, I know. And I want Maggie to be happy forever—I want her to be happy, and I want her to know she’s loved, and I want the sun to shine on her always. I want every good thing for her, and then some.
“Nana,” I say after we’re done talking to Maggie. “I think there might be a guy I like.”
Nana Lu gasps and turns her head slowly toward me. “Is there?”
“Maybe,” I say. I lean closer and tuck the blankets around her further; she spends a lot of her time sitting up in bed, and she likes to stay warm. “I can’t really tell right now.”
“Is he handsome?”
I’m tempted to say no, just to revolt against my feelings, but the lie probably won’t come out as anything more than a high-pitched squeak. I think of Phoenix’s flawless bone structure and the way his eyes flash when we argue. “I guess so,” I say.
Nana shifts, trying to sit up straighter; I stand up quickly and help her adjust the pillows behind her back. She’s so frail, so feeble, but she still makes time to be with me and chat about stupid things.
“Is he a nice boy?” she asks once we’ve eased her body back against the pillows.
“He…can be nice,” I say, my voice grudging. I don’t want to lie to Nana, even if I’d like to lie to myself. “But sometimes he’s a jerk.”
The lines in Nana’s aged face grow even more pronounced as she frowns. “But you’re such a nice girl. Don’t like him if he’s a jerk, sweetie. ”
But you’re such a nice girl.
Heat creeps up my neck—the heat of shame and guilt. I’m not nice to Phoenix; not really. I’m petty and rude. And I’m not sure I know how to interact with him any other way.
Nana and I move on to other topics, but her words stay with me even after I leave for the day. The wind is formidable outside, and the sun from this morning is nowhere to be found; a storm is coming. So I pick up my pace as I walk, lost in thought, the chilled air driving my steps faster and faster.
And I don’t realize where I’m going until I’m there.
“Good grief, Holland,” I mutter as I look up at the two-story building with rock beds and palm trees. “Really?”
But you’re such a nice girl.
I exhale roughly. I’m about to turn around and go straight home when the first rain drop hits me, a fat splat right on top of my head. The brisk wind blows harder, pulling my short dress this way and that, trying to lift it to inappropriate heights. So I accept my fate—if I had been paying attention to where I was going, I wouldn’t be in this situation—and then hurry up the sidewalk, past the rock beds, and to the entrance of Phoenix’s office building. The stupid wind likes this direction; it pushes me from behind, an invisible hand shoving me toward the husband I’m not all that nice to.
The husband who got soaked head to toe this morning to make sure I was okay after hitting my head.
I’m coming to your office for a bit , I text him as a heads up, and then I go in.
Inside the office I find the quiet hustle and bustle of closing time; people are pulling on jackets and organizing desks and packing up briefcases.
I wonder if they know how hard their boss works, long after they’ve left for the day.
Several of them smile or wave as I pass the rows of cubicles, and I smile in return, trying at the same time to feel my hair and make sure it’s not too crazy from the wind and rain. I head for the back and then climb the stairs, hurrying left down the hallway until I reach Phoenix’s office.
A few of his blinds are open, so I lean closer to the window, trying to see if he’s in a meeting, but there’s only him. I open the door and stick my head in, the blinds rattling.
We’re going to pretend this morning never happened.
“Yes,” Phoenix is in the middle of saying. He gives me no more than a glance before he waves me in, returning his attention to whoever he’s on the phone with. “I think that would work.”
I slip in and close the door quietly behind me. Then I turn my eyes to the ceiling, looking for a vent; once I find it over by the bookshelves, I position myself directly beneath it and pull my dress away from my body, trying to speed the drying process. I do this for a few minutes and then run my hands through my hair, airing that out too.
When I glance over at Phoenix, I’m startled to find his gaze already on me; he raises one brow and mouths What are you doing?
“It’s starting to rain,” I whisper, pointing out the window behind him.
He swivels around and then turns back to me, nodding. “And what about the lease?” he says into the phone.
The lease? Is he moving?
Whatever. I continue my airing-out process until I’m feeling marginally dryer; Phoenix is still on the phone, so I decide to check out his bookcases. I peruse down the row—there are a lot of classics, some business books, and a few that even look like old college textbooks. I ignore my fluttering pulse as I pass the shelf he pressed me up against when we kissed, because I’m not sure now is a good time to indulge in those memories. So I move resolutely on, until I reach the desk.
I scoot past it and continue searching for anything that I might like to read, but there’s nothing. I turn my attention to the large window instead; the wind is blowing harder now, and the rain is coming down in sheets. A twinge of nervousness plucks at my insides, but I force it down and turn away.
I’m sure the weather won’t get too bad.
I poke around the books a bit more until I’m bored out of my mind; then I pick up Phoenix’s cell phone from the edge of his desk. He’s not even looking at me—his phone conversation has moved on to square footage and maximum capacities—so I press the home button to sneak a peek at his lock screen.
You can tell a lot about a person based on their phone wallpaper.
