Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Yeah, maybe so.”
“Okay. Look, I pulled off the road. I’ll call you when I get home and—”
“No, no. I’m all right. I swear.” I pushed my hand through my hair, resisting the urge to pull it out. “It’s just that…right this second, life feels a little out of control.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling well. It sucks. But you’re gonna be okay, Ez. You’re gonna be okay.”
“I know.”
“Love you, baby brother.”
I disconnected the call, sank into the nearest chair, and buried my head in my knees. Fuck, what was wrong with me? I was fucking spiraling. There was no safe harbor anymore.
That was the problem with too much truth. It left you exposed and vulnerable and…completely lost. I wanted to cry like a kid for the father I’d idolized and lost too soon, and the man I loved and—
Fuck.
I loved him.
I loved Holden.
The truth of it hit me so hard, I couldn’t move for a few minutes. It was a beautiful, blinding sort of revelation that rolled over me like a tidal wave, making it impossible to deny.
This was what love felt like. It was a kick in the balls and a sock in the jaw. It twisted my guts in two and yet somehow, I needed it.
I needed him.
I muddled through the rest of the day with my head down, moving my things like a ghost flitting between rooms, making more of a mess than if I’d waited for Blake and Cole’s help over the weekend. But I couldn’t sit still. I worked till I was tired, cranking the volume on a Jay-Z classic to keep myself from listening for the sound of Holden’s car on the drive.
And when the walls upstairs began to close in on me, I headed for the kitchen to do fuck knows what. Rearrange the pantry?
“What are you doing?”
I hit my head on the pantry door and turned. “Holden.”
Beautiful Holden…with his perfectly coiffed hair, smarty-pants glasses, a wrinkly white button-down shirt, and khakis. He looked so…perfect. So…mine.
He was mine, and I had to fucking fix this.
He ran his finger over the packages of dried pasta I’d left on the counter and crossed his arms. “You’re cleaning?”
“Organizing…kind of. How was your day?” I asked stiffly.
“Okay. I talked to Val. She’ll be singing your praises for a while. Your boss’s check was obscenely generous.”
I winced. “I’m really sorry about Rossman and all the BS with Mallory. You’re right. It was a lie of omission. Or a half truth. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I have a habit of only wanting to know what’s convenient. It won’t happen again.”
“I understand. He’s your boss and it’s your job. And—”
“I quit.”
Holden frowned. “What? Why?”
“It didn’t feel like such a good fit after all. I’ll look for something else. I can always do temp work until I find out if I passed the bar. I’ve saved a lot of money and…I’ll be all right.”
“Oh.” He inclined his head and fiddled with the crinkly wrap on the pasta some more. “I noticed the boxes in the foyer. Are those yours?”
“Yeah, I’ll try to be out by the weekend.” I hated the uber-polite tone our conversation had taken, but I was drowning here.
Tell him the truth, Ez. Just tell him.
His nostrils flared as he adjusted his glasses. “Right. Okay. Um…can I help you?”
No, I didn’t want his help. And no, I didn’t want to go anywhere.
My lungs were on fire. I hadn’t dealt with this many bottled-up emotions in eons.
In a rom-com, this would be where I’d get on my knees and beg him to give me another chance. I’d have one of Shakespeare’s best lines at the ready too. He’d be so blown away by my chivalrous display that he’d jump in my arms and agree that we should give us a chance.
But you know…I was me and I didn’t know how to do romance. So like an idiot, I took him up on his offer to help me pack instead. Like we could somehow be what we never were…boring roommates who bent over backward to be polite.
Sirens were roaring in my head now. Think, think. Say the words. Tell him the truth.
I had to get his attention and I—
A lightbulb went on in my head. It was a lame, silly, stupid idea, but maybe it was enough.
“I’m gonna grab something from the garage. Hang tight.”
I hurried to pull his cooler out of storage, dragged it into the kitchen, and set it on the table.
Holden pointed at the cooler, then finished drying his hands on a dish towel. “What’s that for?”
“I’m out of boxes. This’ll work in a pinch.”
Holden put his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow. “You can’t use a cooler to move things.”
“Why not? The last of my books will fit in nicely, and it’s better for the environment,” I replied matter-of-factly.