The Secret (Magnolia Grove #4)

by J. B. McGee

  “What?” she asks.

  “I’m going to make sure your parents come see you if it’s the last thing I do today because you need to talk to them. You need your mother. You’re sick.”

  She nods. “I don’t know how we get past this. So many obstacles, Holden. I know love isn’t easy, but I’m not sure it should be this hard.”

  Reaching out, I grab her hand. “Together is what I hope you’ll decide,” I say, bringing her hand to my lips. “We get through it together. It’s the only thing we haven’t tried. We’ve done it apart for nine years. It hasn’t worked.”

  “Why are you telling me this now? Here? Today?”

  I nod, expecting this question. My stomach is clenched so tight, I feel like I’m going to vomit. But at least she’s talking to me. Maybe all hope isn’t lost. On the free fall, there’s always a catch before you drop, though, a moment when you think there’s hope but it’s really just an illusion. I hope that’s not the ride we’re on.

  I stand up, glance out the window, and back at her. “I told you. But also because I need you to know his hatred for me may be just as strong as his love for you.”

  I lean in and give her what may be our last kiss. She doesn’t touch me back. The only connection we have is through our lips. But it’s like they have their own language. She doesn’t resist me, instead fully accepts everything I give as tears slip down our cheeks and mix together.

  “I need you to think long and hard about whether I’m worth the rift that’s formed between you and your parents. As much as I don’t like your father and he doesn’t like me, he’s still your dad. And if the worst thing he ever did was love you, want to protect you…” I shrug and put my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her again. “I don’t know. I just can’t live with myself thinking I may be the reason you two never speak again. That you could have been here dying, and they hate me so much they would turn their back on you.”

  Fuck, this realization hurts worse than all the other shit I just said. “They aren’t the reason you’re ultimately crying every Sunday morning when a text never arrives from your mother.” I swipe her tear. “I am. And I can’t bear to be the reason you’re hurting. Not anymore. Never again. It has to be your choice.”

  She sniffs, but doesn’t say anything. Just shakes her head. It’s too much, I’m sure, to take in. And a complete dick move on my part. But all I can think about is when Vi was here. How scary it was to be here alone without her family for that little bit. How much she needed us. And Cam needs her family—not just me.

  The corners of my lips twitch. “If we’re going to be completely honest, I did tell him to go to hell, though, and it felt damn good.”

  She laughs, which makes the pit in my stomach lessen a smidge.

  “I didn’t fight for you then, Cam. It may seem like I’m not doing it now, but I am. The question is, will you fight for me? He took your choice away nine years ago. I’m giving it back to you.”

  I give her one last kiss, savoring her lips against mine, her strawberry scent, and the way her hair, her face, feels beneath my fingers. Pulling back, I gaze in her eyes for a second while memorizing her face and the sound of her breathless from my assault on her lips. And then I do the hardest thing I have ever done all over again. I walk away from the love of my life, the soul to which mine is cosmically bound.

  There’s a part of me that wants to stay with her, give her five minutes to digest the information, and then start begging her to choose me—not relenting until she does. But I don’t have anything else to say, and I can’t be near her without wanting my hands and lips all over her body. All of it is too damn painful.

  Making my way to the nurse’s station, I do something I’ve never done before. “Could I use your phone?” If they won’t answer Cammie’s calls, maybe they’ll answer the hospital’s.

  “There are phones in the patient rooms,” a nurse with short white hair and eyes that look tired, but express annoyance says.

  “Ah, yes, I know. But I didn’t want the patient to hear the conversation.”

  “There is a phone you can use down the hall in the ICU waiting room.”

  As much as I’ve been here, I know where that is. I just didn’t want to go there. Even all these years later, it’s too much. “Any other locations with phones I can use?”

  She stares at me.

  “I just don’t want to tie up resources for those families.”

  Finally, she points behind her. “There’s a family room that way. The code is nine-three-two-four.”

