The Darkest Part (34 page)

But right now, nature calls, and my morning wood that went from firm to rock hard the moment I woke with her in my arms is becoming painful. Easing out of bed so I don’t wake her, I drop my feet to the floor and then saunter, like the sex god that I am, to the bathroom.

Memories of last night replay in my head. Vivid images of Sam. Hot as hell. We have shit to discuss today.
Lots
of shit. But for right now, I just want to enjoy her. Not worry about how I’m going to see her when I live more than four hours away. I mean, if she’s taking her meds, and she’s getting better, she’ll want to go back to college. And she should.

Then there’s still the issue of my brother’s ghost. Even though last night she committed herself to getting well, she’s not there yet. It’s going to take time. And therapy. I’ll be there for her, but I know this will be a battle.

And then . . . there’s the real shit. The stuff I’ve kept from her. Stepping away from the toilet, I brace my hands on the counter and stare at myself in the mirror. Fuck. I’m a bastard. An evil one. But I’ve kept things from her for so long, I can’t stomach her finding out now. I can’t lose her.

Because when she does know, she’ll want to get as far away from me as she can.

It’s only a matter of time, though. I can’t continue on like this. I don’t want to keep lying to her.
Shit
. I slam a fist against the counter.

My fucked up brain has effectively ruined any chance at a good day with her. Shaking my head, I push off from the counter and curse.

As I enter the room, I search the floor for my bag. Leaning over next to the desk, I dig through it, then slip on a pair of boxers. My sight lands on a small notebook lying on the desk chair. More of Sam’s sketches, maybe. I pick it up and thumb through the pages. Pages and pages of scrawl.

My brother’s sloppy scrawl.

I feel my skin pale as the blood drains from my face, sending a million pinpricks all over my body. Then anger bites at my chest, fire-hot.

Sam stirs in the bed, drawing my attention. “Hey, you.” She beams, then her smile falls right off her face as she sees what I’m holding.

“This?” I ask her. “This is how you knew those things?” She flinches at my harsh tone, but I keep on. “Tell me this is not how you knew all that shit. I thought . . .” I press my lips together and grip the notebook. “I actually thought, during really messed up moments, he could be here. You had my head fucking reeling. And then I find this.” My words are spitting from my mouth in heated accusation. And I know, with all my lies, I have no right. But
fuck.

Sam pulls the covers around her as she sits up, suddenly hiding herself from me. “He didn’t want anyone to know about it, Holden. I couldn’t tell you.”

I scoff. “Yeah? And he gave it to you? His ghost gave you permission to read it?”

Her face crumples, stricken. Like I just reached out and slapped her. But then, composing herself, she narrows her eyes. “Why are you really so pissed off? Huh?” She tosses the covers off and then stalks toward me.

I drop my gaze. “Put some clothes on.”

She laughs darkly. “After last night . . . are you serious?”

My eyes lift to hers. “I can’t think straight otherwise,” I grit out.

Shaking her head, she reaches down and scoops her shirt off the floor. As she’s slipping it over her head, she says, “I thought he might’ve written something in it before the accident.” She flips her hair out from beneath the collar, then pins me with a hard glare. “That I could find something for you to use . . . I don’t know. To help with the case.”

And like I’ve been punched, my stomach clenches. “Did you?” I wait, my breath stuck in my chest.

She huffs. “No. I haven’t read that far yet.”

With a whoosh of air past my lips, my chest loosens. “I’ll be back later,” I say, storming toward my jeans slung over the foot of the bed.

“
What?
” Sam marches up beside me and grips my arm, trying to turn me to face her. I hold my place. “Where are you going?”

Ignoring her attempt, I slide on my jeans while trying not to drop the notebook, my movements sloppy and rushed. “To burn this.” Then I pull out of her grasp and yank out a shirt from my bag.

She jerks the tee out of my hand. “What the fuck, Holden?”

