“Okay, first off, how often have you talked to him? Don’t answer that, why am I asking you?” he mutters as he taps at the screen. “Oh, wow. You told him about Ashton, like, right off the bat. And this is alotof texts, Dealla. Do you two talk every day?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” I blow out a breath and give my friend a pleading look. “What am I gonna do?”
“Keep being his friend,” Tristan says simply.
“Tristan—”
“I’m serious, Deals. There’s obviously a connection between y’all, and since he’s who he evidently is, I don’t think he really gets to be friends with people without his status being brought up or worrying about if they’re using him. Besides, what could it hurt to have another friend? You don’t have nearly enough of those.”
“I have you and Luci. What more do I need?”
“And now you have him.” Tristan sighs, pushing my phone back toward me, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Look. It’s ultimately up to you, but I suggest you handle this with delicacy and tact. Anddon’tsabotage this friendship just because of who he is.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“I know you. I love you, Dealla Taylor, but I know you.”
I know he’s right—I’ve always done what I could to protect myself from any sort of pain, and this… This whatever ‘this’ is I have with Holden is ambiguous enough. It already promises future hurt if I’m not careful.
Pushing to my feet, I tuck my phone into my back pocket and head toward the door. My heart thunders beneath my breast. Tristan calls after me, but I ignore him and slip out onto the sidewalk. As much as I love him, he can’t help me right now.
The running paths are mostly devoid of others when I arrive. The city is busy with other responsibilities at nine-thirty on a Wednesday morning. I make sure the laces of my sneakers are tied securely, the doors of my SUV locked, and hook the keys to my bra strap. I hesitate then open my music app. The song starts again, and I gaze down at the face on the screen. Gray eyes glitter up at her, a half-smile pulling up one corner of Holden’s mouth, and I sigh before setting off in a jog.
It takes under two hours before my muscles ache and protest movement. I slow to a stop in the middle of the walking bridge and lean against the tall balustrade. My lungs burn as I pant and drag in quiet gasps of air, but I smile into the pain. My mind is no clearer, but I feel lighter, as if I have run off the brunt of my emotions.
The river flows lazily beneath me; various boats dot the expanse of shimmering water. Green trees surround me, line the river, and it all reminds me of why I love Austin so much. It’s a home I’ve never found before—even as a child living with my parents—and it bustles with life, both human and nature.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it from the band wrapped around my bicep. Five texts sit in my inbox from Holden and another from Tristan, and I wince. I read Tristan’s first, a simpleRemember what I said, silly girl, and hesitate but move on to Holden’s. They’re clearly boredom-induced, and I let out a quiet laugh at the stream of consciousness. I reply, asking if I can call him in a few, before turning in the direction of my car.
“Hey, I was beginning to think you forgot about me,” Holden says lightly when he answers my call an hour later.
I roll my eyes and put the call on speakerphone. Grabbing my hairbrush, I run it through my shower-damp hair. “Sorry, I went for a run. Then I came home to take a shower and lost track of time. So what’s up?”
“I, uh, I have some free time coming up this next week, and I was thinking maybe you could show me around Austin?”
I freeze. He wants to come back? To seeme? He’s a musician—a relatively well-known country presence, judging by his social media profiles that I absolutely did not trawl—and I’m a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But...
I do want to see him again.
“I’d like that,” I finally manage to respond, and I bite back the giggle when I hear a gust of breath crackling down the line. “Holden, you’re always welcome here. I’d just like a heads-up.”
“Well, we don’t really know each other that well, so I didn’t wanna just invite myself.”
“We’ve been talking for a month. I think I can trust you enough to not, like, cut my throat and hack me into pieces or something.”
Holden barks out a laugh. “Why does your mind always go to murder?”
“I watch too much true crime.”
He laughs again, and I set my brush on the counter and tug a tank-top over my head. The silence between us stretches on, but it’s a comfortable thing, an easiness I’ve only ever felt with Tristan and Luci. I wonder about it, but then he’s speaking, telling her of his plans over the next few days. There is no mention of his music, and I chew on her lower lip as I pull on a pair of leggings.
Should I ask him about his music? Ask him why he’s kept it from me?
“You listening?”
Holden’s question startles me back to attention. My thoughts have consumed me, and I’ve missed most of what he was saying. Clearing my throat, I assure him I’m still here, I’m paying attention—now. Holden doesn’t say anything for a moment, then he speaks:
“What are you thinking about?”
