Hold Me Close: A Cinnamon Roll Box Set

by Talia Hibbert

  Of course, Ravenswood was a small town, and they shared the same friends, so he was probably doomed. Maybe he should give up and accept his fate: eternally unrequited adoration. Zach sighed, followed Nate and Evan into the living room, and sank into his favourite armchair like a sack of bones and despair.

  Evan’s brows rose. “I’m glad we came. Obviously, we’re not a moment too soon.”

  “What are you talking about?” Zach asked, then muttered, “Actually, I don’t care. Piss off.”

  “This is an intervention,” Nate said in his Firm and Fatherly voice. It didn’t work on his kids, and it wasn’t working on Zach, either.

  “Piss. Off.”

  Nate’s expression softened, a worried crease appearing between his brows. “Zach. Do you need help?”

  Fuck. That wasn’t a question Zach could brush off, because he and Nate had promised each other—with good reason—to always answer it honestly, so he forced himself to breathe. To sort through his emotions. He found a tempest inside himself, all rage and pain and soul-deep disappointment, but that was it. He was heartbroken, but he wasn’t depressed, so he wasn’t in any particular danger.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t need help.”

  Nate didn’t ask if he meant it. Just nodded. “Alright. You fucked up with Rae, huh?”

  You fucked up with Rae. Zach gritted his teeth and willed himself not to blow. Or at least, to keep a lid on the explosion, same way he always did. But maybe keeping a lid on it had left him with charred insides. Maybe someone else should feel the fucking heat for a change.

  Before he could think better of it, he said sharply, “Because this has to be my fault, right?”

  Nate blinked, clearly brought up short. Evan leapt into the silence, always the peacekeeper, shooting Nate a warning glare. “No. Of course not. Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

  But the calming voice didn’t work. There was a tide of anger rising in Zach, bitter and harsh and eternally unspoken. He’d held it back for so long, just in case too much temper drove people away. In case it made everyone—even his brother—disappear again.

  Well, fuck that. It wasn’t Zach’s job to make anyone hang around. And he wasn’t to blame if they left.

  “You know what’s wrong with me?” he asked, rising to his feet. “What’s wrong with me is I’m fucking furious.”

  Nate blinked, sitting up straight. “With—me? What did I—?”

  “With everything.” The words weren’t supposed to come out as a shout, but they did, bouncing off the house’s high, cobwebbed ceilings. The slight echo felt like support. Which, in turn, reminded Zach of Rae.

  When he spoke again, he was quieter, but every word burned. “I’m pissed at all my so-called fucking friends for disappearing when I needed them. I’m pissed at Callie Michaelson for loitering outside work when she needed her car fixed, even though I hadn’t seen her in months. I’m pissed at both of you” —he jabbed a finger at Evan, who looked confused and horrified all at once— “for bugging me to hook up with someone. Even though I know you meant well, and you’re trying to be supportive, and it’s not your fault that you don’t know I’m demisexual.”

  Snapping out each word felt like bleeding the poison from Zach’s veins, filling him with an odd, giddy sort of relief. He was finally doing it. He was releasing everything that festered inside him, pouring it somewhere other than a hunk of molten metal, and his world hadn’t collapsed yet.

  Quite the opposite, actually. Despite his aching heart, despite his misery, Zach was flying. Soaring. Free.

  Evan, sounding mildly dazed, said, “Demiwhat?”

  Still irritable, Zach muttered, “And I’m pissed I’ll always have to fucking explain that.” But then he remembered the person he didn’t have to explain it to, and that made everything worse. The fire in him evaporated, and he sat down again, so hard it jarred his bones. Under his breath, he said finally, “I’m pissed that I’m in love with Rae, and she’s still in love with her ex.”

  There was a moment of dumbfounded silence before Evan beamed, “You’re in love with Rae?”

  Almost at the same time, Nate scowled, “Rae’s in love with her ex?”

  It was weird; the first of those sentences hit Zach right, a humming note of truth, while the second grated on him like the scream of steel on steel. He opened his mouth to say “Yes,” anyway, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

  “Are you sure?” Nate went on, his scepticism obvious. “Because according to Hannah, Rae hates her ex’s guts.”

