Chapter 13 #2
“Yes, I did.” He levels me with that warm, golden-hazel stare. “Because if you fell off that ladder, I was gonna have a heart attack, and I’m already emotionally compromised.”
I gasp dramatically, hand on my chest and mouth open wide. “Excuse you? I have never fallen from that ladder.”
“And you never will, because I’m helping now. So,” he pops up from the chair, “I’m here to help!”
I laugh. “You’re so ridiculous and dramatic.”
He shrugs. “And handy. Ridiculously handy.”
“Oh my God,” I groan, covering my face. “Stop.”
He only laughs, clearly proud of himself.
I glance at the clock on the wall. “Well, my dramatic handyman, the shop’s closing in twenty minutes, and I’m starving.”
Holden perks up instantly. “Are you hinting at feeding me?”
I lift my brows. “If I order burgers…and help you fix the sign, would that be okay?”
With his signal, we dive into the task—him on the sign that fell over months ago, and me ordering the burgers. Time passes quickly between laughs and chatting about anything and everything at once.
We sit on the floor behind the front counter, burgers and a mountain of loaded fries between us, the shop lights dimmed to a cozy golden glow, and the newly fixed sign hung.
Holden has one leg stretched out, showing his thick, strong thigh, the other knee bent.
Athlete thighs, if I’ve ever seen them. I’m cross-legged, trying not to stare at how good he looks in that olive shirt with the tattoo peeking out from under it.
“So,” he says, shoving a fry in his mouth, “where’s your little one today?”
“Vero? My friends took her and my eldest blueberry picking after camp. That’s why I was able to stay here longer.”
“You have two kids?”
I nod. “Vero, my three, almost four years old. And Bella, who is almost fifteen.”
His eyes open impossibly wide.
I pause mid-bite. “You look surprised.”
“Not bad surprised,” he insists quickly. “Just…you have a teenager?” He sets his burger down, looking at me with an intensity that’s somehow soft.
“Yup.” I wipe my hands on a napkin, pulling my knees up. “I’m old enough to have a teen. Trust me. So don’t look at me like that.”
Something melts in his expression. “You are not.”
“I thought you were twenty-five, max.”
I roll my eyes. “I am almost ten whole years older than that. I had her young, but I am. And she’s the coolest kid.”
“Wow,” he murmurs. “I can imagine she is, with you as her mom.”
I blink fast, trying to keep the compliment at bay. He’s so comfortable with giving them, and I, well, I’m not very good at taking them. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.” He nods, leaning back against the counter. “Can I ask you something?”
“Mmhmm.”
“You said you wanted a time machine that would take you back to five years ago…but your youngest is three…” He lets his words trail off.
“Math isn’t mathing, huh?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Five years ago was the last time everything in my life kind of aligned. I lost Nick almost four years ago this September, which means—”
It dawns on him as he interrupts. “You were pregnant.”
“I was pregnant.”
“God, Natalie.” The compassion behind his words is astounding, completely nerve-wracking. It’s as if he can’t only see my pain, but feel it too.
“Well,” Holden says, voice dropping low, warm, teasing, but earnest underneath, “I’m impressed.”
“By what?”
“You.” He holds my gaze. “By everything you balance. Everything you've been through and still built this precious life."
“That’s sweet,” I say quietly. “There wasn’t another choice, though.”
“I know. And I’m truly sorry there wasn’t, and you had to find the inner strength. And you do, graciously. I saw you with…Vero, was it?” The accent when he tries to say her name is endearing. “I butchered that, huh?”
“Just a little. It’s Veronica, Vero for short.”
He smiles, saying, “Vero” the right way, testing it in his mouth. He repeats it for good measure before adding, “I know they’re lucky to have you as a mom. And if you give them advice like you gave me, I know they won’t make stupid mistakes like I did growing up.”
“Oh.” I can’t keep my laugh from bubbling out at the absurdity of that comment.
“I also made a lot of mistakes, trust me.” Not my kid, having her was never one, but having careless sex for who knows how long without protection because I thought I was immune to the whole teenage pregnancy thing was a little irresponsible.
I swallow, suddenly aware of the stillness around us. The way he’s looking at me like he sees the pieces I struggle keeping together, and he doesn’t care if they don’t fit perfectly.
Holden clears his throat, softening the moment with a nudge of humor. “And for the record…I’m definitely still fixing that sign in the back. I saw it’s falling apart too.”
