Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I stare out the window, ignoring him.
Eventually, the tingling on the side of my neck eases, and I know he’s looked away again.
The crappy feeling lingers long after we land and grab our rental car. Gramps’ penthouse was supposedly too risky after the break-in at his house in Portland, so Holden picked a condo being rented out in a secure, but underwhelming building.
There are other cars flanking us, private security Holden brought in to make sure we’re absolutely protected in transit.
I should be grateful.
But I just keep thinking how relieved he’ll be to finish this and get rid of me.
Very soon, we’ll be going our separate ways.
This is it, and my heart fragments a little more with every breath.
The condo is a small, one-bedroom unit.
Somewhere he might’ve stayed before, back when he’d travel with Gramps. There’s a slight stagnant smell in the air, like the unit hasn’t been lived in for a while.
I miss the penthouse already, even if it’s loaded with bad memories now.
I sigh and head out to the small balcony so I can avoid Holden’s scent. His laundry, his musk, his woodsy cologne.
Outside, there are traffic fumes and smells from a bakery down the road cutting through the city’s busy stench.
Growling chaotic sounds in cars and horns and people. A lot of people.
The sun glints against the skyline, turning tall buildings into shadowy peaks, and I don’t know what I feel.
Peace, maybe, or as close to it as I can get. Acceptance.
I flop down in one of the flimsy chairs outside and close my eyes. There’s something almost calming about being surrounded by so much energy, like a pebble in a raging river.
This city never sleeps.
Then the door slides open, and Holden takes the chair beside me.
I force my eyes open and look over before I can help myself, trying not to smile at the way he has to fold himself awkwardly to fit in the small chair.
It groans under his weight and his lip curls with annoyance, wondering if he’ll break it.
His wrists hang loosely over his knees as he leans forward. The most uncomfortable seat ever and he’s pretending it isn’t.
Happier memories threaten to rupture my defenses. The last time we were in New York. The way we shared a bed and decided we weren’t the worst people on Earth.
The first kiss.
Why does it feel like it was ten years ago now?
The ache in my chest deepens, a definitive stabbing twang, like someone yanking on my heart and snapping it back into place like a rubber band.
“Hey,” he ventures.
“Hey, yourself.” I close my eyes again, turning my face to the sky.
“You okay?”
I don’t answer.
I can’t bring myself to answer until I look at him. He’s watching me, those Mojave brown eyes all dark desert dusk.
I swallow hard.
“What do you want, Holden?”
“Came to check on you. Is that a crime now?” He hesitates. “Also, I came to let you know I’ll take the couch tonight. Bedroom’s all yours, whenever you’re ready.”
I shrug.
It’s still daylight. Sort of.
But we do have an early morning and I’m exhausted. But if we’re sleeping alone, I already know I’ll be lucky to doze off for a few hours.
It’s crazy how he tortures me without even trying.
“Yeah, fine,” I whisper. “Thanks.”
Another long, killing pause.
“Look, Clee, I’m sorry about… Fuck.” He sighs. I wait, wondering if he’ll work his way down the whole list of disappointments. “This,” he finishes. “This friction between us.”
“Okay,” I say numbly. “You don’t need to—”
“I do. I never meant to hurt you. Not ever.” Regret sharpens in his voice. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and I look at him.
Huge mistake.
His eyes glow, twin moons boring into mine. He’s trying to lighten the mood, maybe make me feel better, but it just makes my heart drop thirty floors down to the busy street.
There’s no flippant clapback left in me.
No pretending I’m untouched.
Holden did fucking hurt me, and it takes all my willpower to check my inner bitch and refrain from telling him exactly how much damage he did.
But that won’t help anything when we’re trying to get this done and part ways on good terms.
The silence stretches between us, breathless. Waiting.
I know he wants me to say something, to forgive him, but I feel like a shattered vase, too many scattered pieces to pull together again.
With a slow, scratchy breath, I say, “I don’t know what you want.”
He blinks at me.
I want to shake him.
Smack him in the face.
Scream until his eyes go wide and he stops thinking he owes me some kind of half-hearted apology.
A jealous, evil part of me wants to hurt him like he’s hurt me.
Impossible.
The dark things I want burn my tongue from holding them in.
“I just wanted you to hear it.” He leans back in his chair until it creaks. Finally, he looks away, and I can breathe again. “Thanks for giving Kit the 3D art. She loves it. I know you wanted to sell it, and if you want, I’ll pay you.”