Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (23 page)

I can’t breathe the entire time. Can’t even think as the
horrific words come at me, each revelation slicing the little that’s left of my
strength, tearing me apart with old memories, gutting me with new ones I will
now have to carry on my conscience.

I don’t say more than ten words for the next hour, except
for answering some of the questions that are barked at me.
Mostly
no’s.
No, I didn’t know. No, I hadn’t. No, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m
not allowed to speak beyond that anyway.

Early on, I silently begged Casey to take Callie and Holland
away. He knew what was coming as well as I did, and I’m sure he agreed only for
their sakes. I could see the concern in his eyes as he convinced them to take a
tour of the house, his fear of leaving me alone with the firing squad, but I couldn’t
bear the thought of them witnessing this. Their absence is the only thing I
have left to hold onto now.

So it’s just me here. Alone. Silent. Condemned.

I’m embarrassed by the tears
in my eyes, but I don’t even bother trying to stop them. I
just let them gather and slowly slide down my cheeks as I stare at the ground,
listening, holding my breath, waiting for the next bullet point on my rap
sheet.

I forgot her birthday twice, anniversary pretty much every
year. Oh yeah, and then there was the dog. Reilly.
Because clearly
I wasn’t enough for her.
I didn’t meet her needs. The dog now lives with
Abby. I tried to make up for getting high and missing Christmas dinner by
buying her a diamond necklace. What a joke. Great-Aunt Norma doesn’t even
believe I’m not high right now. Great-Uncle Alan is sure I must have some kind
of STI.

I’m called names I haven’t heard in a long time, and some I definitely
have. Wes’ taunts seem downright kind compared to most of what I get as the
seconds turn into minutes that seem like days. And throughout it all, my only
remaining blood relation is always there, elaborating on some of the comments,
echoing others, nodding at the rest.

Mrs. Barrett doesn’t have as much to say as I would have
thought, but I suspect it’s because her silence makes it easier for her to bask
in my pain at the bludgeoning by her rallied army. I don’t miss the smirks, the
satisfaction that each blow brings to her, but I say nothing as I let them
land. Flinching a few times, often fighting the urge to throw up.

And then, suddenly, as quickly as it started, it just stops.

It’s almost eerie how the horrible choir bleeds into total silence,
but it’s unmistakable. When it’s clear that the distant sound of a lawn mower
has replaced the taunts and accusations, I raise my eyes, tentatively at first,
and meet theirs. It seems like each gaze is locked on mine, each face waiting
to see what I do with the horrifying chaos just dumped on me. They’re breathing
hard too. Some have tears, some still only display the resurrected fury, but we
finally all agree on one thing. There are no more words. The words are out. The
words are done.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe before
disappearing down the steps and back to our car.

∞∞∞

I break
down the second I’m inside. I was probably stunned for most of what just
happened, but as the full extent hits, it knocks everything out from under me.
I have no idea what’s happening outside of this moment, or if I’ll even live
through it. I can’t breathe from the sobs, pounding the seat with every bit of
strength I have left in me. I don’t want to be here right now. I’d do anything
to make this pain stop. I hate. I love. I fear, regret. God, everything is
slamming into me all at once.

I just can’t fucking
breathe
!

And then, inexplicably, I’m not alone. A whisper of air slips
into the stifling car as the door opens, followed by the soothing scent I’d
recognize anywhere. A firm pressure tightens around my back, then my shoulders,
then
guides me against her. She pulls me tight,
allowing my tears to stain her shirt, holding me as I shatter. I can’t even
begin to speak or acknowledge what’s happened, what’s happening. I just survive.
Survive this moment, like I’ve somehow managed to survive all the rest.

“I’m not going to say you didn’t deserve that, but you’re
done now, Luke. You’re done, ok?” Holland whispers, only making the tears come
harder. “Please let this
be
enough. Please.” She
buries her head in my shoulder as we both hold
on,
waiting to see what time does to us.
Where it leaves us when,
if, it ever shows mercy.

“Why are you still here?” I cry, the words coming out in a
muffled sob, but she only holds on tighter. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Because that was incredible, Luke. You took your ugly and
made it beautiful. You could have let Elena go and instead let her change you.
Because I don’t know if I could ever be as strong as you’ve become.” She lifts
my face and looks into my eyes. “Elena’s death is not your fault. She had an
illness that took her life, but you still stood there and took their pain.”

“Pain I caused.”

“Some, maybe. And you’ve answered for it. You’ve paid. Now
it’s time to honor her.”

I manage a numb nod, silent, exhausted. I’m just so tired
all of a sudden. I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing, remembering,
honoring, as I collapse against her again. She absently runs her fingers
through my hair as we sit in the stillness, and I wonder if I can find a way to
fall asleep and let the unconsciousness give me a brief relief from this
nightmare.

I am chaos. Holland is peace.

“This is what I signed up for, Luke,” she breathes into the
silence. “This is all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

∞∞∞

I
eventually pull myself back together, though of course I can never undo my
complete self-destruction in front of Holland. I expect the moment that follows
to be awkward, but she seems as content as I am to sit in silence, cuddled
against each other, staring out the window. She’s leaning against me now, my
arm draped over her as she settles into my chest, my own back against the door
of the backseat. It’s hard to believe that just a minute ago our universe was a
chaotic firestorm and now we’re wrapped in a cozy cloud of peace.

Distant laughter slips into our silence, but it’s almost
comforting in a way. Reminding me that as long as it still exists somewhere it
might be real again for me one day. Holland traces my fingers, my hand, my
wrist, as we sit, and I close my eyes, resting my head against the warm glass.

