by Trisha Wolfe
But Holden presses on. “One night, our dad flipped out. Tyler forgot to add oil to his dirt bike and burned up the engine. Dad grabbed a pan from the stove where Mom was cooking and pinned Tyler against the wall.”
I swallow hard, trying to brace myself, while the images his words create sear my mind. “I pushed Tyler out of the way right before he slung the pan. Hot grease caught me in the chest, burned through my shirt, and hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”
Tears well in my eyes. “Oh, God.”
Holden shrugs, like talking about your father burning you with cooking oil is an everyday convo. “Tyler was already on a downward spiral before that. But after I’d gone to the ER, telling them, of course, that it was my own dumbass fault, he spiraled out of control.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “He took a bottle of some shit I had in my room. I found him face down in his own vomit on the bathroom floor. I stuck my finger down his throat and made him puke up the rest before putting him in the shower to wake him up.”
The missing section in the journal, I realize. The broken timeline. Tyler had to have only been thirteen then, and it must have been right before he spent a couple weeks at his grandparent’s house. It’s why he was sent there that summer. His parents hid everything so well. I never even questioned.
“Dad was pissed,” Holden says. “He tried to whale on Tyler while he was completely out of it, and he probably would’ve finished him off in his condition. I lost my shit. Just went to town. Beat the hell out of him.”
“He deserved a lot worse,” I say, not able to hold back my hatred for their father.
“Yeah. Well, after that, he put me back in my place. Shipped me up off to boarding school, and Tyler went to our grandparent’s to recover before school.”
Pieces are falling together, and I don’t want them to. I don’t want . . . “This is why you think Tyler killed himself. Because of that one time?”
He nods. “That car didn’t hit him, Sam.” Holden’s eyes don’t release me. “I know this, because after he killed our mom in the wreck, he went down. Harder than I’ve ever seen him. He was drowning in guilt, and it was killing him.” He clenches his hand into a fist. “I should’ve told someone the truth. I thought I was looking out for him, but if I had, he’d still be here. He might be in prison, fuck, I don’t know. But they would’ve gotten him help to deal with it. I wasn’t there for him. I just went back to my life.”
My heart is aching so badly I can’t hold back the tears. I drop my head in my hands and have to release them. I feel Holden’s arm around me, then cradling me to his chest. Like at the funeral, I feel ashamed. I should be comforting him, not the other way around. Inhaling deeply, I breathe in his strong, masculine scent. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“I just unloaded a shit ton of fucked up on you,” he says. “I’m surprised you haven’t bolted from the room.”
My head whips up. “Why would I do that?” Whatever’s happened, Holden has only tried to do what he thought was right and help his brother. He just needed help himself.
“Because it’s my fault you don’t have Tyler now,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice and eyes scare me. He truly believes it’s his fault. “Tyler walked out in front of that car on purpose. He couldn’t live with the guilt anymore.”
“It’s not your fault. And Tyler didn’t kill himself.”
He runs his thumb over my cheek, clearing away the tears, as his hand palms my face. “I’m fucked up. Been fucked up for a long time. And if I wasn’t so fucked up, I would’ve known the right things to do to help him.” He bows his head. “Keeping Tyler’s suicide a secret is all I can do for him now. I can’t let everything he was in life be ruined like that.”
And realization dawns. That day in Talladega. Why Holden was so upset that I knew about their dad. He was afraid I also knew about Tyler’s suicide attempt, and that I’d tell someone. That they’d put the clues together, and then Tyler’s perfect memory would be disgraced. Their father, I’m sure, would do something horrible to make sure of that. I don’t know what, but the man is psychotic. He’s the one who should be found at fault. For everything.
Placing my hands on Holden’s face, I kiss him. Soft. Gentle. Letting him feel my love, and hopefully, comforting him. Pulling back, I say, “You’ve carried this guilt around for too long. It’s time to find out the truth.”
His eyebrows pull together. I place a quick kiss on his lips before I stand and go to the dresser where I take one of my pills. Then turning toward him, I say, “I’ve let Tyler go. Now you have to.” I point to the journal sitting next to Holden on the bed. “It’s the only way you’ll know for sure. Read it.”
