The Art of Holding On

by Beth Ann Burgoon

  She nods—Tori’s grudging version of thanking me. “Make sure this door is locked and my bedroom door closed when you leave.”

  I frown as she walks toward her bedroom, surprised she’s letting me stay up here.

  As if she knows I’m hiding and isn’t going to force me out into the open. Not yet.

  But that wasn’t my only surprise tonight. Not even the first.

  “Why did you invite me?” I ask, stopping her as she reaches the doorway. “Here. Tonight.”

  She faces me, is silent a moment then admits, “I was afraid you wouldn’t let Sam come if you weren’t invited.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Yeah? Well, I didn’t know that so…” She shrugs.

  “You knew,” I say, stepping forward. “You knew because we were friends. You know me.”

  Leaning against the doorframe, she smirks. “I never knew you.”

  “That’s not true,” I whisper, switching my Coke can from my right hand to my left. I wipe my damp right palm down the front of my shorts. “Before, you said you and Kenzie thought you were my friends but that I thought differently, but I didn’t. I didn’t,” I repeat firmly. “You were my friends.”

  “Yeah. We were,” she says with a slow nod. “But you weren’t ours. You never trusted us, not really. And you can’t be someone’s friend if you don’t trust them.”

  I’m stunned. It’s like an electrical current has gone through me, zapping my ability to move. To breathe. “I trusted you.”

  But even as I say it, even as I want to believe it, I know it’s not true.

  “Please. You never opened up to us. We shared everything with you—what was going on in our lives and with our families. If we liked a boy or had our hearts broken by one. You never talked about your mom or if you were fighting with your sisters. You never told us how you really felt about Sam. You never made any overtures. You never called or texted first or asked one of us to do something,” she continues, her words coming faster. Growing louder. “We were your friends for six years. Six. Years. And you never once had either of us over to your house. How do you think that made us feel?”

  There’s a roaring in my head, a scream of denial that wants to break loose but I hold it back. I hold it in.

  “We told you everything,” Tori says as she straightens. “We gave you everything. But you always kept a piece of yourself separate. You didn’t trust us. Not with your secrets. Not to be your friends. And you never trusted that we really wanted to be yours.”

  She’s breathing hard, her voice unsteady, but her gaze on mine is rock solid. “Kenzie and I were your friends,” she continues, softer now. More resigned. “But you?” She shakes her head. “You were never ours.”

  45

  I don’t know how long I stand there, heart racing, stomach churning, as I stare at the door Tori pulls shut behind her.

  Kenzie and I were your friends. But you? You were never ours.

  I shake my head to clear it of her words. To rid myself of the memory of how hurt she’d sounded. How sad she’d looked.

  Like maybe, just maybe, she’d missed me as much as I’d missed her.

  But that can’t be right.

  Because if it is, it means everything she said was true. It means I was wrong, so very, very wrong, about Tori and Kenzie and the others being my friends only because of Sam. About them blaming me for him leaving.

  About them being the ones who ended our friendship.

  It means all the times I spent by myself last year, spending every weekend at home, being alone, was my own choice.

  My own fault.

  But it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change anything. We can’t go back. And it’s pointless to go forward when in a year they’ll all be leaving anyway.

  They’ll leave. And I’ll stay.

  That’s the only truth that matters. The one I need to focus on.

  The one I need to remember.

  I turn and take the few steps needed to go back to the railing but the dock is empty. Sam is gone.

  He’s gone and I don’t see him in the crowd around the fire.

  I don’t see Abby, either.

  I whirl around and cross the deck. Shut and lock the door. As I step into the hallway, Jack and Fiona do the same from his room. Jack’s shirt is on the right way and Fiona’s buttons have been redone correctly.

  We all size each other up for a moment. “Glad to know you both survived whatever that was in there,” I tell them.

  Fiona flushes.

  Jack grins. “It was touch-and-go for a moment,” he says, “but we managed to pull through.”