“Figures,” I say with a snort when I see it. It’s just plain dark blue, no patterns, no designs, which ironically does say a lot about his personality. He’s not the kind of person who would take the time to set a specialized photo; he has too many other things to do, most of them more important than what his phone looks like.
The lock screen is plain dark blue…and yet I don’t look away; I even squint, bringing the phone closer.
Because my text is displayed there too—and accompanying it, the name he’s given me in his list of contacts.
I’m coming to your office for a bit. That’s what I said. But my message isn’t attributed to Holland , which is what he said was my name in his phone. Apparently I’m not even listed as Amsterdam or one of its many derivatives. No—at the top of the text is nothing more than the word Her .
I frown and grab my phone from the pocket of my dress; then I punch his number in and press call .
Sure enough, when his phone begins to buzz, the caller ID reads simply Her.
“What are you doing?”
I startle so violently I almost drop both phones. “Nothing,” I say, my head jerking up to face Phoenix, whose forever-long call is apparently over. My heart is pumping faster than it should be, and something strange and fluttery is flitting around in my stomach.
“How’s your head?”
“It’s fine.” I hold out his phone to him, swallowing hard. Then I say, “Am I just Her in your contacts?”
He freezes in place, half out of his desk chair, his hand outstretched to take his phone. But that stillness only lasts for a brief second; he snatches his cell out of my grasp and sits back down, tucking it into his suit coat. “Yes,” he says, his voice casual. “Because I couldn’t be bothered to type in your whole name. So what?” He eyes me, raising one brow. “Why? What am I listed under in your phone? Cockatoo? Chicken?”
“Your name isn’t in my phone,” I say— stop admitting things! my brain screams, but my mouth keeps going—“because I have your number memorized.”
That cocky raised eyebrow of his is joined by the other as his expression turns to one of surprise.
And I think there must be something wrong with my eyes, because they can’t seem to move away from his; we’re staring at each other too long, too intently, and the space between us grows viscous as my pulse pounds in my ears.
Breathe; I need to breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
But I know exactly why I can’t breathe. Because of all the female contacts he has, of all the women he knows—I’m the one he didn’t need to name.
I’m the one he would think about when he saw the word Her.
From outside, a violent crash of thunder shatters the sky; both of us jump, and the moment is gone.
A second later, the lights cut out.
They don’t disappear only in this room, but out on the floor as well; the whole building has lost power. And, as I whirl around and look out the window once more, I see that it’s not just us; through the slanting rain I can make out that the nearby buildings are dark as well.
From his desk behind me, Phoenix sighs. “Great.”
“Look at that.” I tap the window, and the squeak of leather sounds before Phoenix joins me.
“This might be a bad one,” he says, his voice grim. “I guess it’s good it’s happening now; everyone else has already gone home, and Wyatt is over on the mainland today.”
I eye the rain still coming down in sheets. “Should we wait it out, I guess?”
“Yes,” he says, settling back in his desk chair. “It won’t last for long.”
He’s wrong.
One hour later, the rain is still torrential, and the palm trees are losing leaves to the wind. The power isn’t back, and we’ve lost internet and cell service too.
“It’s not like I’m a weatherman,” he says irritably when I give him a look that clearly says You were way off. Then he leans his head back in his seat and closes his eyes.
Night is falling, so we’ve dug up some flashlights; one of them is propped up in a leather chair, casting its light on the ceiling. There’s food down in the refrigerator in the break room too, Phoenix says, food that will need to be eaten soon anyway now that the power is out.
Food and light aside, however, I am not reassured. It’s looking like we might have to stay the night here.
“Does this not at all concern you?” I say when I see how relaxed he looks in his chair, his eyes still closed, his arms folded comfortably over his chest.
He shrugs. “My employees are long since gone home. You’re safe here with me. What else is there to worry about?”
You’re safe here with me. Can he hear himself?
And into my mind pops the tense look on his face as he examined my head this morning, the gentle ministrations of his hands.
I watch him for a while from my chair across from the flashlight; when he’s been still and silent for maybe fifteen minutes, I allow myself to stand up and move closer.
I just want to look at him; that’s all. I want to see him more clearly.
So I stand up and walk around his desk, hopping up to sit on the edge slightly to one side.
He lets out his breath when I seat myself. “Can I help you?” he says, keeping his eyes closed.
“Mmm,” I say, because I don’t have a good answer. I narrow my eyes as my thoughts swirl. “I don’t know.”
“Want to explain?”
“Not really,” I admit. How am I supposed to explain that I can’t tell if I have feelings for him? “It’s embarrassing. And”—I sigh, swinging my legs—“confusing.” I shake my head and tear my eyes away from him. “I’ll leave you alone. Sorry.”
“Just tell me,” he says, finally opening his eyes. When I hesitate, he goes on, “Come on. I won’t laugh.”
His gaze is pitch black in the darkened room, a vacuum that threatens to suck me in. And as often seems to happen, the darkness seems to free my tongue.