A flash of terror crosses his face. He’s owned this guilt for a long time. I know releasing it won’t be easy. But he has to. I watch as he works up the courage to pick up the journal, then flip to the last entry Tyler made before he died.
I have to trust that, just like Holden believes beyond a shadow of a doubt Tyler is in a good place, the boy I’ve known forever didn’t bow out of life. Didn’t walk away from everyone who loved him. Didn’t leave us behind to suffer his loss on purpose.
Tyler hid things from me . . . was suffering from things I didn’t know and he felt I wouldn’t understand. Or maybe he was trying to shield me from that part of his life. In his mind, trying to protect me. I don’t know. But he needed help. He didn’t get it, and his actions from one night hurt so many lives . . . lives he cared about.
But he did not do it on purpose. It was a horrible accident.
I feel it in my heart. It’s the one truth I’m clinging to. It’s what I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt.
And when Holden looks up at me, his face is strained and tears fill his eyes. “I don’t think . . .” He chokes on his words, then, “He didn’t do it. He didn’t kill himself.”
I rush over and hug him hard. His arms circle me, and I feel the tension in his body give way to relief as he trembles. Holden can work through his guilt. He can let it go, and we both can find a path out of the darkness that’s trapped us.
Holden’s lips find mine, and he kisses me with the hope thrumming through him. I kiss him back, my hands on his chest, feeling his heart pounding against my palms.
He rests his forehead against mine, inhaling a shaky breath. “I need to call the cops,” he says. “And we have to cut our trip short.” He pulls back to look into my eyes. “I know you were determined to finish this for Tyler, but—”
“We are finishing this for Tyler,” I say. “Right now.”
HOLDEN
I make the call to the Beaufort County Sherriff’s Office. We’ll have to leave soon to bring them the pages in the notebook. They’re now evidence.
If Sam wasn’t here, centering me, I’d probably hop in my truck and break every posted speed limit back to the island to find the fucker who hit Tyler myself. Maybe even kill him. I know I’d at least beat him to within an inch of his life. But my emotions are running too high. Those fucking emotions, dammit. They’ve been climbing for nearly an hour while I’ve poured my screwed up life out to Sam. Now, I just feel drained.
Relieved. But drained.
After reading Tyler’s words again, I still can’t believe I never thought of it. The redhead’s boyfriend. I didn’t even know she had one—didn’t think of her one way or the other. But she’d told her boyfriend—James—about her getting with Tyler at the bar, and James had been threatening Tyler.
He never told me. Why didn’t he tell me?
Maybe because he was too ashamed to admit he’d actually slept with her. I’m sure he didn’t want to tell me, knowing I’d try to make him fess up to Sam. But hell. In a disgusting bar bathroom? And now, Sam knows anyway.
Tyler feared this guy enough to write about it, claiming he was mental, and he was even trying to figure out a way to report him to the dean or the cops without involving Sam. His last entry said he was meeting James to work things out.
I’d always wondered why Ty
ler said he was meeting me that night. The one thing that drove me crazy, making me wrack my brain to figure out why he’d told that to Sam. I wasn’t even in town. But like his words state, he didn’t want her to ever find out about the redhead. He was trying to handle it himself.
Witnesses said the car that they caught glimpses of speeding away from the hit-and-run was small and red, but no one could tell the make. According to Tyler’s journal, the douchebag drove a red Civic.
It’s a leap. And the cops still might not be able to charge him, or a judge be able to convict him, but Tyler’s journal gives them a starting point and enough new evidence to reopen the case. And I’m sure once they start digging, more evidence will surface. I have to trust that.
All the pieces fit together now, and it’s unbelievable that one fucked up night could cause this much pain. For so many people.
But no matter the outcome, Tyler’s words offer me one thing: freedom.
I’ve been carrying my brother’s death on my shoulders for the past five months. And before that, the burden of my mother’s. Just with Sam knowing the truth, an enormous weight has been lifted.
