“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, padding up behind me and wrapping his arms around my torso.
“Are we falling back into the same pattern as before?”
“What do you mean?”
“We haven’t actually talked.”
He exhales a soft sigh and rests his cheek against my hair. “We haven’t. I guess we just got caught up in, uh, other things.”
“We did. Very, very good things.” He nods vigorously, and I huff out a laugh before continuing: “But what do you say we go pick up Ashton because you know you miss the hell out of him, we have dinner as a family, and then tonight, you and I will get down to talking?”
“That sounds like a plan. This mean you’ll have to get dressed,” he reminds me when I don’t move.
I nudge him with my elbow then grin up at him before heading toward the stairs. Holden doesn’t follow after me, but I can’t complain. I don’t need to be getting distracted again. As I drape my robe over the end of the bed, I let out a slow breath then make my way to the closet. Something in the back of my mind struggles to settle right.f
It isn’t until I’ve pulled a lilac-colored sundress on over my underwear that I realize what it is: This is what I’ve wanted for so long. Even when I tried to pretend otherwise, I have always craved a loving relationship, one in which I could be myself and be accepted—flaws and all. My parents may not be shining examples of successful marriages, but I’ve used that as a marker. A goal to strive towards. A path to avoid taking.
And now I’m happier than I could ever imagined. I have amazing friends. Tristan and Luci, in all their bluntness, have never steered me wrong. They have been there through all the drama and letdowns with Katie. My parents are wonderful, always offering a listening ear and advice and their presence. I have new friends in Holden’s.
And now, I have the most fantastic, caring, generous man waiting for me downstairs so we can pick up the kid we’re raising together. A child that’s not ours but is. My heart has never been so full, and I could drown in the peace that comes with knowing I have a support system—a circle of love with no end.
Retrieving Ashton from Phil and Sam’s is an adventure. Phil is on a call, so he barely waves hello to Holden and me when we step into the house. He ends up having to go to the other room because Ashton and Henry won’t stop running around, screeching at the top of their lungs no matter how many times they’re reminded to use their indoor voices. My face grows hot, my stomach churning, as I rush to quiet the boys.
But Holden acts as if it’s just another day as he lifts Ashton into his arms and murmurs something into the toddler’s ear. Ashton quiets immediately.
We cook dinner together, with Holden at the stove while I handle prep. Ashton acts as taste-tester. The domesticity of it all is heartwarming and makes me long for things to remain this way forever. Holden is so gentle with the child, as ever, and I smile to myself. Everything feels like it’s fallen into place.
“He did not want to go to sleep,” Holden complains as he drops facedown onto the mattress at bedtime, and I stifle my giggle. “This isn’t funny. Seven songs. I sangseven songsto him before he finally closed his eyes.”
I shrug and set my journal aside. “He’s missed you. Y’know, this is the first time you’ve complained about anything since we got back.”
“Because I’m too glad you two are back home to be unhappy.”
“Ugh, you’re too cute. C’mere, I wanna cuddle.”
Holden laughs but does as I demand. True to my word, I snuggle into his side and sigh heavily. He may be glad we’re home again, but he will never be as happy as I am.
Joy at being home aside, I can’t help but ask: “You don’t think I’m with you just for your money, do you?”
Holden pushes himself up onto his elbows and stares at me with a frown tugging at his lips. I pull away, sit up, and begin picking at the hangnail on my index finger. I avoid meeting his gaze; I never thought to ask him before, always figured he knows why I accepted the start of our relationship with him, but the blogger’s assumptions have weighed heavily on my mind lately. I’m not sure which answer would be worse.
If Holden says he knows his fame and wealth isn’t the reason, I’m taking the risk of putting that doubt in his mind. But if he admits that it’s crossed his mind, why is he dating me? Why does he love me? That kind of fear can’t be easily dissuaded, so is he just waiting for me to come clean so he can leave me without remorse?
“Where’s this coming from?”
It isn’t what I want to hear, but I know this is probably the best response I could have expected. It is neither accusatory nor invalidating. And at least he’s not yelling. I bring my knees to my chest and stare down at my toenails.
“There’s a blog—”
“Okay, first, there’s your problem. You’re letting other people put crazy thoughts into your head.” Holden reaches for me, and his touch is so tender as he runs his hand down my back. “If I ever, even for a second, thought you were only after what I could give you and Ashton, I wouldn’t be with you. I wouldn’t have gone to Austin to drag your ass back home.”
“You didn’t think that ever? Not even in the beginning?”
Holden chuckles, tugging me into his side, and I relax as he begins twirling the end of my hair between his fingertips. “I’ll admit, it was a small doubt when we first met. I thought maybe you were just being nice and pretending you didn’t know who I was. But you seemed genuinely surprised when you found out I’m a singer.”
“I almost ended our friendship when I found out,” I admit, and Holden pauses.
“I’m glad you didn’t. Dealla, I don’t doubt your feelings for me, no matter what some miserable, lonely soul on the internet thinks. It took you a year to say you love me. If you’d wanted my money, you would’ve made your move as soon as possible. Unless you’re really good at the long con?”