  I give her my megawatt smile. “Thank you!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  When I arrive, I punch the code in and breathe a sigh of relief that the room is empty. Grabbing the phone, I dial Cammie’s parents’ house. The number has been the same our whole life, so I have it memorized. It rings a few times, and I fear they have become the type to only answer people who leave a message or if it’s a number they recognize—and actually want to talk to—because they clearly recognize our numbers. My hope was even if that’s the case, they’d disregard it when they saw the hospital calling. And on the fourth ring, something shifts. I hold my breath, waiting to hear if it’s their answering machine. I’ve left many messages there over the last month.

  “Hello.” I’m pleasantly surprised to hear Mrs. Spencer. Thank fuck it’s her and not Cammie’s dad.

  “Cammie’s in the hospital,” I say as fast as I can, hoping to get it out before she registers it’s me and potentially hangs up. “And I wanted to let you know that she needs you. If you’ve been staying away from her because of my involvement with her...” I pause, not sure what to say. “Life’s too short for this kind of stuff. I of all people know that.”

  She doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if she’s still listening, but there wasn’t a click like the phone was disconnected, so I just continue to ramble while rubbing my sweaty palm on my pants.

  “I love your daughter. I always have. I only want what’s best for her, and we’re not sure if us together is the right thing. So, please don’t let whatever you’ve seen or heard keep you from being with her when she needs you now more than ever.”

  Sniffing. That’s better than nothing. I know what hope sounds like when it shatters. This must be the noise it makes when it blooms. Maybe. “Is she okay?” Mrs. Spencer says.

  I’m not telling them that so they can have comfort and still not show up. Hell no. “I don’t know.” That’s the truth. Because I don’t know if she’s okay—what’s making her sick. And I’m pretty damn sure her heart is bending to the point it might break. Maybe that’s just me projecting my own feelings. All I know is they are the only people who can fix it. “She needs a cell phone charger.”

  Mrs. Spencer lets out a small laugh. “Okay.”

  “Can I count on you to bring her one?”

  “What room, Holden?”

  “Twenty-four-thirty-one. Is that a yes?”

  “It’s not a no.”

  Ah, that’s where she gets that from. I can’t contain my grin. “I promised her some space. She has a decision to make. But if it’s not too much to ask, could you let me know how she’s doing?”

  “You really love her?” she asks. “How could you have hurt her so bad, Holden? She cried and cried. Wouldn’t eat. I worried she was going to do something to herself.”

  “Yeah, I love her. I think I always have. And it was never my choice to hurt her. Ask your husband and your son about that.”

  She falls silent.

  “Or you can ask your daughter when you come visit her and bring her that charger.”

  “Thank you for letting me know, Holden.”

  “Thank you for answering, for giving me a chance.” With that, I hang up and leave this godforsaken hospital, leaving behind my heart and my soul in room twenty-four-thirty-one.

  Even though I’ve spent every night with Cammie over the last month, when she leaves for work, so do I—which happens to be located for the most part here, at my hous
e—whether it’s coding or getting ready for a shift at the station. In the evenings, when my work is done and I know she’s off, I head to the guest house or to meet her some place to eat.

  Tonight’s different. This is the first time since the auction where I’m in my house alone, the sun already having set, so the house is pitch-black. I came in, threw my keys on the table, and fell onto the couch.

  I didn’t bother turning the television on, looking at anything on my phone, pacing, or doing anything to distract me from what I’ve just done. In fact, I didn’t even bring my cell inside. There’s no one I want to talk to. Not even Cammie. Because she needs time to process what’s happening, time to figure out what she’s going to do. I fear if I hear her voice, I’ll cave to her in an effort to make her happy. And I can’t live in limbo like this. I swear I was put on this earth for that sole reason: to make Camellia Spencer the happiest girl in the world—the universe. But I’m human. I’m not perfect, and I’ve failed in so many ways. So maybe I deserve this.

