Secrets - [Guardian Trilogy 01] (25 page)

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I had a better day than I would've ever thought possible. I needed this.”

Holden's hand lightly brushed my cheek, but he didn’t say anything.

We went back to his apartment. I dug through the suitcase he packed for me. There was a little bit of everything, possibly a better selection than I would have made in such a short amount of time. I wondered how he found everything so quickly when he’d never been in my apartment before, but let the thought go. I just didn't care. I was happy to have him. I pulled out the black dress and shoes he’d packed and touched the soft fabric, remembering the shopping trip Jules and I found it. . She called it my Audrey Hepburn dress. I couldn’t fathom not having another one of those trips with her. What would I do without her?

The funeral was horrific. The overwhelming emotion that hit me when I walked through the door turned my legs to jelly, but it was nothing compared to the moment I saw my mother. I nearly collapsed as sobs overtook me. Luckily, Holden was next to me to help prop me up. I didn’t find the funeral or visitation cathartic. I didn’t find closure, instead every person with their own emotion welling in their eyes rubbed salt in my too fresh wounds. I couldn’t bear the weight of their feelings and mine. Though I didn’t believe it to be possible, the gravesite was even worse. Knowing that the best friend I ever had would never talk to me, would never joke with me, would never call me, would never have dinner with me, would never smile at me again. Instead she would be in that box alone.

After the funeral, Holden and I went home—or more accurately, to his place. I was completely drained. I collapsed onto the bed and pulled my knees toward my chest. Holden curled against me, his breath on the back of my neck as his arms enclosed around me. I felt broken, but whole with him. I hadn’t been able to sleep for more than two hours at a time since I found Jules, and Holden and I hadn’t shared a dream in days, yet I could feel the bond between us growing with each passing minute we were together.

Tonight was no different. I drifted to sleep and saw her swinging from the rafter. I woke up in a cold sweat, crying again. Eventually, I fell back to sleep and the cycle started over. By the time the sun was rising, I couldn't bear the thought of trying to sleep anymore. I quietly got out of bed and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of my dress. Walking around his living room, I studied his incredibly dust free apartment, pausing here or there lightly touch something. It was easier to really look at the place without Holden distracting me. I was struck by the fact he had no personal items. No photographs, besides those he bought at my show, no diplomas, no knick knacks, absolutely nothing that indicated who he was in anyway. It was as impersonal as a model home. His books were of a wide variety and relatively generic, though an interesting selection had obviously been read more than the others; his music was no different. Who was this person? I turned away from the shelf to explore his kitchen. Holden stood in the doorway of the bedroom watching me. Startled, I jumped and guilt flooded me. I was snooping and was caught. Holden gave me a devilish grin.

“Holy crap! Make some noise next time.”

“Sorry. Are you looking for something in particular?”

Do I tell the truth, “No I was just snooping through your stuff since you won't answer any questions about your past,” or do I deny? Deny, deny, deny.

“I couldn't sleep.”
Half-truths aren’t actually lying, right?

His smile faltered. “I know.”

Of course, he knows. He hasn’t gotten peaceful night's sleep since he brought me here either.

“Is this really your apartment?” I couldn't stop myself from asking. I couldn’t just be with someone and know nothing about them, that wasn’t the way I functioned.

“Excuse me?”

“It's just—there's nothing in here that's you. There're no pictures, no memories. It's so cold and impersonal. Where's Holden in all of this?”

“Maybe that's all I am.”

“I see more than that.”

“What exactly do you think you see?”

“I see someone who's a bit of a loner, slightly obsessive compulsive, controlling, a little bored with his life, who wants change yet fights it. Part of you seems to be reaching out for something, but you haven’t fully committed to taking it. What I don’t see is someone who’s cold and impersonal.” I held my breath waiting for him to reply. I had an interesting history of people not appreciating what I saw in them. Would Holden be one of those people?

He looked at me and his eyes widened slightly. He didn’t speak, but his eyes didn’t glaze over the way they did when he was hiding something. Instead, he searched my eyes looking for something else. Was is acceptance … fear … what did he expect to find? Whatever it was, the moment passed when he asked, “You think I'm a squatter?”

“Of course not. That’d be ridiculous. You could be subleasing.”

“No, it’s mine. I don't have many possessions.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“So you have no possessions, no pictures, no glasses, no plates, no plants, no pets, no car . . . What exactly do you have? A job?”

He sat on the couch. “I have a car.”

“You do? Where is it? Why do we never take it?”

