Fifteen minutes later, I step out of the bathroom scrubbed and dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt bearing the logo of a band from the 70s. Holden pauses the video on his phone, sets the device aside, and I flop onto the couch with a heavy sigh. I’ve gone for a jog every morning since the day I found out who Holden really is, but it still wears me out.
“Tired?”
I nod, resting my head against the back of the couch as I explain the exhaustion from the jog and the fact I’d tossed and turned all night.
“I can leave if—”
“Nah, it’s okay. If I nap now, I definitely won’t sleep tonight, and that would be even worse.”
“I’m surprised Ashton isn’t here,” he comments lightly, his gaze tracking over the tidy living room, and I ignore the stab through my chest.
“Katie—his mom said she wanted to keep him this weekend.” At Holden’s slow nod, I continue without really knowing why: “It’s her way of saying without saying she wants to punish me.”
His head cocks to the side, his face screwing up. “For what?”
“She thinks I was implying she’s a bad mom because I asked her to bring more diapers the next time she brought him over.” I shrug and scratch idly at my thigh. “It’s stupid, but if I try to defend myself, I won’t get to see Ash for even longer.”
“That’s awful.”
“It is what it is.”
Why had I told him all that? I squirm under the weight of his concern, the way he chews on his bottom lip as he stares at me, so I hurriedly change the subject. He brightens when I ask about his biggest influence when it comes to music, and he launches into tales about touring, his songs, how he feels standing on stage in front of thousands of fans. The love he holds for his profession is evident in the exuberant gesticulating and the light in his eyes.
I wonder if I’ll ever be so happy about anything other than my responsibilities with Ashton.
Holden and I don’t do much beyond watching television. He doesn’t mention how often my attention drifts from the shows, and I’m thankful for it. Though I ache at the fact Katie is using my nephew as a tool against me, there’s something not as overwhelming to the hurt as there usually is.Holden. He’s the only difference. He’s here, he’s only feet away, and I’m not completely alone.
It terrifies me, I realize, that he’s such a calming presence after so little time.
Holden proves to be helpful in the kitchen come dinnertime. He dices bell peppers efficiently while I cook chicken and mix honey with soy sauce together. While I sauté the peppers and onions, he sets about making rice. His hand falls warm and strong against my hip as he passes behind me, and I suppress a shiver at the touch.
Don’t get attached, a small voice warns me. He’ll leave, and you’ll have nothing. No, not nothing. I’ll still have Ashton. That’s good enough.
“I need this recipe,” he all but moans as he sets his bowl on the coffee table an hour later.
I bite back a smile and shake my head. “You literally helped make it. You should be able to remember what goes in it.”
“Well, write it down anyway, because that was fucking delicious.”
“I’ll text it to you,” I promise before scooping the last bite of stir-fry into my mouth.
We clean the mess together, and a comfortable silence wraps around us. I put away the dishes while he wraps up the leftovers and finds a place for them in the refrigerator. When he turns around, he has a bottle of wine in hand and a brow raised in question. I debate whether it’s a wine kind of night then promptly decide every night is a wine kind of night. I nod, reaching for a pair of glasses, then follow him to the living room.
To my surprise, we go through two bottles of wine over the next three hours. My words are starting to slur around the edges from alcohol and fatigue. Holden laughs at my pout when I pour the dredges of wine into my glass, and I stick my tongue out at him. I watch him dig his phone from his pocket—when had he slipped it in there?—and a heavy tug emanates from deep in my gut as I stare at him. The stubble that covers the sharp curve of his jaw, the stormy sky-gray of his eyes, the downward tilt to his lips… I know it’s the alcohol and lack of physical relationship over the past two years, but my body is definitely reacting to what I see in front of me. With a frown, I glower at my lap.
“Fucking useless, shut up.”
Holden’s head snaps up, and his brows stitch together. “Did you just call your—” He gestures. “—fucking useless and tell it to shut up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because itisuseless.”
“I…”
I wave a hand vaguely, cutting off his attempt to find words. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”