“I’m going to burn it, Sam,” I say slowly, pronouncing each word. “Trust me. It’s for the best.” A small sense of relief washes over me. If she was with me last night, then she didn’t get far enough in it to know . . . anything. Maybe there’s nothing in it at all. Maybe there is. I don’t know. But either way, it’s gone. If I get rid of it right now, she and everybody else will never know.

Then I make the mistake of looking at her. I can see the tremble of her shoulders. The shimmer glazing her eyes. Last night was perfect, and now . . . I’m ruining everything.
Shit. Fuck
. Dropping to the bed, I put my head in my hands.
What the hell am I doing?

Sam lowers herself before me, and I close my eyes. Block her out. I don’t want to see the pain I’m causing her. “What is it, Holden? Tell me?” Her voice is shaky and pleading, reaching into my gut and twisting. “What are you trying to hide?”

An ache lodges in my throat. I work to speak past it. “I can’t.” And everything I’ve been holding in for so long comes rushing to the surface. All the nightmares ripping apart my head. Images I can’t ever
un
see. I squeeze my eyes closed harder. But they’re still there.

I feel her hand on the side of my face. “I love you,” she says, and I shatter.

Looking into her eyes, I suck in a breath and commit to memory the last time I’ll ever hear those words. “Tyler wasn’t killed by a hit-and-run.” I watch her face transform from compassion to confusion. Before I can back out, I force the words past my lips. “He killed himself.”

Her forehead creases, her mouth parts. But then anger flashes in her bright eyes. “No.” She shakes her head, stone conviction on her face and in her voice. “No, he didn’t. Why the hell would you say that?”

Sharp pain tears through me at my next admission. “He was the one driving his car the night our mom died.” My limbs are quaking, and the words won’t stop. They flow from me unguarded. Like last night when the dam broke, it finished me off.
She’s
finishing me off. And I’m at her mercy. “I sent him back to his dorm in a cab, and then I left. I should’ve driven him back myself. But I was tired and didn’t want to drive all the way out there.”

She nods slowly. “I know. You’ve told me this.” Then her head yanks back. “Wait. You said dorm this time . . .”

Shaking my head, I admit, “He didn’t take the cab home or to the dorm. He paid the cab driver to turn around and take him back to the bar.” I swallow hard. Her eyes are locked on mine. Unblinking. “After I got a cab for him, I left his car in the parking lot, figuring we’d get it the next day. I drove my truck back to the house, and an hour later, got a panicked call from him. He was talking fast and slurred. Freaking out about an accident.” I have to stop, take a breath. The images banging against my head are turning my stomach.

Sam lays her hands on my thighs, looking straight into my eyes, nothing in her face betraying her thoughts. “What happened?”

I nod once, getting through the rest.
Just get through it
. “Mom had called him. She’d been out with her friends, and her car wouldn’t start. So she called Tyler to pick her up. She never would’ve called my dad, that’s for sure.” I look away, knowing I’m about to break her heart. “At the time, Tyler was in the bar with the redhead. He went back to be with her, Sam. I’m sorry. He was drunk . . . I tried to stop him . . . but—”

“It’s not your fault,” she cuts me off. Her words are strong, but when I look at her, I can see the hurt dimming her eyes.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “If I’d just stayed for five minutes longer, I could’ve stopped everything. If I’d just driven him to the dorm . . . but I didn’t.”

I drive a hand through my hair, and Sam says, “What happened after he called?”

I blow out a breath, my head light. “I raced through the woods to find my mother dead.” I’m shaking now. “He’d crashed into a tree not far from the house . . . and I couldn’t help her. She was gone.” I close my eyes against the images of my mother’s limp body. Lifeless eyes. The blood. “I got sick on the side of the road, and Tyler was so fucked up. Drunk, freaking out, and when I looked into his eyes, I just broke. I wanted to protect him. That’s all I could think. And I knew when the cops got there, they’d arrest him. He’d go to prison maybe for the rest of his life.” I look into her eyes now, praying. For what, I don’t know. “I couldn’t let that happen. Tyler didn’t mean it . . . it was an accident. He was smashed. And it was beyond wrong and fucked up. But this was our mom. Our fucking mom.”