  I shut Tori’s door and the three of us head for the stairs, a trio of rule-breaking soldiers marching back to obey our commander.

  “Sorry for throwing you under the bus like that with Tori,” Jack says.

  “He’s afraid of her,” Fiona pipes up from Jack’s other side. “And he told me we had to divert her attention off us and onto something—or in this case, someone—else. You were convenient.”

  “Now, now,” Jack says good-naturedly as he pats her hand. “I’m not afraid of Tori.” There’s a beat of silence during which Fiona and I both just look at him before he cheerfully admits, “I’m terrified of her. The last time I pissed her off, her head did a full three-sixty, her eyes turned red and she called upon the demons of the dark to disembowel me. A guy can’t mess around with power like that.” He glances at me. “I knew you could handle it, though. You’re one of the few people brave enough to stand up to her.”

  I snort as we reach the stairs. “More like dumb enough.”

  “That, too,” he says, taking Fiona’s hand and tugging her down the stairs.

  I watch them descend and rejoin the party to smiles and laughter and jokes.

  Welcomed back into the fold.

  I start down the stairs slowly, scanning the huge living room for Sam’s dark head while I have the advantage of height. Not seeing him, I pick up my pace. When I reach the bottom, I turn left and head into the kitchen.

  Not there, either.

  I search for a good five minutes, going from room to room. No one stops me. No one says hey or asks me who I’m looking for. No one says anything to me.

  Not until I step outside onto the deck facing the dock.

  “Well, well, well,” a deep, familiar voice drawls from the shadows and I stop in my tracks. Stiffen. “If it isn’t Hot Hadley.” I turn slowly to find Max giving me a pointed, heavy-lidded up-down look because I’m a female and it’s impossible for him not to take me in. Especially since I’m wearing a jean miniskirt and white tank top. “In the flesh.”

  I roll my eyes. Yes, I’m showing my legs and—gasp!—arms and shoulders. Skin is visible. Get over it.

  There are a couple of chuckles from the two guys he’s sharing a joint with—Brad Lyons and Alex Dryer. Max Constable is all sorts of hilarious with his unsubtle innuendos and smarmy tone.

  Ugh.

  I take a step toward the stairs leading to the yard only to stop and face him. “Have you seen Sam?”

  “What? Baby brother’s not trailing after you like a well-trained puppy? How unlike him.”

  “Never mind,” I mutter and start walking again.

  I make it to the edge of the grass when Max catches up to me and slings his arm around my shoulders. “Why the rush?”

  I shrug him off. “Go. Away.”

  He puts his arm back around my shoulders. Leans into me. “And let Sammy’s girlfriend wander around a party by herself in the dark? What kind of brother would that make that me?”

  “The kind you usually are?” I ask, shoving his arm off once again and taking two steps to the side, putting some distance between us. I pick up my pace.

  He catches up to me easily. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a changed man. Mending my ways and all that. Being my brother’s keeper is just a small part of me becoming a better version of myself. From here on out, I’m just like Sammy boy. Always doing what’s right. Walkin
g the straight and narrow. Et cetera, et cetera.”

  I stop so suddenly he takes three steps before he realizes it and stops, too. “You were just smoking pot,” I say. “Like, literally one minute ago.”

  “Ah,” he says, solemn and wise, like he’s a six-foot, one-inch, completely ripped, floppy-haired Buddha, “but I didn’t inhale.”

  I press the fingertips of both hands to my temples, if only to try and stop my brain from exploding.

  I can’t even with him right now. I just can’t.

  Dropping my hands, I start walking again.

  He falls into step beside me. Again.

  “It won’t work, you know,” I tell him as we approach the crowd at the fire.

  “Don’t give up hope. I’m sure we’ll find Sam soon. Just look for the throng of adoring fans.”

  I do a double take. But I haven’t been cloned and am walking beside a replica of myself. It’s just Max sounding exactly like me.

  At least, the things I say in my head, said in the same exact snide tone.

  Not a pretty realization.