“I guess I’m an orphan now,” I muse into the stillness, and
she squeezes my hand.

“I’m sorry, Luke. And I’m especially sorry that you had to
find out that way.”

“She didn’t know her, Holland. My aunt didn’t know my
mother. She only knew a baby sister that left thirty years ago.”

I can feel Holland react and open my eyes to meet her gaze
as she turns. “Your aunt didn’t seem to have a lot of room for understanding
that reality, what your life was like with your mother.”

I’m quiet again as more unwelcome memories return. Maybe
it’s time for this one person to understand. “You know my mother never
contacted me again after I left?”

Holland stiffens, staring at me in disbelief. I can see her
look out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t return it. I continue focusing on
a fly scaling the headrest of the front seat.

“What? Not once?”

I shake my head. “No. Not a birthday card, phone call,
nothing.”

“Luke…”

I squint through the far window again. “I didn’t expect
much, and yet she still managed to completely disappoint. She still managed to make
sure I understood how little I mattered. I’ve been an orphan since I was
fourteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head and finally look at her, willing her to
understand. “I had music, Holland. That’s it. That’s all I had.”

She kisses me, then. Gently at first, then harder as I cup
her face and unleash some of my own pent-up emotion. It feels so good, she
feels so good,
such
a stark contrast to the hell I
just went through. Our connection intensifies as we’re overwhelmed by our sudden
need to heal the fresh wounds, fill the gouges with something beautiful. It’s
almost like I can sense the pain melting away the more I breathe her in.

“Luke, someone might see us,” she whispers, and I sigh.

“I know. You’re right.” I pull back slightly and rest my
forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath. She lifts my chin so she can
meet my gaze.

“Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“You have a family now. You know that, right?
The real kind.
The kind that loves you and
will protect you.
The kind that chose you.”

She searches my eyes and that strange warmth begins to
spread through me again. I can’t even respond at first, her words sinking deep
into my soul and taking root. The emotion starts to rise and I have to swallow
to keep my hold.

“Thank you, Holland.”

She gives me another quick kiss before we spot Callie and
Casey, the rest of my little family, making their way back to us.

∞∞∞

“We
come bearing gifts,” Casey says, climbing into the driver’s seat with two giant
plastic cups. He passes one to me and one to Holland. “How much do you love me
right now?”

I stare at the brown liquid in awe. “Is this…no…
”

He grins and nods. “It is, my friend. The nectar of the gods
itself, Abby Barrett’s lemonade iced tea.”

“It’s pretty good,” Callie assures us.

“Pretty good?” Casey cries, staring at her in disbelief.
“Pretty good? It’s freaking life-changing!”

Callie rolls her eyes. “Hon, it’s extra sweet iced tea.”

Casey groans. “You are
such
a tea snob! It’s sweet, tart, refreshing and amazing. Seriously, I’ve been
bugging her to bottle it for years. The world needs to know about this.”

“Oh my gosh…Casey! It’s. Iced. Tea!”

Casey shakes his head sadly and turns to us. “It’s so
unfortunate. Please try not to pity her. It’s because she considers cold tea an
affront to the very concept of tea. She can’t cope.”

Callie shoves him, and he grins. “I already said it was
good! Sorry if I’m not ready to trade my firstborn son for it!”

“Really? Don’t I get a say in that?” he teases, and she
glares at him.

I can feel Holland’s eyes and exchange an amused look with
her.

“Thanks, guys. This is great. We were thirsty,” Holland adds,
taking another sip.

When the mood settles abruptly, I suck in my breath.

“We heard what happened, man,” Casey begins softly after a
pause. “I’m sorry. Nate said it was brutal.”

I nod and instinctively stare out the window again. I can’t
even begin to respond to that right now. “Thanks. Can you just take us back to
the hotel?” I plead, meeting Casey’s gaze, and I swear ten years pass between
us. I hope he understands how much I love him.

“Of course, bro. We got you.”

I force a grateful smile and turn back to my window as Casey
straps in and starts the car. I feel pressure on my hand and close my eyes as
the tension starts to melt from my body. Holland squeezes, and I squeeze
back,
protecting her hand with everything I have left.

∞∞∞

I’m not
up for anything else after we return to the hotel, and Callie and Casey seem
just as happy to retire as well. They have the dreaded funeral the next day,
and I’m sure they’d appreciate an evening of peace to prepare for that trial.
After today’s adventure, we all agree I should sit this one out.

Holland follows me into my room and drops to the bed,
grabbing the remote in one fluid motion. “So, what’s it going to be? Long,
involved conversation saturated with feelings and angst, or TV?”

I give her a look, and she chuckles, patting the space
beside her.

“Come here.”

I lower myself to the soft comforter and close my eyes,
suddenly so tired I think I’ll fall asleep before she even finds a show to
watch. I can hear the channels change and finally stop on what sounds like a
cooking competition. The warmth of her body soon follows as she snuggles
against me, and I tuck my arm around her, holding her close. She intertwines
her fingers with mine and kisses my hand.

“Did you know I wanted to be a chef before a doctor?” she
asks.

“No,” I mumble from my stupor, amused by the random question.

“Yep. Chef Holland. Has a ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Babe, your name is Holland. No matter what you do it would
have a ring to it. Dr. Holland. President Holland. Tracing Holland.”

She adjusts her position so she’s facing me, and I open my
eyes to meet her.

“I love music, Luke. I love what I do, but I could have done
something else. I could have been a chef, or a doctor, or anything, really, and
the world would have been the same.” She pauses, studying me with an intensity
that always captivates me.
That intelligence behind her eyes.
That grasp of life.
“But not you. You had to be a
musician. There was no choice.”