24. HOLDEN
HOLDEN
The night after the fight with Korie—can I call it a fight if we were both saying things that needed said?—I drive to their apartment on autopilot. I don’t even realize it until I see Korie’s Mini Cooper in the parking lot.
My heart sinks, and I sit in my usual guest spot like an idiot for too fucking long. Ten minutes, maybe. Okay, twenty. Long enough for the rational part of my brain to bully the rest of me.
Go upstairs.
No, don’t.
Text them.
No, absolutely don’t.
I grip the steering wheel hard and hear a soft snap. My ancient sun-warped cover finally gives under the pressure of my broken heart. I yank it off and toss it in the backseat.
They asked for space.
That’s the thing. It isn’t anger or pride coming between us. This isn’t even a breakup. Just Korie telling me what they need, and I… well, I blew that up like I always do.
The look on their face when they said they couldn’t catch up to us—to this. It was like they were drowning in something I thought we were building together.
I saw it coming, yet it still gutted me.
I still don’t fully understand where the line was. When I crossed it. What changed, exactly.
But I know Korie meant it. Somewhere in my rush to explore my feelings with them, I ended up smothering them. And if I push now, they’ll only retreat farther.
I put the car in reverse just as a memory hits me.
We were sitting in the den of my parents’ new house, watching a movie and talking about our upcoming freshman year of high school.
Korie was nervous, since this was our first year at a new school with kids we didn’t know.
Brilliant me thought that meant we should get involved, and what better way to do that than to join the swim team.
We both loved the pool and spent all day, every day, in it whenever we could. So why not?
“Forget the team,” I’d said. “It could be you and me in the lanes. Side by side.”
It had taken two cases of Monster to convince them, but they eventually agreed. And Korie’s face when they qualified—beating everyone by nearly two seconds—has stuck with me forever. It was like they had just won Olympic gold.
From then on, it was history.
I twist my bracelet, tears brimming in my eyes.
How could I have forgotten? It was my idea from the beginning.
The next day feels all wrong in tiny, stupid ways.
I keep reaching for my phone before remembering I’m trying not to text them constantly.
I see a meme Korie would love and instinctively hit share before stopping myself.
I buy some Mike and Ikes at the gas station without thinking, and pass them off to Ellis as soon as I see her.
I can’t listen to music without hearing Aris’s chirps in my head. I can’t drive past our favorite restaurants without trying to figure out what Korie would be in the mood for.
I can’t sleep. Can barely eat. And I’ve lost count how many times I type the same message to Korie only to delete it.
I miss you.
I don’t know if hearing it right now would feel comforting or suffocating.
That uncertainty is fucking brutal.
By the third day, I can’t sit still anymore, so I go climbing.
The gym smells like chalk and rubber flooring, familiar enough that my body settles into routine automatically. I start on an easy route without really paying attention, climbing mostly on instinct.
Halfway up the wall, I reach automatically to the right, hand straining—except the hold isn’t there. My fingers scrape uselessly against the smooth surface before my foot slips.
My stomach lurches in the split second of free fall before the harness catches, and adrenaline spikes through me. I swing slightly away from the wall.
“You overshot, Coach,” somebody calls from below.
I look down to see Jeremiah, a brilliantly talented climber from our youth camps. He’s the one kid I don’t mind.
“Yup. Thanks for that, Miah.”
I almost laugh at myself. Overreaching. Again.
Just like that, I remember Korie laughing the first time we climbed together. We were eight and killing time during our summer break at a gym very similar to this one.
Korie had been terrible at first. All stubborn determination and shaky legs while refusing help every time I offered it—because of course they did.
When we advanced to the next group, they’d stood below me with their hands raised instinctively, even though the harness made it unnecessary.
“You know the rope’ll catch me, right?” I called down.
“Don’t care. You’re moving too fast.”
“Am not.”
“Are so. You’re going to miss a hold.”
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you get up here and show me how it’s done then?”
Korie’s exasperated yet fierce expression is one they still give me today.
