Page 2 of Reece & Holden (Gomillion High Reunion #6)

CHAPTER TWO

Holden

I look up at the sound of the door to my yarn store opening.

“Hello, Mrs. Fisher.” I call out a greeting as she makes her way over to me.

“Now, when will you start calling me Theresa?” She smiles broadly, and I bite back the “never” that’s on the tip of my tongue and reply.

“I—I can’t break the salesperson-customer relationship.”

She gives a little chuckle as it’s my stock answer every time she asks, then she drifts off to browse the store.

It’s not Mrs. Fisher’s fault. She’s a kind lady and a regular customer, and she’s been very supportive of my store ever since I opened Yarning for Ewe nearly fifteen years ago.

Certainly, without her and her knitting circle’s support, I’m sure I wouldn’t have made it through those first few difficult years.

Too bad she had a son who made my last few months of high school the most miserable of my life.

Not being overly familiar with her, especially not on first-name terms, helps me keep a small amount of psychological distance between us.

The thousands of miles of physical difference between me and Reece helps even more, and I breathed a sigh of relief the day he left town.

That I see his mom a couple of times a week is bad enough, but I’m certainly not going to let his behaviour stop my business from thriving.

If I banned her or refused to serve her, then I’d have to explain why, and that’s not going to happen since I’m pretty sure she has no idea about any of it.

But one thing’s for sure, I’ll never call her Theresa.

“That’s a lovely sweater,” she says once she’s made a circuit of the store. “One of your creations?”

“Thank you, yes, I just finished it a few days ago.” I’ve always knitted, ever since my mom taught me in third grade.

I started knitting scarves, then hats, and moved onto sweaters.

I love creating different patterns, some of them I’ve started selling.

This pattern is geometric flowers. The colors are very bright, yellow and red.

I had some yarn which wasn’t selling and it seemed a waste not to use it.

Owning a yarn store has some big advantages.

“You must be excited about the reunion,” she says, placing the yarn she’s selected on the counter.

“Yeah,” I reply noncommittally. I don’t want to get into a discussion about how I definitely won’t be going to my high school reunion. Why on earth would I want to be reminded of bad memories?

“I have some news,” she announces proudly. “Reece is coming home for the reunion. I can’t wait to see my boy.”

My body freezes and my blood turns to ice, causing goosebumps to erupt on my skin.

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. She keeps chattering but I hardly hear her.

I fight the urge to flee to the back room of the store and wait until she’s gone.

Instead, I force my leaden limbs to start ringing up her order and packing it into a bag.

“You used to be good friends,” she continues.

“I-I-I w-went to his p-party in fourth g-grade,” I spit out.

My stammer always gets worse when my anxiety rises, and right now it’s heading toward an eleven.

She’s wrong, though. We got on alright in middle school, and I thought we could have been friends once.

I hoped for more, much more, though. But that was before he showed his true nature.

That he’s coming back is bad news, very bad news.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you again,” she says breezily as she gathers her bag and exits the store.

As soon as she’s gone I let out a deep breath and consider closing up for the day, not feeling like talking to anyone else.

But I don’t. I still have a business to run, and Wednesday, for some unfathomable reason, is always one of my busiest days.

Sure enough it’s only a few minutes before another customer enters.

I spend the next few hours serving and restocking, while a dark weight of dread sits low in my stomach.

“What’s got you looking so glum?” Clara, my best friend asks when she comes in an hour before closing.

She’s just finished her shift as a cleaner at the hotel on Main Street.

It’s not the most upmarket of places, it could use a refurbishment, but there aren’t many choices for accommodation in this town.

She always comes in once she’s done working, mostly to impart any gossip she’s overheard at work.

I’m not sure all of the stories she comes back with are true, but they are entertaining.

She throws her small frame into one of the easy chairs I have in the space behind the counter.

They’re comfortable and often where I sit knitting when the store’s quiet.

She pushes back her black bangs and looks at me with violet eyes.

“F-f-f-fucking Reece is coming back, for the f-f-fucking reunion.” My voice gets squeaky and I wheeze a little—that’s all I need now, a freaking asthma attack. I try to take a few deep breaths.

“The homophobe guy?” Clara asks, frowning.

“Yes, him.”

She knows the story of course, we’ve been friends for a long time.

She moved into town the week I opened the store.