  “Yeah, well,” Zach bit out. “Hannah’s smart, but she’s not a bloody mind reader. Things are… complicated.”

  “Did she tell you she loved him?” Evan asked, reasonable as ever.

  “Rae’s not so good at saying things out loud.” Although it hit Zach suddenly that she had, in fact, said something out loud on that horrible night. Repeatedly.

  “No.”

  He’d asked if she was in love with Kevin, and she’d said no.

  Zach swallowed and sat up straight. He heard his brother say something, but he couldn’t focus on the words. His mind was stuck on the night of the ceremony, a night that blurred with hurt and frustration and distrust. He hadn’t believed Rae’s denial, had dismissed it instantly, but now he polished murky details until they shone like gems, and remembered…

  The shock in her voice, as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying. The vehemence. And her obvious, tongue-tied discomfort, which he’d put down to their awkward conversation. Only now did it occur to him that Rae hated to argue in public.

  He’d been so preoccupied that he’d forgotten that. Again.

  “Hey.” Nate raised his voice, cutting through Zach’s concentration. “Are you listening to me?”

  “No.”

  That gave the other man pause. “Uh… are you sure you’re okay?”

  Zach repeated, “No.”

  Nate and Evan shared a look.

  He ignored it. Possibility was dawning in him like some toxic sun. He shouldn’t stare directly at the light, but he had a suspicion that refused to let go, and he owed it to himself to prove or disprove it. Surely, he deserved that much.

  Slowly, Zach said, “I need you guys to leave. I have something to do.”

  Nate snorted. “I’m not leaving. You just dropped more than a few bombs on us, and I want to make sure you’re—”

  “Listen,” Zach cut in, because he had something urgent to deal with. “I need you to go.”

  “Zach—”

  “By the way,” he added, “demisexuality is a way of feeling attraction that’s on the asexual spectrum. I’m demi, and I don’t give a fuck what you think about that. Even if—especially if—you don’t think it’s real, or that it matters. But I trust you, and neither of you are arseholes, so I’m 99% positive everything’s going to be fine. If you could both fuck off and Google it, so I don’t have to play teacher, and maybe text me to let me know you’re not gonna be dicks, that’d be amazing. Thanks.” He strode across the room, grabbed both speechless men by the arm, and dragged them with surprising ease toward the door. Apparently, they were too astonished to put up much a fight.

  “Zach,” Evan tried, “do you think we could all just talk—”

  “Later. I promise, later. I’m busy.”

  “Wait,” Nate said. “Just so you know, I don’t give a fuck if you’re demi… uh, demisexual. I don’t know what it is yet, but I know I support you. Okay?”

  Zach met his brother’s eyes, a slight smile curving his lips. “Okay.”

  “Me, too,” Evan added.

  “Good. Now piss off.” Zach shoved them out of the door with a quick goodbye, then went to grab his wallet and keys. He needed to buy a book.

  But, before he could leave the house, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. He pulled it out and saw a notification that stopped him in his tracks. Someone had replied to his thread, the one about Rae.

  WonderWomxn81: Been there. I know it’s hard to belie
ve, but everything will be okay in the end. <3

  He stared at the message for long moments, a bittersweet smile curving his lips. For some reason, this calm support from a distant stranger meant a hell of a lot. Maybe because the stranger, whoever they were, got it. Maybe because that stranger didn’t have to remain one. After a while, the bittersweet part of Zach’s pleasure faded, leaving plain old satisfaction and a brand-new strength behind.

  Perhaps reading Kevin’s book would unlock some grand mystery that brought Zach and Rae back together. But if it didn’t—if he never truly had her, and this was really it—well. He’d survive.

  Remembering that helped.

  Rae wanted to find Zach and fix things. She did. Maybe she even could. But she’d decided, after four days spent working through the thorny tangle of her own fear, that she shouldn’t.