The memory hits hard enough that I have to grip the wall tighter for a second. We have always pushed each other—always.
I lower myself back down instead of finishing the route.
“You done already?” Ellis asks from nearby.
“Yeah, not feeling it today.”
She studies me with that same knowing look she’s given me the last few weeks, like she’s wondering where all the joy disappeared to. “Is everything okay, Holden?”
Nope. “Yeah.”
Voices nearby catch my attention, where a father is on his knee talking to his son, still in climbing gear. “Be honest. Do you still want to do this?”
Something about it sends another memory slamming into me, just as painful as all the others.
The week before our final year on the swim team, I could tell Korie was less excited about the upcoming season, and I’d asked them almost the same question that father had asked his son.
Be honest. Do you still want to do this with me?
Tears well in my eyes.
It wasn’t do you still want to do this.
It was do you still want to do this with me.
Oh, Korie.
Had they stayed on the team for me?
My fingers itch to call them, but I don’t.
By the fifth day, I’m exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally. My nerves are frayed, and my patience is thin.
I’m seriously questioning if I should just skip the campout entirely. The idea of spending an entire weekend around couples and shared tents and everyone asking where Korie is sounds genuinely miserable.
But not showing up would make people worry even more.
So I go.
The cabin and pasture are buzzing with noise by the time I arrive. Music drifting through the trees. Smoke curling up from the fire pit. People unloading coolers and bags.
It’s all so painfully normal, aside from one very noticeable thing. No neon hair or brightly colored clothing. Korie always goes overboard for this weekend, being obnoxiously bright and impossible to miss. Not seeing their usual flash of pink or electric blue hair hits hard.
I wave at Korie’s parents nearby and tip my head at Trista. I’m hoping I can make it through tonight without talking to anyone. My presence alone is enough to count for something, right?
“Holden!”
I groan. I should’ve known…
Hattie barrels into me from the side, nearly knocking the air out of my lungs.
“There you are.” She squints up at me immediately. “I called you five times before I left the city. Wait a minute. You look like shit.”
I scoff. “Love you too.”
“I’m serious.”
I turn away, but she grips my chin and turns me right back.
I bat her hand away. “Stop.”
She narrows her eyes harder, and gasps. “No.”
That’s it. Just one word and I feel like I might cower. Instantly, her eyes dart around for Korie, then her voice lowers.
“You were supposed to fix things.”
I grimace. If she only knew how much worse it is now…
I drag my shit out of the car and wander over to the pile of tents near Dad’s truck. There are only a couple left. I grab one and walk to the far end of the field, hoping my sister will back off.
But nobody reads me faster than Hattie does, which is deeply unfortunate for me most of the time. Freaky twin bond and all.
“Where are they?”
“Don’t know.” I scan the field to decide where to set up our tent. There’s a spot to the left twenty yards away from all the others. It would be great for privacy. If Korie even shows up.
My stomach knots at the thought, and suddenly I feel like I might throw up. God, things are so fucked up. Would Korie really miss the family campout because of me?
Hattie is still watching me. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Her glare screams liar. “You never answered my texts after the mall, so I just assumed you worked it all out.”
I toss my bags on the ground and get to my knees to dig through the tent pieces, trying to avoid her.
But of course, Hattie kneels beside me.
I drag a hand through my hair, already feeling irritation spark beneath my ribs. Not at her. At myself. At the situation.
At the fact that I suddenly don’t know how to talk about my relationship without feeling like I’m betraying Korie somehow. Would they even want me to say anything? I mean, everyone’s going to know something’s off the second they show up. Wouldn’t it be better if I just… got it over with?
Hattie hesitates, and I can feel her gaze burning into me as strongly as Mom’s did whenever I did something stupid. But she doesn’t get it. This is worse than any of those.
I may have pushed my best friend into something they weren’t ready for. And it could ruin us forever.
I suck in a breath, face pinched. No. God, no. I can’t lose Korie. I can’t.
Hattie notices. “Oh, shit. Is it that bad?”