  Nothing is happening the way it should. My chest feels like it’s being split apart, like it did when I lost Vi. Like this is all my fault. At the auction, my plans were to tell her about why we’d been kept apart, why I did the things I did. I was going to do all that on the date. It was my only chance. But with each day that’s passed, I’ve wondered if the time was right to bring it up. We’ve been so damn happy making new, fucking sexy memories. I’ve been selfish. I didn’t want to get into the heavy shit that happened while we were apart when we’re still figuring out who we are together.

  That day we made the promises about no secrets repeatedly, but it didn’t seem right to have the conversation in the middle of dealing with all the crap going on with her parents and Oliver. We needed time. Selfishly, maybe I just didn’t want to confront the truth because I didn’t want to lose her when it seemed like I’d just gotten her.

  Getting up, I go to the fridge and grab the entire fucking six pack of beer, then pop the top on one. Taking them to the couch, I sit back down, resting my feet on the coffee table as I take a swig.

  I should have known, though, I can’t completely have her until we deal with our past. It’s funny that I started my day off actually thinking we could finally have her parents’ blessing. I’m clearly not my father. I’ve made a life for myself. An upstanding citizen. Haven’t I proven I’m worthy at this point? Will I ever be enough for them? Or am I always marred by being the son of a so-called sexual predator and mad man who takes his wife hostage before killing himself? Because those were his choices, not mine. But for some reason in this country, the family becomes just as diseased and repulsive as the perpetrator. It’s a good thing I never gave a fuck. That’s their problem not mine.

  Taking a longer drag of my cold beer, then deciding to chug it to speed up the buzz, I let my head fall back. I was a fool to think we could make this work between the two of us. It’s not just us against the judgmental stares and gossip of the elite of Magnolia Grove. Or us against her parents. Or Oliver. Or any one thing. It’s the fucking universe against us. And the weight of that—as much as we’re willing to carry it—I’d be naïve to think she’s happy when she’s crying every morning because she misses her family.

  With each day that passed, it was eating me alive from the inside—like that fire was contained but not fully extinguished. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I knew when I saw her on that stretcher, I had to tell her. She needed them. And I couldn’t stand between them in a moment like that. There was no more procrastinating. It was time to be completely vulnerable, honest.

  I still want to be her tree—even if all I can be is a stupid hardwood. But I need her to plant the seed, to choose me. And how the fuck can I ask her to do that if that means accepting by doing so she may be losing her family? We don’t even know if we’ll work. The thought makes my stomach lurch. I thought I’d lost hope. I managed to move on with my life without her. Until it became apparent she was about to make the worst mistake of her life. It’s like as long as she wasn’t with another guy, I wasn’t terribly worried. Maybe we could still find our way back to each other. But the closer the wedding got, the more my anxiety ratcheted. Will I be able to go back to whatever my normal was before I tasted her, held her in my arms, slept and woke beside her?

  Even though we’ve managed to keep our make-out sessions restrained to the infield, we’re finally getting to run the bases, to court each other, and I haven’t wanted to rush that. I couldn’t even try for a homer until I knew we were going to be okay—that once she found out our lives have been shaped by a secret I’ve been keeping—that she’d still want me. And I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her once I’ve had her.

  When we were teenagers, I couldn’t get the thought of her being my first, of me being her first, out of my mind. In fact, I was convinced that’s how it would go. But I always wanted to take things slow. I wanted to cherish all the time I had with her. Before she was anything else to me, she was, first and foremost, my best friend. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing that connection—of losing her.

  That’s why I waited a year before I told her to kiss her mirror, before I thought I was going to finally kiss her. It’s why I backed out of it when she made the comment about us just being friends. I figured we had the rest of our lives to have a first kiss, that she’d change her mind and want more eventually. I had no fucking idea that we were about to be sidelined on opposite sides of the field before the field was swallowed up by a massive, nearly endless sink hole. Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. I screwed up so much by not being honest regardless of the cost. I have to learn from my mistakes. I promised Violet I’d do all this shit for her, and I’ve been horrible at following through.