  “No,” I say. “I mean it won’t work, the whole you-pretending-to-walk-the-straight-and-narrow thing. Whitney’s not going to believe it. She’s not going to believe it,” I repeat, “but even if she did, it won’t matter. She’s not into you. And it’s not because of how often you get wasted. It’s you.”

  I expect him to get angry, or maybe to deny that he’s interested in Whitney, but this is Max and Max Constable never does what you expect him to do.

  He laughs. “You sure know how to hurt a guy. But this new even greater version of me isn’t so I can win the girl. It’s not even a choice. It’s an order. One that came straight from a higher power.”

  “Please do not try and tell me you had some kind of religious epiphany.”

  “Oh, this edict wasn’t from God—although the old man likes to believe he’s right up there with any and all holy deities.”

  That has me stopping again. Frowning. “Wait…you talked to your dad?”

  From what Sam has told me, ever since Max got back from LA, he’s refused to even read any of the texts their father has sent him and won’t take any of his calls.

  “I didn’t have a choice—a recurring theme when it comes to that bastard,” he says lightly. “Flew across the country to deliver his ultimatum personally.”

  “Your dad was here?”

  Max nods. “He showed up at the house this afternoon spouting orders and issuing threats.” Someone shouts Max’s name and he lifts a hand but his attention, sharp and intense, is on me. “Sam didn’t tell you?”

  “No. I mean…yeah, he did.” Sort of.

  Family stuff.

  That’s how he described it to me when I’d asked him to tell me what was wrong.

  Right before telling me he didn’t want to talk about it.

  That he didn’t want to share what was bothering him with me.

  “Hey, now,” Max says, tugging on the ends of my hair playfully. “No worries, Hot Hadley. I’m sure Sammy will think of some way to get out of moving back to LA.”

  I inhale sharply. “What?”

  “Sam left that part out?” he asks with fake surprise. No, he knows exactly how little his brother told me. He knows and he’s loving every second of this.

  “You’re lying,” I manage to say, but my voice is thick and unsteady.

  “Now, now. No need to disparage my honor. The old man showed up today and threatened to cut me off financially if I didn’t get my head out of my ass—that’s a direct quote, by the way.”

  “So? Your mom can still pay your tuition and buy you all the pretty things you’ve become accustomed to having in life.”

  “Ah, but dear old Dad convinced her that tough love is the only way to stop me from sliding into a life of excess and depravation. I have one semester to get my life back on track—another quote. After he laid out everything I have to do in order to continue enjoying his financial generosity--”

  “Let me guess,” I mutter. “Another quote?”

  He winks. “You’re catching on. Anyway, after I was given my To Dos and a much longer list of To Don’ts, the old man turned his attention to Sam. He doesn’t want to take the chance of his golden boy slacking off and thinks the only way he can prevent that from happening is to have him back in LA.”

  No. No. It’s not true. Sam isn’t leaving me. Not again.

  But if it’s not true, why was Sam acting so weird earlier? Why wouldn’t he tell me what was wrong?

  I whirl on my heel and start stomping toward the fire with Max there, right there, by my side, whistling softly, like we’re on a freaking stroll to some sunny beach.

  I circle the crowd, ignoring Max as he gives out Heys, How’s it goings and winks like they’re confetti and he’s the Head Fun Meister of tonight’s festivities. I pass Tori, T.J. and Kenzie (guess Tori found her) but don’t so much as slow down.

  I’m on a mission and will not be deterred.

  Not even when Graham is pushed forward by one of his idiot buddies and bumps into me.

  Before I can shove him out of my way, Max is there doing it for me.

  Knight in shining armor, right there.

  One who sticks by my side as we approach a small group talking and laughing it up near the boathouse.

  A group that includes my boyfriend.

  And Abby O’Brien.

  46

  I stop. Just slam to a halt. Sam doesn’t notice me right away. No, he’s too busy charming the crowd, gesturing with his hands as he tells some story meant to enlighten or entertain. He’s not standing by Abby, but she’s staring at him with pure adoration.