  Their argument had started with a misunderstanding, but that in itself proved she wasn’t right for him. If she were, she could’ve stopped things before they went too far. Could’ve overcome all her layers of anxiety and taken control of the situation. If Rae was the kind of woman Zach needed, she would’ve whispered her secret in his ear, and said without hesitation that she trusted him, that she returned his feelings, and everything would’ve been fine.

  But she hadn’t.

  The most galling part of it all was knowing that she did trust Zach. After hours of lying awake in their hotel room with tears streaming down her cheeks, the realisation had arrived to crush what was left of her heart. She trusted Zach Davis like no-one else—which was why she’d made him her fake boyfriend in the first place, why she’d shared her secrets and her desire with him—but the feeling was so unnatural and unexpected that she’d never even recognised it.

  Which described her problem in a nutshell, didn’t it? She was a mess of hesitation, and he was the kind of man who loved unreservedly. She kept too many parts of herself locked up safe, but sometimes safe was another word for trapped. She’d grown to rely on her cage, and until she was ready to change that, she should stay away from him.

  Still, for the thousandth time in a handful of days, she found herself staring at his name in her phone, wondering if it would be so wrong to call.

  Rae sighed, put the phone down, and bent to tangle her fingers in Duke’s silky fur. He rolled his teddy bear eyes up at her, sympathy glimmering in their depths, or possibly condemnation. Her interpretation depended on her mood.

  “Take pity,” she said. “I am just a sad and lonely dog mum.”

  Duke huffed and pushed his wet nose into her palm. His sweetness made her smile, but it didn’t make her whole again, didn’t even slap a bandage on her many wounds. That wasn’t Duke’s fault, or anyone else’s. Rae had changed. Become just that bit more tragic, she supposed. Must be a side-effect of feeling love slip through your fingers like sand.

  “I should put some of this melodrama to use,” she told Duke, letting go of his fur with one last, wistful pat. She was sitting at her desk, determined to be productive and creative and brilliant. She still had her stories, after all, and they would never leave. In fact, her current misery was perfect for a scene she had planned, one involving betrayal by a lifelong friend and blood-spattered, tear-stained cheeks. She could do this, at least. Her wits were sharp, her talent was unmatched, and oh, for Christ’s sake, her phone was ringing. Hadn’t she turned it off?

  Irritated, she snatched it up and answered without checking the display. “Hello?”

  “Baby! Finally. I hope you don’t always answer the phone like that, dear. It’s not very charming.”

  Rae’s stomach dropped out of her body, smashed a hole through the floor, and sank into her shiny new house’s foundations. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  It was her mother.

  Maybe Duke heard that grating, upbeat trill, because he stood and put his big head in Rae’s lap. She slid her fingers into his fur again and took a deep breath. “Hi, Mum.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point asking where you’ve been,” Marilyn sighed. “Honestly, anyone would think I had no daughter!”

  The words made Rae’s gut clench. She’d heard them too many times, thrown like grenades in an argument, to see them as anything other than a honeyed threat.

  “Sorry.” She waited for more veiled barbs, for the inevitable escalation, but Marilyn just tutted. She must be in a good mood. Perhaps this would be one of their happy moments, a conversation where nothing particularly terrible happened and Rae forgot to hate her mother. That would be nice. That would be just what she needed, right now.

  “Well, never mind,” Marilyn said, and Rae’s heart gave a hopeful little hop. “How are you, my dear? How’s work? What have you been up to?”

  “Work’s good, thank you. The convention was last weekend—I don’t know if you remember. I didn’t win anything, but it was actually quite—”

  “That’s nice, darling. It’s been a nightmare over here, of course, an absolute nightmare.”

  Rae rolled her lips inward, swallowing her words. “Oh, right. Really?”

  “Yes. Your father—”

  “Not my father,” Rae murmured for the thousandth time.

  “—insisted we get up early for some awful nature ramble, and you’ll never guess what happened.”

  There was a pause.

  “Well, go on,” Marilyn said sharply. “Guess.”

  Rae cleared her throat, running her tongue nervously over the scar inside her cheek. “Ah… you got lost?”

  “No.”

  “You twisted an ankle?”

