The Darkest Part (15 page)

Sam’s eyes are closed, so I become brave and press the pads of my fingers to her narrow waist, slowly guiding her to me. Maybe if she just feels someone solid holding her, she can pretend, and the bystanders can stop staring at a girl losing her mind. I hate the thought of anyone judging her. I’m okay with her thinking I’m Tyler. With her pretending. Whatever she needs right now.

That’s what I told myself back at the hotel room.

But as her arms lock around my neck and she lays her head on my chest, a flurry of want swirls inside me—a thundering, self-destructive tornado. My hands shake as I rest them on the small of her back. So gently. Her petite body should feel wrong against mine, but it’s lined up perfectly. Every one of her curves seamlessly cast to me.

Her hand curls around the nape of my neck, her fingers twining in my hair, as her other hand caresses my back. A searing heat blooms between our bodies—I can feel every hot inch of her. I rest my chin on the top of her head, breathing in her sweet scent. My chest smolders. As her body moves against me, her hips working sexy as hell, my pants tighten and my groin begins to ache. Fucking torture.

I let her lead, rocking back and forth. And when she whispers Tyler’s name, I close my eyes. I can feel the pain radiating off her in waves. It mixes with my own grief, consuming and complete.

I decide I’m not that much of a masochist. This shit ends now.

Opening my eyes, I say, “Sam, it’s time to go.” Just loud enough for her to hear over the music.

Her head snaps back, and for the briefest moment, her eyes register that I’m not him. Shock and confusion churn in them. But then the haze of alcohol and her delusion covers them again, and she smiles. “I’m not ready yet, Tyler. We never get to dance.”

My gut twists. “Wave to your friends,” I tell her, not giving in. I spin her around to get a better hold of her, wrapping my arm around her waist.

She slackly fans her hand and slurs something to the bandana girls.

“Bye, baby girl,” Black Bandana says. Then she cocks her head at me. “Take care of her.”

I only nod before walking Sam out of the bar and into the parking lot. The night air bites into my skin through my thin T-shirt. I worry about the almost-passed-out girl in my arms until I realize the alcohol is probably keeping her warm. Propping her against the side of my truck, I keep one arm anchored around her chest, desperately trying to ignore the feel of her breasts.

After I lift her onto the seat, I buckle her in. Her head lolls to the side, and I smile. “Did you have fun, party girl?”

Her eyes try to focus on me, but they’re unseeing, unfocused. She nods sloppily.

I laugh. “Just don’t yack in the truck. Warn me first, okay?”

No response. She’s assed out already.

Somehow I manage to get her through the hotel lobby and into the elevator without causing a scene, but when we make it to the second floor, she’s falling and stumbling. With a groan, I reach down and scoop her up, then carry her the rest of the way to her room.

I curse as I have to dig into her back pocket for the key card. Touching her ass isn’t making this any easier. Once I get her comfortable, I’ll go back for the box. I left it in the truck, not wanting to chance dropping it while trying to take care of her.

Laying her down on the bed, I prop the pillow up and roll her onto her side, so she’s not on her back. In case she does have to toss her stomach. I consider that for a moment, and grab the tin trashcan, place it beside the bed.

Then I just stare at her. Her breathing’s evened out, her black hair falling in her face. I gently brush it behind her ear. With a heavy sigh, I unlace her shoes and slip those off . . . and think about removing her jeans, too. But I’m not that big of a creeper. I know she’ll flip out come morning.

Before I leave, I fill one of the cups in the bathroom with tap water and set it on the nightstand. Just in case she wakes up. She’s going to be dehydrated and feel like smashed assholes.

Glancing around, I look for anything else I need to do. And realize I’m stalling. “Fuck,” I breathe out. I’m the biggest pussy who ever lived.

Sam mumbles something in her sleep. Kneeling beside the bed, I say, “Sam, you should drink some water.”

She wipes at her face harshly as her eyes flutter open. I smile. She’s an adorable drunk.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I feel my face screw up. “About what? What do you have to be sorry for?”

