The Darkest Part (25 page)

Sam

By the time we hit downtown Springfield, I feel so far removed from my home, my life . . . myself . . . that the anger I felt back on the highway, and all the shame and self-loathing of last night, seem to be a distant memory, rather than mere hours ago.

Traveling the country is liberating and puts me in a completely different mindset. I understand why Tyler longed for it so badly. This is exactly the feeling he wanted to obtain.

Distance. A new perspective.

Freedom.

Holden and I have spoken very little since our fight. Other than selecting music and commenting on scenery (which was pretty much all green, yellow, and trees), anything that took brain power was like tiptoeing on broken glass instead of eggshells.

I can’t honestly say what made me snap back there. Just that with Tyler’s words assaulting my thoughts and the events of last night still fresh on my mind, when Holden brought it up . . . I cracked.

A whole new wave of shame crashes down on me. I can’t ever seem to get out the words I really want to say, and the ones that I do only manage to
help
me sound crazy. But Holden’s heated words? They did far more damage than I ever thought possible. And I believe he meant every one of them.

He’s a guy who thinks about sex. Period. And I’m, again, just a girl to use in the moment. But had I really thought otherwise? I remember last night clearly, the passion in his eyes liquefying his cool blue and making them blaze. His whispered, excited words, and the intense feeling like I was the only thing in the world to him right then—the only thing for him
ever
. Yes, I wanted to believe he’d changed.

It would help with my feelings eating a hole through my resolve.

Staring through the windshield at the cobalt sky, I inwardly cringe. I read too many romance novels.

Obviously, Holden has improved his skills, and can charm the lust right into anyone. Even me. Despite our history, somewhere deep inside, I had always hoped he cared about me. I almost convinced myself that Holden
had
cared, only his issues and his rage and inability to deal with emotions had prevented him from being able to
be
with me. At least on a serious level.

I glance out my window, taking in the buildings and stores. It’s a city. Just like any other city I’ve ever been to, but there’s a small town feel to this one. More personable. Like an all-American theme. It makes me want to forget the darkness lurking around me and embrace the bright sunshine and smiles.

I wonder if that’s why Tyler picked this place, if he somehow knew. Pulling out the map, I find Springfield and laugh as I read his notes.

Holden clears his throat. Tension still radiates off him. “What is it?”

“Springfield,” I say, trying to evoke a pleasant tone. “Because the Simpsons rule.”

A bright smile that matches our surroundings takes over his face. He shakes his head and looks back at the road.

“I know,” I say. “It’s not really the Springfield from the cartoon, but I guess it was close enough for Tyler.”

Silence settles between us, and I peek at Holden. He’s deep in thought, as if he’s remembering watching the TV show with his brother when they were kids. I decide to let him have his moment, and focus on the overwhelming feeling that being far from home brings.

As he pulls into a parking lot, I check out the towering hotel with more windows than any other building we’ve passed on this street so far. “University Plaza Hotel?”

“What about it?” He shifts into first gear and then turns off the truck. The rumbling of the engine that’s been a comforting barrier between us fades away.

I shrug. “Isn’t this kind of swanky for, like, a road trip, overnight stay?”

He shrugs, too. It’s become our go-to move. Safer than looking each other in the eyes. “I thought we could relax in a decent hotel. And I could really use a good bed.” I swallow hard, and he quickly continues. “For my back.” He looks at me and smiles. It’s forced. “I’m picky about beds. It’s a thing.”

As I open the door and hop down from the truck, the warm air hits my skin, thawing me from the AC inside the cab. I breathe in the thickness. It even smells cleaner here. As we enter the lobby, Holden glances at me. His jaw tightens before he looks ahead again.

“I should pay for this one,” I say. “Really.”

He shakes his head. “I picked a different hotel than what was on the map, so I’ll cover it.”

I don’t argue. I don’t have the fight in me to do so, and when Holden steps up to request the rooms, I look away. After our fiasco last night, and the immense issues it caused today, I’m surprised when he asks for one room instead of two. I look at him and raise my eyebrows.

He faces me and leans against the counter. “We’re not going to let it become a thing. We have a long way to go, and many more hotels.” His pale blue eyes search my face, looking for approval. “It’s just stupid to pay for two.”

I could argue with that logic, especially after I nearly threw myself from a truck to get away from him. But I suck it up. I’m not the one paying, and if I were, I’d only want to pay for one room, too. “It’s all right,” I say, shoving the unease down. “But I’m not claiming we’re grownups this time.”

He winks. “Feel free to freeze my boxers and dip my toothbrush in the toilet.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Fair enough.”

As we move through the lobby, Holden whistles. I agree with his sentiment—it’s gorgeous. Water cascades down a tiered fountain into a large stone pool. The walls are golden, like a bit of Italian wealth. Classy. Accent lights set off artwork that both Holden and I can’t help but pause to study every few steps.

It’s such a change of scenery from our last destination that I feel even more removed from our problems. I wonder if that was Holden’s intention. And as he inserts the key card and opens the door to the wide open floor plan, I couldn’t care less.

I run to the bed and fall back. The plush comforter
whaps
as I land, and then I sink into the cozy softness with a sigh.

Hearing him drop his bag near the foot of the bed, I lift up onto my elbows. “This is freakin’ awesome.”

A devilishly beautiful smile slides across his face, and I have to look away. “There’s a pull-out,” he says. “You can have the bed.”

My eyes snap back to him and my brows draw together. “But I thought you had back issues. Didn’t you come here for the bed?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t think that through.”

My lips twitch. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. I’m not an old fart with back problems.” I plunk back down into the comforter, enjoying the coolness of the white cotton material before I have to give it up.