I force myself to relax. “I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound firm, but my voice betrays me.
“You’re clearly not.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You can’t even look at me.”
I exhale slowly and finally glance at her. Hattie’s eyes widen, then concern softens her face instantly.
“I can’t talk about it,” I manage. “So, please. Just… can you go let everyone know I’m here? I need time to…” I stop. Now I sound like Korie. I need time.
It just twists the knife a little more.
Hattie eyes me carefully, like she’s torn between giving me space or staying attached at my hip for the rest of the weekend. “Why don’t I help you with this? We can get it done faster.”
I groan. “Fine.”
As Hattie unfolds the main tent piece, I assemble the tent poles. My head is too scattered to really focus, though, scanning the trees with every car that passes.
“Careful. You bent that backward,” my sister says.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did, actually.”
I look down.
Fuck.
Okay, maybe I did.
Hattie quietly fixes the angle while eyeing me sideways. “So… are they even coming?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes.”
“You sure?”
No. “Yes.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
I jam the pole harder into place than necessary.
“They’ll be here.”
Hattie waits. “But?”
“There is no but.”
“Holden.”
I close my eyes briefly. When I speak again, my voice comes out rougher than intended. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Hatt.”
“I want you to tell me what’s going on. I’ve never seen you like this.”
“They needed space, okay? That’s all.”
Hattie pauses. “Space from what?”
Me.
The word nearly comes out.
Because suddenly I can see it too clearly.
How often I was there.
How easily I fit myself into every part of Korie’s life, showing up unannounced and uninvited.
How naturally I started assuming I belonged there.
But I never stopped to ask what Korie actually wanted. I just assumed wanting me was enough.
I grip the tent pole tighter. I rushed into this without ever checking to see if they were okay.
Hattie is still watching me, waiting.
“They just—” I stop hard, jaw clenching again. “I think I fucked things up with us, okay? That’s all. Can you just drop it?”
The admission rips out of me harsher than intended.
Hattie’s eyes widen slightly.
But now that I’ve opened the floodgates, everything else pours out of me too.
“I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” I say quietly. “I just… pushed and pushed, and like usual, I missed all the fucking clues that they were past their limits. And I never stopped. Now they’re overwhelmed, and I don’t know how to fix it without making it worse.”
The tent pole creaks sharply in my grip, and a second later, there’s a terrible crack as the aluminum snaps cleanly in half.
We both freeze.
For one horrible second, all I can do is stare at the broken pieces in my hands. Then Hattie bursts out laughing. Not mean. Just sudden, helpless laughter.
“Oh my God,” she wheezes. “You’re so emotionally shitfaced you broke a tent.”
Despite everything, a laugh punches out of me too.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
I look back across the yard, hoping my dad still has some tents available. If not, I’m sure there’s a roll of good ol’ duct tape somewhere.
Hattie squeezes my shoulder. “Whatever it is, they love you. You’ll fix it.”
She has no idea how much those words cut me open. I can’t even breathe.
Somehow, I nod and push myself to my feet. “I’ll get something to fix this.”
The longer the night goes on, though, the worse I get. Not visibly, anyway. No one seems to be looking at me funny, but I’ve made a real effort to avoid talking to anyone.
I help unload coolers. Get the fire going. Argue with Ezra over music choices.
But underneath all of it, tension coils tighter every hour Korie doesn’t show. Every pair of headlights on the highway gets my attention immediately. Every buzz from my phone makes my pulse jump.
Hattie’s words never leave me. They love you.
It’s all I can cling to with every hour that passes.
Because I love them too. I love Korie so much I stopped noticing where I ended and they began. And now I don’t know how to pull back without feeling like I’m losing something vital.
“Has anyone heard from Korie?” Maris asks just after sunset.
Every no sends panic spiking sharper through me. My fingers curl around the bracelet instinctively when all eyes turn to me, like of course I would have all the answers.
I shake my head, staring into the embers. A hollow ache fills my chest.
Please come back to me, Kor.