Taking a shuddering breath, she blinks. Her eyes are red and glassy. “I’m so sorry for what your dad did to you.”

My heart freezes in my chest, and I’m cemented to the floor. My eyes lock on to hers. “Tyler told you.” It’s not a question. I just have to say it aloud. For it to be real.

She nods against the pillow, and I close my eyes for a moment as a heavy, strained breath whooshes from my mouth. “Goodnight, Sam.” Her eyes shut again, and it’s not long before she’s asleep.

This time, I sit in the chair across from the bed, unable to make myself leave. My mind is reeling, and I know if I go back to my room, I’m going to break something. I keep watch over her, pretending I’m not livid. Not losing my shit.

When the sun lights the curtains, casting the room in that strange gloom you only see in hotel rooms, I quietly leave.

My head hits the pillow hard. A fucking hotel bed has never felt so good.

Sam

A sharp throb radiating from my toenails to the roots of my hair propels me out of bed. The ache behind my eyes builds as the light bleeding through the crack in the curtain brightens. The sun is the devil.

Leaning over the side of the bed, I wrap my arms around my stomach, praying whatever’s inside doesn’t come up. I don’t remember drinking that much last night, but my mouth tastes like I cleaned out the bar.

I know I didn’t smoke (at least I don’t think), but for some reason, I also taste like an ashtray. Maybe from just breathing the smoke in the small bar. I curse under my breath and push myself off the bed.

Leaving the bathroom light off, I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face, then quickly brush my teeth. It helps, but only marginally. I can still taste the fruity concoction of Pink Panty Pull-down on my tongue. Luckily, the drink didn’t have its desired effect, and I’m still in both my boy shorts and jeans.

A frightening thought makes my eyes go wide. What the hell happened with Holden last night? And then another. Where are Tyler’s ashes?

I lunge into the room and search under the clothes tossed on the dresser. Not here. My heart-rate speeds, my pulse hammers against my veins. I quickly pull my hair back with the band around my wrist, then step into my shoes . . . that have been unlaced.

I don’t unlace my Converse.

Mother fu—

Letting the door slam behind me, I turn and knock on Holden’s room door. After a minute, there’s still no answer. No noise of anyone stirring comes from the other side. I try my key card, unsuccessfully, of course, and then bang on his door. Loudly.

I hear a deep groan, then the door squeaks open. Holden looks worse than me. His clothes are rumpled, and his hair is bedhead messy, sticking up in every direction (which I can’t help but notice looks devil-may-care sexy). Dark half-moons hollow out the skin beneath his eyes.

“Where’s Tyler?” When it leaves my mouth, I instantly regret my wording. But he knows what I mean. I can’t keep tiptoeing around him. We both loved Tyler, both struggling with his death. Only I have a mission to complete.

He sighs, stretching his long arm up, and his hand grips the top of the doorframe. A sliver of his toned stomach peeks from beneath his tee, and his low-slung jeans reveal that he’s wearing nothing underneath. But the glimpse of ink on his waist diverts my attention from anything sexual.

It’s all black and shaded gray, thick, and . . . He drops his arm and pulls his shirt straight. “It’s early,” he says, his voice husky.

I shake my head, clearing it from thoughts of his tattoo. “Holden, where’s Tyler’s ashes?” My voice comes out as desperate as I feel. I don’t care.

He rubs his eyes groggily. “The box is in the truck.” He leaves the door open as he walks away, an open invitation for me to follow.

I do, closing the door behind me, as he flops down on the bed. He covers his eyes with his forearm, and my gaze sweeps the tattoos decorating his arm—colorful and beautiful. Not wanting to be on the same bed as him again after the way it twisted me up last night, I take a seat at the desk. “How could you leave him out there?”

“You were too drunk to walk on your own,” he says. “I thought it was better than accidently spilling the ashes.”

“All right.” I wring my hands. “Can I have your keys?”