“You said that we would like kissing,” I say hoarsely. “And that we would never want to stop.”
He nods slowly, his expression serious.
“Do you really believe that?” I say.
His throat bobs as he swallows, but he gives me just one word: “Yes.” He doesn’t look so relaxed now; his arms are still crossed, his head still resting on the back of the chair, but his whole body is radiating a tense, tight energy.
“Do you think we have feelings for each other?” I don’t know where these questions are coming from, but I don’t stop them. I’m not sure I can, any more than I can make myself breathe as I wait for his answer.
“I think…it’s possible,” he says.
I clear my throat. “Maybe we’re just attracted to each other.”
Another nod. “Undoubtedly,” he says, and I snort—a blissful snap of humor that I clutch with desperate hands.
“So modest.”
He shrugs as some of the tension drains out of his shoulders. “I know I’m handsome. And you…”
My breath catches as he studies me, his dark gaze sweeping from my head to my toes and then back again.
“You are very beautiful,” he finally says, the words reluctant.
The edge of the desk digs into the back of my thighs when I speak; I try to keep my voice normal and unaffected, but it doesn’t work. “I thought you said there was nothing appealing about me,” I say.
The corners of his lips twitch, and his eyes flutter closed again. “I lied. ”
Butterflies. So many stupid butterflies taking flight in my stomach, all of them drunk and out past curfew.
When Phoenix sighs, his body relaxes further. “Why now for all the soul-searching, Amsterdam?” he says, shifting comfortably in his chair.
And I should change the topic. I should say something—anything—to steer this conversation into safer waters. But only one thought is going through my head right now, and I find the words escaping without my permission.
“Say my name,” I whisper.
The room is even darker now; the sun hasn’t set completely, but with the raging storm, most of the light outside has died. Still, when Phoenix’s eyes open again, I see every second of it. I see the subtle shift in his expression as his gaze flares; I see his dark brow lift.
“And why should I do that?” he says, his voice low and silky.
“You know why,” I say, swallowing thickly.
Slowly—so slowly—he pushes his chair back and then stands up. All it takes is one step to the side, and we’re face-to-face. There’s a familiar challenge in his eyes as he looks down at me, one that spikes electricity and adrenaline into my blood.
“You think hearing your name is going to make everything suddenly clear?” he says, leaning down and placing one hand on the desk on either side of me so that I’m caged in. “You think it will answer all the questions you keep asking yourself? It won’t— Holl. ” He caresses the name, lets it roll sensually off his tongue, and I shiver.
“I think—” I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I go on, my eyes wide. “I think I might have a crush on you.”
He shakes his head, his gaze never leaving me. “No,” he says slowly. “You and I are well past that stage. ”
“I don’t know what you mean.” It’s a half-hearted denial at best.
“I mean that you might find a lot of things with me,” he says, his voice still low, “but a little crush won’t be one of them.”
I can barely find the oxygen in this room, but every inhale brings me the scent of leather and mahogany; his features aren’t crystal clear in the dark, but I can feel his arms on either side of my body, strong and warm.
And he’s magnetic. He pulls me in always but especially now; I lean forward, closer, moving my hands to trail my fingers up his arms.
He shudders at my touch.
“I told you no more unless you were ready for everything that came with it,” he breathes, and I can feel his words against my lips. “I know myself, and I know you. If you kiss me right now, everything will change, and we won’t be able to go back.” He pauses before going on. “We’ll sleep in the same bed. I’ll call you sweetheart instead of Amsterdam . We’ll argue when you use my nice razor to shave your legs. And I will love you, Holland, because every single emotion you make me feel is intense. There will be no crushes or infatuations.” He spits those words out like he’s never heard anything so ridiculous. “If you kiss me now…” he says, trailing off as his gaze darts over my face. Then he shakes his head. “If you kiss me now, you’re mine. ”
Mine.
“What if I don’t want you to call me sweetheart? ” I whisper as my arms twine around his neck.
“The name is negotiable,” he murmurs, his hands finding my waist.
“And the razor thing?— ”
“If you try to use my razor to shave your legs, we will argue.”
I exhale, looking at him, my fingers playing absently with his hair. “You really think you would fall in love with me?”
“I think we would fall in love with each other. ”
“From one kiss? Are you insane?” I hesitate. “We’ve kissed before. In this very office, in fact.”
He snorts, a little puff of breath against my jaw as his lips hover. “Tell me you didn’t think about that for days.”
He’s right. And I know the truth; I feel it in my bones. I have loved this man in every way but romantic. I have made him a part of my life; I’ve made him a part of me . I’ve given him all of my most overwhelming emotions—my anger, my frustration, my fear.
Negative emotions, but I still gave them to him. He’s the one I trusted not to walk away.
It would be easy, so easy, to fall in love with him. And although I don’t know what that love would look like, I do know that this precipice we’ve been dancing on is sharp and jagged and painful.
Falling for him is scary…but trying not to fall for him has been torture.
So I spread my wings and prepare to jump.