Holden freezes, then he turns his head to stare at me over his shoulder. His gray eyes narrow, lips tugging down into a scowl, but I don’t shrink back from his glare. I only stare impassively back at him. My ears fill with the roar of my thundering heartbeat, and my limbs feel heavy. My skin washes hot then cold then hot again. Everything in me wants to move, wants to shift and squirm and wiggle its way out from under the weight of his expression. Despite all this, I sit still. I wait.
Eventually, Holden blows out a breath. The silence between them stretches on—I am determined not to be the reason it breaks—but finally,finally, he speaks.
“I don’t want to complain. It’s fine, I’ll get over it.”
“No, complain away.”
His gaze darts to the space on the bed beside me; I hold my breath until he sits and scoots closer. His hand finds mine easily, and he lets me hold onto him.
“I love having you and Ashton here, you know that, right? I don’t regret asking you to move in.”
“But?”
Oh, God, don’t let this ‘but’ be the end.
“It stresses me out to come home and see Ash’s toys everywhere, especially right before bedtime.”
The words are rushed, a mishmash of syllables that takes me multiple heartbeats to understand. I blink once, thrice, then scoop my phone off the nightstand. Holden scoffs, abruptly shoving away from me. When I meet his gaze, it’s to find his eyes aflame with rage and the planes of his face sharp and severe.
“Really? You’re going to check your messages. Right now. When I’m trying to fucking talk to you.”
I shake my head quickly—vehemently—and show him the screen of my phone. The numbers ratchet upward with each second that passes. His eyes follow my movements as I set the phone between us. He hesitantly lowers himself back to the bed, and I gesture for him to speak, to tell me what’s bothering him.
“Why are you recording us?” he asks instead, and I shrug.
“Because this is important to you. I don’t want to forget or be able to say you never said anything about it.”
“Dee…”
I shake my head again and pick up his hand where it rests next to my phone. “It’s okay. I just, I want you to be happy with us here. If something is bothering you, I want you to be able to talk to me. I need to know. I need to have the chance to fix it.”
Holden exhales sharply through his nose then nods succinctly. He doesn’t look at me, his finger running over the smooth curve of my nails, the ridge of my knuckles, and I listen as he tells me how frustrated he gets when he sees books and toys on the floors outside of Ashton’s bedroom. When it takes nearly an hour of picking up with a fussing toddler because they put off the clean-up until after his pre-bed cartoons.
“I know you have a lot to do around here, between Ashton and trying to catch up on your classes and work—”
“But I could do a better job of making sure the house isn’t a disaster zone caused by Tornado Toddler. I get it.” I exhale slowly, flipping my hand over to twine our fingers together. “You’re right. I’ve been slacking. You do a lot around here, even with you about to go into the studio, and I haven’t been. I’ll do better.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
He shakes his head and reclines against his pillows. I squeeze his hand then tap my phone’s screen. After saving the recording, I toss the device onto the nightstand and turn to Holden. He doesn’t hesitate—he opens his arms and lets me curl into his side. I rest my hand on his chest and let my palm absorb the steady strength of his heartbeat.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper. “I didn’t realize it was so hard on you. I’m sorry for that.”
“I could have told you at any point over the last month,” he counters.
“Just let me be apologetic, okay?”
He laughs softly, jostling my shoulders until I rise up. We meet in the middle, a warm kiss that sends my heart pounding against her ribs. I tilt my head, my lips part, and I shift so I can straddle his waist. His hands come up to grip my hips; his thumbs press against the ridge of bone, and his touch brands my skin. I huff out a breath through my nose, press closer, and try to convey the words I can’t speak aloud.
I adjust the neckline of my cream-colored dress, smoothing out the lacy edges, then reach for my denim jacket. It’s one of the more unseasonably warm days, but I know the mid-March weather has a chance of turning without warning. After a quick check in the mirror to make sure my hair and makeup are flawless, I turn off the light and pad downstairs with bare feet.
I’ve just reached the foyer when the doorbell rings. I roll my eyes but head to the door, pulling it open. My giggle at the situation fades when I see Holden on the other side. He has dressed casually, much like I have, but he makes casual look beyond perfect. My mouth goes dry as I give him a once-over.
“Hi,” he says softly, his lips curving, “I’m here to pick up Dealla.”
I shake my head, biting my lower lip, even as a laugh escapes me in a huff. “One second.”