  “No,” Marilyn said, sounding deeply irritated. “Honestly, Baby, it’s like conversing with a dead thing. If you don’t have time to talk to your own mother, just say so.”

  And here were the warning signs. Marilyn seemed to live off confrontation like a leech fattened by discord. When Rae was younger, her mother’s unrelenting arguments had been a devastating tornado, closing Rae’s throat and making her palms sweat. She’d never quite gotten over that childhood fear.

  But, for some reason, it was oddly absent today. There was no room for it. She was too busy being pissed off. “For God’s sake, Mum, just tell me.”

  There was a wounded gasp. An ominous silence. And then it began. “Was there any need for that tone?”

  Rae took a breath and said patiently, “I don’t have a tone.”

  “Of course you don’t, because it’s never you, is it? It’s always someone else’s fault.”

  Her heart pounded its way up her throat. “Mum—”

  “One of these days,” Marilyn went on sadly, “you’ll realise just how much I put up with. You were a difficult child, and now you’re a difficult woman. It’s as if you don’t want anyone to love you. I mean, bad enough that you ruined your face—”

  Ruined? Rae curled her hands into fists, her nails decorating her palms with crescent moons.

  “—but you had a wonderful husband who stayed with you anyway. He was so devoted! Except, you just can’t help yourself, can you? You’re so excruciatingly miserable. I’m not surprised he needed a little freedom, in the end.”

  Rae squeezed the phone so hard her fingers paled. “That’s enough, Mother.”

  “Now look at the mess you’re in. You’re not young and beautiful anymore, you know. Who’s going to overlook your—your ways? It’s high time you realised you aren’t nearly as wonderful as you think you are.”

  Snap. The sound was almost audible. For a moment, Rae thought she’d broken her phone. Then she realised that razor-edged twang had been the death of her stretched-thin patience.

  “That’s enough, Mother.” Her voice was harder than it had ever been during a conversation like this. Usually, she could barely speak, was too busy fighting shocked tears, her mind curling in on itself to hide from each verbal blow. But not today.

  “Baby! Don’t shout at me,” Marilyn gasped, a slight wobble in her voice.

  So many times, that wobble had convinced Rae she was a monster. That she, not her m
other, was the problem with their relationship. That whenever she spoke out, she ruined things. And that belief, in turn, was why Rae had let Kevin control her, stifle her, drain her dry; it had seemed safer than the alternative. She’d been taught so thoroughly that standing up for herself was an act of aggression, it had taken her forty fucking years to figure out who she really was.

  The realisation shimmered through her like an awakening. Her mother, Kevin—they were both so manipulative in such similar ways, and no-one had ever given her the tools to see it, never mind to defend herself. That was the problem. Not trust, but trusting the wrong people. Hadn’t she learned, after laughing with Hannah and drinks at the Unicorn and kissing the man she loved, what closeness should be?

  She had. It might take her a while and a whole lot of help to remember, sometimes. But she knew. Underneath the fear, she knew.

  So, she set her shoulders, lifted her chin, and fought back. “You don’t get to behave like this, Mother. You don’t get to hurt the people who care about you. Not me, anyway, because I’m not going to let you.”

  Marilyn made a faint, strangled sound. “Baby Ann. What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” Rae snapped, then thought for a moment. “Or maybe you really, genuinely don’t. In which case, that’s sad, but it doesn’t make this okay. And it’s not my job to bear the brunt of your fucked up-ness. If that makes me a bad daughter, so be it. Because you are a bad mother.”

  The words seemed to hover in the air, as if she could reach out and snatch them back. As if she could recall the blasphemy safely into her mouth. But she didn’t want to, because it was true. She released a pent-up breath, and her tense muscles loosened. The weight in her belly faded away. It was fucking true.

  “Well,” Marilyn huffed, part-wounded, part-raging. “Well!”

  In a second, she’d recover from this shock, and then she’d launch some clever, scathing attack. It might slice Rae to pieces, or it might bounce off her new protective shield. They’d never know, because Rae didn’t wait for it to come. She ended the call with a tap, but that didn’t seem final enough, so she threw her phone at the wall for good measure.