She came in one day and never left, basically adopting me as a friend.

It’s been years since I’ve talked about Reece, though.

I haven’t needed to. My therapy sessions were effective, and if it weren’t for seeing his mom regularly, I could go through the rest of my life in a world where he didn’t exist. The thought of him coming back has triggered my old anxieties.

I'm gonna need a lot of therapy in the next few weeks, so I pull out my phone to make an appointment.

“I thought you weren’t going to the reunion?”

“I’m not,” I declare bluntly.

“Then what’s the problem? You don’t have to see him at all, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“You can just hole up in here. I’m sure he’ll go away soon after, and everything’ll be fine.

” Her reasoning does bring the awful erratic beating of my heart back to something like normal, and my breathing slows a little.

Then she tilts her head and gives me a look that I know from many past experiences means she’s up to something.

“Unless . . .”

I don’t like the sound of this, so I don’t give her the satisfaction of asking what.

She’s going to tell me anyway. Thankfully she has to wait until I’ve served a customer before she can continue, while I try not to think about what awful plan she’s come up with.

Once the door has shut behind the customer and we’re alone again, I turn round and lean back against the counter, folding my arms while I stare at her sitting cross-legged in one of the easy chairs.

“You should go to the reunion.”

“Pffft!” I’m pretty sure that some spit came out with that exclamation, and some expletives are hot on its heels, but she cuts in first.

“Just hear me out.”

I want to do nothing of the sort, but her crazy schemes sometimes have a nasty habit of working out, so I’ll let her have her say and then I can say no when she’s finished. If I say no now, she’ll bug me about it for the next week. I just nod and she settles back in her chair.

“I think you should go. The best way to prove to him that he no longer affects you is to show him. Then you can have the satisfaction of snubbing him.”

“It’s q-quite obvious that he c-can still affect me.” I grimace that my stutter is so evident. There are some days where I don’t stammer at all, most days actually, but not where he’s concerned.

“Then you fake it till you make it. You hold your head up high and ignore him.” She makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world.

“What if he says something to me, bullies me again?”

“The best way to deal with bullies is to stand up to them. They don’t like that.” Clearly she’s never been bullied in her life, so I just glare at her.

“You’re not some lovesick teenager anymore, Holden. You’re a grown man who manages his own successful business. You can just call him out on his crap.”

I think it through. It’s still a terrible idea, but maybe it would help me. I don’t care what he thinks, but maybe I can prove to myself that he can’t affect me anymore. I can just show up, ignore him, and leave quickly again.

“You’re not, are you?” Clara asks.

“Aren’t what?” I frown. Her words have disturbed me from the image I have in my head of me turning and walking away from him, or even better, telling him that he doesn’t matter in my life.

She narrows her eyes.

“Lovesick?”

“Nooo,” I snort derisively. I can’t be, because still being attracted to my bully would be pretty fucked up.

“Good, then you’ll go?” she asks enthusiastically. I give it some more thought. I still don’t like it, but Clara has a way of making me feel bolder than I usually do, which means if I do go ahead with her scheme, I can’t do it alone.

“Only if you come with me as my date,” I say, and she looks triumphant.

“I can’t be your date, you’re gay.”

“So? I don’t have a boyfriend who can fill that role, and anyway, maybe this is a good thing. Reece will think I’m straight now, and he c-can’t make any c-comments.” In my head it’s a bulletproof plan.

“Holden, you know I say this with love, but no one will ever think you’re straight.”

I look down at my brightly colored sweater. She has a point.

“In that case, if he says anything, I’ll go for plan B. I’ll hide behind you.”

“Don’t worry fair maiden, I’ll defend your honor.”

She laughs and I find myself laughing with her. It’s the first time I’ve felt light since I heard the news this morning. Clara’s always a good tonic for me.

“So you’ll come with me, then?” I ask.

“I thought you’d never ask. I wanna see this guy who fucked you up.” She gives a smug smile. “Also, I can check out whether any of your old school friends are still single.”

I shake my head at her. She never changes, but one day she’ll find someone who loves her brand of crazy.

I go and lock up the store and then cash up while Clara lounges in the chair.

Wednesday night we always hang out together, grab some food and watch a movie.

Today it’s her choice, and I’m not surprised when she chooses a pizza and an old favourite . . . Enchanted. She knows me well.