“You don’t have to, really.”
He shakes his head. “Nonsense.”
“Then let me pay you.”
“You did pay me. Coffee, burger, and a good talk? Sold.” He smiles, wider than he has the entire time, pulling one from me.
“Take wine too, please,” I offer, standing and grabbing a couple of bottles from the fancy rack, as Bella says.
“So I have an excuse to come back tomorrow.”
My heartbeat stumbles as I peer at him.
“I mean,” he adds with a shrug and a grin, “unless you want me to wait longer before coming back. I wouldn’t want you getting tired of me this quickly.”
“No,” I mutter more quickly, laughing at myself with a deep breath, which, of course, he notices.
The time spent with him makes me feel lighter, even if we’re talking about shitty things in life.
I like it, and I can’t wait to see this friendship continue to grow.
“You don’t have to wait. Come back whenever. ”
“Okay, deal. I can come either early in the morning or later in the afternoon after I go to the hospital.”
I pack up the wine as he tidies up, stacking our trash neatly on top of the counter. “Trash?” He points to the trashcan by the coffee maker.
“You don’t have to do that. I can do it in a bit.”
He waves me off, doing the complete opposite. “Are you going to the hospital to see Jerry?”
“Yeah, he goes to the dialysis center three times a week, and, well, I guess I’m going to spend some time with him. I did most of my work today.”
I gasp again. “You work for real? What a concept!”
“Well, well, Natalie, one can’t live on a pretty face with glasses alone.” He pushes them back with his index finger for good measure.
“I mean, do tell. Tell me more about your work?” I grab a book and throw myself on the couch. Holden stands by the shelf, eyes on me.
“I work at Healing Pals.”
Holy crap. I was looking into Healing Pals recently.
Bella has really disliked all the therapists we’ve tried, so I thought a different approach to it might be different.
In my research, I found a play-based therapy center in Jacksonville and Healing Pals, an animal-assisted therapy center between here and Magnolia Springs.
“Are you a therapist?”
His rumbly laugh fills the space. “Oh God, no. Not for my lack of trying, though.” I pat the spot next to me on the couch, and he lets out a breath. “How much time do you have?”
Usually, I would say not much, since I’ve already stayed so much later than I would, but I like this time with him.
It feels good to share space and conversation with someone who understands grief not related to mine.
I appreciate the fact that all my friends were also his friends, but I would be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge that sometimes, it’s too heavy, sharing it with them.
With Holden, it feels like he’s getting to know the Natalie with grief, not the Natalie changed by it.
“My girls aren’t home yet, so I’ve got as long as you want.”
He sinks into the couch, careful not to touch my leg resting on top of it. “I went to school for Psychology. I have a master’s in social work too. It was always my intention after hockey to do something with those.”
“You played?”
“Yup.”
Huh? Maybe one day, I can let him meet Bella, and they can talk all about it.
“In college?”
“Yes, and a little after.” He rubs the tip of his fingers on his thumb. “It was never my intention for hockey to be the goal, but it ended up being my career for a bit.”
“Are you, like, a famous hockey player or something?” I ask. I’m so out of touch with professional sports or sports in general, I could be sitting with a Stanley Cup winner here and not know it.
He shakes his head. “Not really. But it paid the bills for a while. After my mom…” His voice breaks, and he clears his throat, shaking his head.
“Well, I had a hard time going back to playing, so I took leave and went to therapy. I really enjoyed working with animal-assisted therapy and thought I might be able to do the same.”
He stops, looking behind me as if he’s recollecting a moment. I’ve learned not to press matters of the heart, to allow the feelings to flow as words when needed.
“I was wrong.” He laughs, this time quieter, softer, as he shakes his head. “I wasn’t good at it.”
“Were you not good, or did you not give it enough time?”
He ponders my question—eyebrows frowning and head tilted to the side. “I definitely didn’t give it enough time, but not for the reasons you might think. Mostly because I took it too close to my heart.”
I can understand that. As an eternal empath, I could never be a therapist. I love to listen and offer advice when needed, or when my friends ask, but others’ emotions weigh me down.
It’s as if I’m a bucket always full of water, and when others share their problems, it’s really easy to spill me over.
“There was this boy I was observing in therapy during training, and he had a really troubled life. I don’t think I slept the entire week he went to sessions. I knew I couldn’t do it. Maybe I need more time to sort through all my shit first.”
I nod, silently relating to that.