As Sam folds her shirt and puts it in her pack, she looks over at me. “Are you going to tell them the truth?”
I know she means the wreck. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Does it matter now? The only person who would’ve benefited from it is gone. And honestly, I wouldn’t accept an apology from my father if he offered one, anyway. I’m through with him.”
Tossing her pack to the floor, Sam walks over and stands before me, then climbs onto the bed and straddles my lap, her arms linking around my neck. I lock my arms around her waist, loving how perfectly she fits against me. And trying like hell—and failing—not to get a hard on at the thought of her being naked all but her tee. I know it’s bad timing, but hell. She’s sexy. And I love this sexy woman.
“I think you should come to a few sessions with me,” she says, and I raise my eyebrows. “Dr. Hartman can be a pain, but she sometimes says smart stuff. “ She smiles wanly.
For Sam? I’d do just about anything. But I have a feeling she wants me to do this for myself, or some shit. One of those twelve-step things. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt.
I shrug. “We’ll see how it goes when we get back.”
“Good enough,” she says, then places a soft kiss on my forehead, keeping her lips there. I breathe in her sweet scent, my own personal drug.
“You’re handling all this with a scary calm,” I say against her throat. She hasn’t said anything about Tyler’s admitted infidelity or his attempted suicide. It’s scaring me to think of her holding it all in, falling apart on the inside. If she needs to rail at someone, I’ll take it for her. “Are you okay?”
Lacing her fingers in my hair, she pulls back to look at me. “I will be,” she says, a sadness glistening in her irises. “Thing is, Tyler and I were growing distant before any of this happened. I guess, college and all. But I was just too afraid to admit it, or I didn’t want to. I was afraid of losing my best friend, and I should’ve been brave enough to make us talk about it. I’ve just never been good at ‘dealing.’” She unlaces her arms from behind me to make air quotes. “And I’m more upset that Tyler obviously didn’t trust me enough to let me in.” She sighs. “I want to feel guilty, thinking maybe I should’ve seen the signs myself . . . but I know that’s not right. Tyler’s actions had consequences. And he suffered them more than anyone. He also held the responsibility to tell someone, anyone what was going on . . . with his dad, the bar girl, everything. He wasn’t a child anymore.”
I feel my brow furrow. A sharp pain knifes me right in the chest. “I didn’t tell you, either.”
She tilts her head. “Yes, you did.”
And I realize, she’s right. Sam didn’t discover any of this from the journal. I’d already been battling with myself on this trip about keeping so much from her. And earlier this morning, I’d been coming to the conclusion that it was time. Then I just let everything rip.
I press my lips together and clutch the back of her shirt. “I wish I’d told you sooner.”
“We had our own shit to work out before that could happen,” she says. “And I think for two extremely fucked up individuals”—she smirks, and I chuckle low, pulling her closer—“we did the best we could.”
I kiss her chin and say against her skin, “You’re right. So fucking smart.” I move to kiss her neck, reveling in the way she shivers at my touch. “And smart girls are so damn sexy.”
She laughs, and it lightens the heaviness in my chest. Oh, we have a long way to go before we’re fixed, and declared sane, but I can see the light peeking through. The darkest part is behind us.
Bringing Sam with me, I fall to the bed, loving the way her hair drapes my face, my chest. She braces her elbow on the bed and runs her fingers over my tattoo. I lift her wrist and kiss her inked tree, like I wanted to do the first time I saw it—the first glimmer of hope that she could be mine.
Then, with a wicked, sultry smile, she nips my lip ring, sending a blazing current through my body. This girl loves me. I don’t know how, but I’m going to try like hell to prove that I deserve her.
As she runs her fingers through my hair, her lips caressing mine in a passionate kiss, a pure thought breaks through the carnal haze. Sliding my fingers under her jaw, I lift her face from mine. She blinks down at me. “We should finish the trip,” I say.
Her mouth parts. “But we need to take—”
“I know. And we are. Well,” I say, shifting her to lie beside me. I grasp her hip. She’s still not wearing any pants . . . or underwear. I give my head a quick shake, focusing my thoughts. “We can send it through the mail.”