A violent sob takes me, and Sam moves to sit beside me. I can’t believe I’m losing my shit. “I’m fine,” I say. “Shit. I’m fine.”

Her arm reaches around my waist, her warm, soft skin affecting me. For one moment, I long to be lost in her. Just disappear. Because when the full truth hits, I’ll never feel her again.

Her fingers comb through my hair, and I shiver at her touch. “Tyler wrote in his journal that you always looked out for him. That you always tried to protect him from your dad, and everything.” Her hand takes mine, her tiny fingers lacing through my large ones. “You were just doing what you thought was right at the time. Still trying to protect him.”

She’s right on that. I nod hard. “I’d only had one beer because we spent most of the night arguing. And that was over an hour before then. So I thought . . . I could send Tyler home. Call the police. Tell them it was me who was driving Tyler’s car, and that I’d tried to swerve to miss a deer in the road.” I pull in a breath. “I kicked dirt over Tyler’s puke, told him what to say to the cops, and made him go to the house.”

“But what about the cab driver?” she asks. “Wouldn’t the police question him?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I thought about that. But I was at the scene. I confessed, so they never investigated beyond that.” I shrug shamefully. “I always thought if I ever needed to tell the truth, the cab driver would be the one to back up the story.”

She nods. “Is it that time? Now?”

“No.” I look at the wall, everything growing black in the edges of my vision. “I missed that chance.”

“What do you mean? You can always tell the truth. I know that you don’t want your father and others to think anything bad about Tyler . . . but. This is about your life, too, Holden. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of Tyler’s mistake.”

A dark laugh barrels out of me before I can stop it. “I think Tyler would’ve been better off without me trying to protect him.” I shake my head. “Seems that my interference only fucked shit up worse.”

She sighs, deep and heavy. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for all this.”

“Yes,” I say. “I can.” Then looking into her jewel-like eyes, I crush them as I say, “If I’d told someone the first time Tyler tried to kill himself, he never would’ve succeeded in the end.”

Sam

My heart jumps in my throat. I don’t want to—
will not
believe Tyler committed suicide. “Stop saying that.” My voice is raw and angry. I’m trying to take all this in and be here and understand what Holden has suffered, but I can’t listen to him saying that about Tyler anymore.

Holden’s jaw tightens. “Tyler was different with you.” And I know this much. In just under a week, I’ve learned too many painful secrets about the guy who was my best friend and who I loved dearly. I don’t think I can learn anymore. My head is splitting open.

But Holden presses on. “One night, our dad flipped out. Tyler forgot to add oil to his dirt bike and burned up the engine. Dad grabbed a pan from the stove where Mom was cooking and pinned Tyler against the wall.”

I swallow hard, trying to brace myself, while the images his words create sear my mind. “I pushed Tyler out of the way right before he slung the pan. Hot grease caught me in the chest, burned through my shirt, and hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

Tears well in my eyes. “Oh, God.”

Holden shrugs, like talking about your father burning you with cooking oil is an everyday convo. “Tyler was already on a downward spiral before that. But after I’d gone to the ER, telling them, of course, that it was my own dumbass fault, he spiraled out of control.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “He took a bottle of some shit I had in my room. I found him face down in his own vomit on the bathroom floor. I stuck my finger down his throat and made him puke up the rest before putting him in the shower to wake him up.”

The missing section in the journal, I realize. The broken timeline. Tyler had to have only been thirteen then, and it must have been right before he spent a couple weeks at his grandparent’s house. It’s
why
he was sent there that summer. His parents hid everything so well. I never even questioned.

“Dad was pissed,” Holden says. “He tried to whale on Tyler while he was completely out of it, and he probably would’ve finished him off in his condition. I lost my shit. Just went to town. Beat the hell out of him.”