“Your car is more convenient to get to. Mine's in the garage. The keys are on the table by the door.” I glanced over and sure enough, there were keys in a bowl on the table. I walked over and sat down on a chair, cutting the distance between us in half.

“Can I know about your job?”

”It’s not an eight to five sort thing. I procure certain items. Pieces my clients request.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Art, antiquities, artifacts,
whatever
they request.”

“Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “I used to enjoy it a lot more than I do now. It pays the bills.”

“Isn't it ironic that a person who spends their life procuring items for other people owns nothing.”

“Objects don’t appeal to me. They weigh you down to the past.”

“You never look back?”

“Never.”

“You keep no memorabilia? Nothing to remind you of who you were, or where you came from? Nothing to show how you got where you are?”

“No.”

“And how is it that you manage with no dishes or glasses?”

“I eat out a lot.”

“I didn’t peg you as a people person.” I realized I knew nothing about him. No matter how much I felt I had divined about him, I actually had no idea.

 “I'm not,” he confirmed with a frown.

“Yet you choose to spend all of your time with people, every meal out, all your entertainment elsewhere. . . . You're quite the walking contradiction, aren't you?”

“You have no idea,” he mumbled then continued in his normal deep, slightly sandpapered voice. ”Building and maintaining connections are a big part of my business.” His eyes glazed over as he said this overly rehearsed line.

“Hmmm. Right—”

“You don't believe me, do you?” He seemed both amused and incredulous.

“Not entirely.” This was the most forthcoming Holden had been with information since I had met him, so I didn’t want to push too hard and make him clam back up.

He looked at me intently; a smile was trying to break through his serious expression “Building and maintaining connections 
are
a big part of my business,” he repeated.

I smiled, then shrugged. “Yeah,
no.
Still sounds too practiced.”

“Amazing.” He shook his head, surprise filling his eyes. I worried for a moment I had made him mad. “Have you always been this good at reading people?”

“I suppose. It's easier to read you than most people.” I was uncomfortable talking about it.

“It's hard to keep things from you, but I'm not easy to read.” His face and voice had still not taken on the defensiveness I was expecting.

“I'm intuitive. Most people I get a general feel for right away. Not you though. It’s taken time, but I'm starting to figure out particular tells you have for emotions. It isn't that you’re easy to figure out. I can hear the lie when you say 'Building and maintaining connections.'”

Holden shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Is that bad?” I asked.

“Probably. It certainly complicates us.”

“I’m not sure how much more complicated we can get. Do you understand any of this?” I gestured back and forth between the two of us. ”Because I'm going to let you in on a little secret, I have no idea why or how any of this works. I don’t know why I trust you. I don’t know if I should. I don’t know why you're in my dreams, but I'm glad you are. It all seems to work.”

“So far.”

What does that mean?
“You're not hiding a family from me, are you? Got a wife, kids, a dog—a house in the suburbs?”

“No.”

“Hold up your hands.” I looked there was no ring mark or tan line, a girl can never be too careful.

He laughed. “I promise no wife and kids.”

His laughter lightened the heaviness from our conversation. I didn’t have to figure everything out right this minute. I had plenty of time to whittle the information from him; eventually, he would be forced to let me in on the big secret. Eventually he would
want
to. I had faith.

“Do you have any more questions for me?”

“Will you answer them?”

“Maybe.”

“Why do you like me?”

“You are . . . you give me hope.” Holden seemed to drift away.

“What are you thinking about?”

He looked up his eyes soft. “You.”

I could sense I was about to lose him back behind the walls in his mind where he insisted on hiding. I smiled widely. “You missed the perfect opportunity.” I wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. I was learning from our frustrating conversations. The best way to distract him was to pull him back with a conversation he would see as innocuous.

“Opportunity for what?”

“To say, 'I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.' Had you said that, I would be smothering you in kisses right now.” I moved close enough to him on the couch that I could smell his faded aftershave from yesterday.

Holden looked perplexed.

“Jane Austen,
Pride and Prejudice?
Mr. Darcy? Never mind.” I sighed and moved away a little.

“Never read it.”

“It’s my favorite. I’d recommend it, but I think it's a bit girly for you.”

 Holden reached out and pulled me back to him. “You're one of the strangest people I've ever met.”

“You, sir, are no Mr. Darcy.”

“Perhaps not,” he kissed me softly, lingering for just a moment—then stood up. “I should take a shower.” Holden walked away, leaving me alone on the couch, shaking my head at him.

Eighteen