Her forehead scrunches. “You trust the mail to get something that important to the police department?”
Good point. “Okay, we’ll photocopy the pages and send them the copies.” I raise my eyebrows, tempting her to consider this. I can see it churning in her head.
She bites her bottom lip, and I bring her closer, just wanting to taste it. I’m not ready to go back to the island. I need time to think through everything, and Sam and I need time together. Period.
I want to see the sorry son of a bitch who hit Tyler punished. And I will. But it’s like . . . I’ve been trapped. Locked in my own private hell. When I read Tyler’s words, I was finally freed. And I want my first steps away from that prison to be with Sam.
She pulls away and says, “This isn’t you avoiding, is it?”
A tight smile tugs at my lips. “No. Not avoiding. I swear.” I kiss her quickly. “This is the right thing to do. Finish the trip for Tyler, and along the way, maybe we’ll . . .” Hell. How do I tell her that I don’t ever want to leave her? Never. I need time to work out telling her that I want us to live together. That I’ll move back to the island to be close to her if that’s what it takes. So she can go back to school. Shit. My head is bursting with everything I want.
“Maybe we’ll figure out us,” I finally say.
She returns my smile, and my heart skips a beat. “Okay. Yeah, I think that is exactly what we need to do.”
And I’m unable to hold back. Trapping her wrist, I roll her onto her back and move between her legs, then grabbing her other wrist, I pin her to the bed. My lips catch hers, working her mouth into a desperate kiss. Someone’s going to have to drag me from this room. We might never actually make it back on the road—I’ll never be able to get enough of her.
Her hips arch into me, and I groan against her mouth, wishing like hell I’d never put on my stupid jeans.
Releasing her wrist, I run my hand along her arm, feeling her shiver under my touch. I move higher and tunnel my fingers into her hair, resting my thumb along her jaw, and tilt her head up to look into her yellow-green eyes that I swear, one day, I’ll find a color to match. Just so I can paint her likeness to perfection.
“I’ve never stopped. And I’ll never stop, Sam.” I swallow hard. “I’ll love you so hard it wi
ll make your head spin.”
Her breath catches. “I love you, Holden Marks.” She feathers her fingers through my hair, pulling me closer. “Now start making good on that promise.”
I kiss her. I kiss her hard. Damn straight I’m making good on it.
HOLDEN
After signing the papers, I smile at the guy and push the key into my pocket. Then I’m leaving through the office door and heading down the sidewalk, anticipation speeding my steps over the pavement.
Obnoxious honking, engines revving, and the squeal of brakes. Voices climbing over the constant roar of wind tunneling around soaring buildings. This is the soundtrack of New York City.
I won’t lie. At first I was uncertain. Not sure if I could actually live here. But after I knew how badly Sam had always wanted to attend NYU, I sucked up my doubt and made it happen.
Zipping up my coat, I shut out the biting cold, the key burning a hole in my pocket. I couldn’t give Sam what I wanted for her birthday, but I can for Christmas. A huge, cheesy grin spreads across my face as I turn the corner toward the apartment building.
Once we made it to the final destination on my brother’s map, we decided that staying there wasn’t for us. After we’d spread the last of his ashes along the coast of Santa Rosa Beach, we picked another spot—just ours—to unwind from the road trip. Lounging on the beach, the sun shimmering off her dark hair, Sam admitted that she still harbored the dream of going to school in New York and eventually owning her own art studio.
I couldn’t deny her that dream.
She didn’t believe I was serious. That I’d pack up my stuff in Atlanta and move with her. And I was freaked. Not knowing if I could even find a job. But once she was able to transfer to NYU on late submission acceptance, I got my shit in gear and had my boss call in a favor.
He was born and raised here, and was able to pull a few strings to land me a job at an auto body shop not far from the university. It’s strange walking to work instead of driving. I still have my truck—because there was no way I was giving that up—but it’s not a necessity here. And parking it in a garage and only driving on weekends will be worth everything and more when I see the look on Sam’s face.