He exhales heavily as he drops onto the couch. I hear his groan, and wonder just how exhausted he is. He’s driven the whole way here. The guilt that I’m offering nothing on this trip hits me again. “Hey,” I say, pushing myself off the bed. “I’m going to head down to the pool for a while. Think it might reenergize me. Want me to bring something up from the hotel restaurant on my way back? Probably cheaper than room service.”

His head turns my way. “You don’t want to keep to the agenda?” According to the map, Tyler and I were meant to see Outdoor World. Which, honestly, I have no idea why. He wasn’t the outdoorsy type.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I love Tyler, but there is nothing in me that wants to go hang out in a giant Bass Pro Shop.” I shake my head. “It might be time to admit that Tyler obviously had a whole other side of him I wasn’t aware of, or that he wanted to venture into new things . . .” I trail off, hoping the hurt over Tyler’s betrayal isn’t so obvious on my face. “Either way, I don’t feel obligated to do everything on the agenda.”

Holden has gone stone still. His hand paused on top of his head where he’d just been running it through his hair, his teeth locking his lip ring in place. Then like he’s coming out of a trance, he says, “I
really
don’t want to go to Outdoor World.”

I nod once, my lips tightening as I hold back a smile. “All right. Agreed.” I look around, stalling. “Then I say we relax for tonight. We’ve been on the road, going and doing, since we left.” I chuck my pack onto the bed and then dig out my bikini. “I’ll swim. You rest in your big bed.”

Before he can offer another suggestion, I head to the bathroom and lock the door. Truth is, I need some time away. Holden’s intoxicating scent and the constant awareness of him and his annoyingly sexy habit of playing with his lip ring . . . it’s all driving me mad.

I keep trying to add kindling to the fire. Remind myself how much he hurt me before and pisses me off now, and what an asshole he still is. But it’s like trying to set the rain forest on fire using a magnifying glass. It’s exhausting. And the drive that was there before just isn’t anymore. Even after what he said on the highway. Being around him is making me desensitized to all the angry feelings I harbored in high school and even just days back.

Hell. Even just a little while ago.

I’m not sure what happened in the truck. Whether it was my pent up rage finally erupting after so many years of suppressing it. Or anger about what I almost let happen last night. Or the worst: outrage and self-loathing because I
wanted
it to happen. That I was willing to forgive and forget for just a moment in order to feel desired again—to feel desired by
him
again. But whatever it was, it took hold completely.

If Holden is Douchebag Superman, then I’m Super Bitch. And he’s becoming my kryptonite. I’m getting weaker the longer I’m around him. Unable to deny the feelings he’s stirring within me.

And that weakness frightens me.

Am I really angry or just afraid?
Fear and anger are so closely related it’s hard to distinguish between the two. I’m not ready to fully analyze it just yet.

Once I’m suited up in my black and pink bikini (a little skull with a bow on my left boob), I throw on an oversized tee and wrap myself in a guest towel. When I exit, I find Holden asleep on the bed, his tatted forearm draped over his eyes.

His shoes have been kicked off haphazardly near the couch, and his silver Hurley buckle is undone, his pants riding low on his hips. A sliver of his stomach peeks out above his boxers (I’m not sure why he started wearing them when he wasn’t before), and it’s so ridiculously sexy, I stop breathing.

A trace of his tattoo teasingly reveals itself below his T-shirt. I’m tempted to walk over and push his tee up, just to get a quick glimpse. But I recover my senses before I do something stupid.

Swallowing my sigh, I force my feet to move away from the bed, then I leave the room before my brain can swallow me. As I ride the elevator to the lobby, I try to stop thinking about Holden. I
need
to stop.

But after what almost happened between us,
especially
after what almost happened, his disbelief that I’m truly seeing Tyler stings. It must be nice for him, being able to separate the emotional from the physical. His comment about my lack of “questioning” felt like a direct attack—like he’s thoroughly pissed off that I haven’t questioned my sanity.

I wonder what Dr. Hartman would say about my reaction. Probably something simple yet profound like I’m in denial and lashing out, instead of maturely and responsibly hearing the other person’s thoughts.

Piss on her.

Well, that worked. Thinking of my condescending psychiatrist does the trick nicely. But if I actually did do her lame exercises and tried to reason through my feelings, I might find that Holden’s logic isn’t so obtuse. Misguided and distrusting, but not so far out there.

Can I really be upset that, in his mind, at least, he’s only trying to help? And if last night was just a lapse—him falling into old habits and his sex drive overriding his senses—then why would he care if I’m mentally stable or not?

When the signs of a massive headache start banging against the front of my head, I bottle my thoughts. The inside pool is perfect: large and oblong and the water crystal blue. Floor-to-ceiling windows run along the stretch of the enclosed area. I can’t even remember finding my way in here, and I’m surprised to see I’m alone.

“Hi, Sam.”

I whirl around, my chest prickling with familiar warmth and anticipation.

I’m not alone anymore.

Holden

Releasing a groan, I roll onto my side and reach for my phone, which isn’t on the nightstand. Then I remember . . . nothing really. I passed out.

Digging into my pocket, I pull out my phone and display the time: 5:21.

I’ve been asleep for almost an hour. And looking around as the afternoon light seeps in from between the heavy, striped curtains, I notice Sam hasn’t returned from her swim.

My first thought is to go find her. I move to get off the bed and pause, hunched over the edge, my feet planted on the carpeted floor. That’s the last thing I should do—go to the pool and watch her swim around in a skimpy bathing suit. I run a hand down my face, waking myself up further.

Instead, I tap out a text to her and hit send. If she’s ready to come back to the room, or go get some food, or roam downtown, she’ll text back. I really don’t care what we do tonight. I’d be just as happy to lose myself in TV and pass out again. I’m that tired.