  My stomach turns.

  That’s it. No more parties where there’s even the slightest chance Abby is in attendance.

  I glance at the Constable boy beside me.

  Better make that: no more parties where there’s even the slightest chance either Abby or Max is in attendance.

  I am so making that an official Sam and Hadley rule the second we get out of here.

  “Told you we’d find him,” Max says, delighted to have been right—and no doubt to see the mess his brother has gotten himself into. He brings his hand up to his mouth like a megaphone. “Yo! Sammy!”

  Sam turns and when he sees me, there’s a definite flash of oh, shit that crosses his face.

  Yeah. Oh, shit, indeed.

  But then Max snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me to his side, giving Sam a happy, happy wave with his free hand, and any guilt or remorse Sam may have felt is gone.

  Replaced with a frown.

  I wiggle free of Max’s hold as Sam reaches us. “What’s this?” he asks.

  “Just helping your girl find you,” Max says with a grin that’s way too smug for my liking. “You’re welcome.”

  Sam’s mouth thins and he steps between me and Max. “Hey,” he says, taking my hand. “I was wondering where you were.”

  I pull away and step back, not eager to have either Constable brother touching me at the moment. “Really? Because it seems to me like you didn’t even notice I was gone.”

  His expression darkening, he moves closer to me. Drops his voice. “Of course I noticed. I was just about to come find you.”

  “I don’t know, man,” Max says. “It didn’t look that way.”

  “Shut it,” Sam growls at his brother.

  Max is right. It didn’t look like Sam was on the verge of searching me out. It looked like he was perfectly content right where he was. Without me.

  But I can’t think about that now. Can’t worry about what he was doing while I was hiding on the deck outside Tori’s bedroom, what he and Abby were discussing out on the dock or why I had to hear from his brother and not him that their father was in town.

  There’s only one thing I care about.

  “Are you moving back to LA?”

  “What?” He shakes his head. “No.” But I must not look convinced because he repeats it. “No. I’m no
t going anywhere.” He whirls on Max. “What the hell did you tell her?”

  “I told her the truth,” Max says and there’s something in his tone, an underlying resentment and anger that has apprehension climbing my spine. “Just like you always do.” He pauses, purses his lips. “Except she didn’t seem to know the old man had been in town, let alone that he wants you to live with him again. Why is that?”

  “I’d like to know the answer to that myself,” I say.

  Sam turns to me, hand held out as if to stop me from jumping to conclusions. “I was going to tell you.”

  “When was that going to be?” Max asks. “Before or after you told her about Abby?”

  Sam goes rigid, and when he turns and speaks to his brother, his voice is tight, each word ground out as if through his teeth. “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

  We’re gathering a crowd. Well, the crowd was always there, but now it’s edging ever closer, quieting down, leaning in so as not to miss a single word.

  “What’s he talking about?” I ask, but Sam, glaring at Max, doesn’t answer. I grab his forearm. Shake it lightly so he’ll look at me. “Sam?”

  “It’s nothing,” he assures me, but he says it too fast and he can’t maintain eye contact. He does, however, glance over at the people watching us.

  Right at Abby.

  I throw his arm away from me and turn to storm off, but he wraps his fingers around my wrist, stopping me. “Look, it’s not what you think. I’ll explain everything later, okay?”

  Before I can tell him no, that him withholding information about his ex-girlfriend is the exact opposite of okay and that he’d better start explaining right freaking now, Max steps over to my side. “Don’t keep her in suspense. You’re so big on honesty. Just tell her the truth. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  “Ignore him,” Sam implores me. “Let’s just go. I’ll tell you everything on the way home.”

  Yes, that’s what I want. To leave. I want to get as far away from here, as far from Abby and Max and everyone’s curiosity as possible. Want to forget this entire night ever happened. Want to pretend I never saw Sam and Abby on the dock. That I never heard Max’s words.