  Exchanging the bottle, I pop another top and chug it to try to dull this pain, wishing for once the planets would align for us. Then, I repeat it with another.

  Cammie has my heart. She always had.

  And when I walked out of that hospital, I left completely empty. Lost. It’s like a month ago I landed on a spectacular planet where Cammie and I were the only people who existed, and then some shit hit it, and it exploded. I think she may be able to be saved, but I’m done. I’m not even floating in space, just a shell, just a body. I am pretty sure I landed alone in hell.

  Because with her, I’m the best version of me.

  Without her, I’m nothing, completely empty.

  Running my hands through my hair, I hear police sirens in the distance. And it’s another one of those fucking déjà vu moments taking me back to all those years ago. Fucking Spencer men.

  Everything moves a little slower, but I’m pretty damn sure my door just jiggled a second ago. Quickly righting myself, I take in my surroundings. Light seeps through the sheer curtains of my bedroom. I stayed at my place. Cammie’s not here. Cammie’s in the hospital. I may have lost her for good this time. A knock causes me to jump.

  “Holden, are you in there?”

  What’s she doing here?

  Glancing down, I’m naked. I clearly had enough sense in my drunken haze last night to make it to my bedroom and strip. I guess that’s a positive sign. Another loud bang. My head pounds. “If you’re in there, and you’re just not answering, this is your warning I’m about to use my key.”

  “Damn, Mom. Don’t. I’m not decent. Give me a sec.” Grabbing a pair of sweats, I slip them on as I walk to the foyer, then unlock and pull the door open.

  “You’re clearly okay since a profanity is the first thing you say to me,” she says, slipping past me.

  I shrug, kicking the entrance closed. “By all means, come in. Make yourself at home.”

  I eye her as she surveys my coffee table, which I clearly made no effort to clean up last night. She fluffs the pillows on the couch before picking up the caps, bottles, and empty cardboard six pack container.

  “If you’re going to get drunk, at least be tidy.” She shakes her head. “No one likes a sloppy drunk, Holden.”

  “I
n case you haven’t noticed, I’m alone. And since when do you think I give a—” I’m about to say fuck when I catch my language. “Crap about what anyone thinks?”

  She gives me a sly smile. “Son, I made you.”

  “Oh, here we go again.” I roll my eyes, letting out a small laugh.

  “If you didn’t care what people think about you, you wouldn’t have just changed your language.” She arches a brow.

  “You’re my mother. Of course I care about what you think.” We’ve been through a lot. Lots of hurt. Lots of therapy. We’re in a better place than we’ve ever been. It’s just the two of us now. Perspective changes after people go through what we’ve been through. The big stuff becomes small. The small shit pretty much seems comical. But walking away from Cammie again, it’s fucking gigantic.

  “And this life, you’ve built,” she says, turning in a circle with her hands out. “You’re not trying to impress anyone.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, then rubbing my temples in an attempt to dull the throbbing, I sigh. “It’s too early for this shit.”

  “It’s noon, Holden.”

  Christ. It’s noon on a Monday, and I’m acting like a teenager instead of someone who has responsibilities. “The beauty of working from home. I walk down the hall and show up at the office whenever I want.”

  “Do you know your phone’s off? And that Mr. Keller called me because he said his website was hacked? He apparently doesn’t know what to do and can’t get in touch with you. Very professional of you.”

  I furrow my brows. “Hacked how?”

  “Apparently, there’s porn on the home screen.” Apparently my reaction is amusing as her lips curve up. “Do I have your attention now?”

  I can’t keep my chuckle in thinking about him opening his browser to that. “He probably downloaded some forward that your generation likes to pass around. Sometimes, there are viruses attached that could have infected his files.”