He pushes himself into a sitting position, pressing his back against the headboard. His eyes hard on me.

My head yanks back. “Did I do something to piss you off last night?”

He shakes his head tersely, as if he’s battling something within himself. Stopping himself from saying whatever it is he wants to say.

“Just spit it out,” I say. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You had a blast last night. I had a blast. We both had a blast.” He bounds up and heads for the bathroom. “Go get ready. We check out in an hour.”

His biting tone digs under my skin. I think about last night, trying to jog my memory. I danced with Melody and Darla, and downed shots.
Lots
of shots. And then a faint memory of dancing with . . . Tyler.

My face prickles with heat, and I wonder what those people must have thought—how crazy I must have looked. But honestly? Most of me doesn’t give a shit. I’ll never see them again. And I was so happy that Tyler finally came back, that he was able to materialize.

This is Tyler’s trip. Our trip. The least I can do is dance with him. He never liked to dance when he was alive, and when he waved me onto the floor, I know it was because we’ll never get the chance again.

But that shouldn’t have been enough to anger Holden. Unless it embarrassed him. Considering Holden’s never been one to care about what others think, I doubt that. Only, I have no other explanation for why he’s being so crass.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” I call out. “I’ll try to keep my crazy to a minimum for the rest of the trip.”

“Stop.”

One word. But it’s enough to fire me up. “Stop
what?
”

“Stop playing the victim. I hate that.”

Something snaps in my head, a loud
click
that forces me from the chair and onto my feet. The sound of running water halts, and Holden steps into the room. He starts tossing clothes into his bag. He won’t look at me.

“I’m not playing the victim,” I say, my words slow, deliberate. “I know you lost Tyler, too. I know this trip is hard for you . . . as much as it is for me, but—”

“But what?” He cuts me off as he looks up from his task. His eyes are hard and cool. Icy blue.

“But this trip is more than just . . .” Unable to finish, to explain, I hang my head.

He laughs. And the sound triggers a frantic response in me. I’m reminded that no matter what he suffered at the hands of his bastard father, no matter how considerate he’s been lately, he’s still the same asshole that treated me like shit five years ago. I stomp toward him, look him in his frosty eyes.

“This is all a joke to you?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. My breaths are short and heavy.

Holden’s gaze travels over me, so slowly, as if he’s trying to figure out something. His eyes come back to rest on mine. “No joke. I admit, when you first told me you wanted to steal some of my brother’s ashes, I did think you were a bit crazy.” He pinches his fingers close together, indicating the amount of my craziness. “But then, I don’t know. It seemed right. Like Tyler would’ve wanted it. And I wanted to do something for him.” He exhales audibly. “But this isn’t about his memory for you, is it, Sam? In fact, you haven’t even come to terms that Tyler
is
a memory yet.”

Anger wells in my chest. “Just because you heard some gossip bullshit on the island, don’t think that you have one clue about me.” I narrow my eyes. “Tread lightly, Holden.”

He rolls his shoulders back, bringing him to his full height. I have to angle my head back to look into his face. “Does Tyler talk to you?” he asks. “Do you see him now?”

His questions knock me off balance. I take in a couple of slow breaths, gathering my bearings. “And so what if I do? Are you telling me that it’s impossible?”

He presses his hands to his face, digging his fingers into his eye sockets. Then he drops them with a frustrated noise that rumbles from the back of his throat. “How the
fuck
did you know about our dad?”

And that question levels me. Shit.
Shit shit shit
. My dumb, drunk ass. I close my eyes, trying not to see his livid expression. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Tell me!” My eyes snap open and I flinch at his outburst. Holden’s chest heaves, his jaw flexed. “
When
did Tyler tell you?”

I step back, shaking my head. “Why does it matter
when?
”

He advances, invading my personal space. “Because I’ve worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to have a drunk, silly college girl letting shit like that slip when she’s wasted. Or some crazy chick spouting it off during therapy sessions.”