Page 31 of The Road Back Home

I glance up as footsteps near the bedroom.

No sounds come from across the hall, so I assume that Holden has managed to get Ashton to fall asleep in his own bed.

My brows draw together when my boyfriend appears in the doorway, practically vibrating out of his skin with—something.

Irritation, anger, frustration? I’m not sure, but I can see something is wrong.

Holden disappears into the en suite and shuts the door behind him with a snap. I stare at the door for a moment then finish writing the word I’d stopped on. Once finished, I set the pen aside and lock my journal in the nightstand drawer. Then I settle in against the pillows to wait for Holden.

He emerges from the bathroom five minutes later, and I’m distracted by the sight before me. I will never not be in awe whenever I see him like this—just a pair of shorts to sleep in, no shirt to hide the expanse of skin I’ve touched so many times. Comfortable. Ready to share a bed with me. Mine .

My distraction ends when he collapses onto the edge of the bed. His hand comes up to rub at his forehead, and his shoulders stay tense around his ears. I reach tentatively for him. He must sense it, even with his back turned to me.

He pulls away.

He never pulls away, but now, he does.

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

“Just tired,” he mutters as he stands and moves toward his nightstand.

“Cut the bullshit, Holden.”

Holden freezes, then he turns his head to stare at me over his shoulder.

His gray eyes narrow, lips tugging down into a scowl, but I don’t shrink back from his glare.

I only stare impassively back at him. My ears fill with the roar of my thundering heartbeat, and my limbs feel heavy.

My skin washes hot then cold then hot again.

Everything in me wants to move, wants to shift and squirm and wiggle its way out from under the weight of his expression. Despite all this, I sit still. I wait.

Eventually, Holden blows out a breath. The silence between them stretches on—I am determined not to be the reason it breaks—but finally, finally , he speaks.

“I don’t want to complain. It’s fine, I’ll get over it.”

“No, complain away.”

His gaze darts to the space on the bed beside me; I hold my breath until he sits and scoots closer. His hand finds mine easily, and he lets me hold onto him.

“I love having you and Ashton here, you know that, right? I don’t regret asking you to move in.”

“But?”

Oh, God, don’t let this ‘but’ be the end .

“It stresses me out to come home and see Ash’s toys everywhere, especially right before bedtime.”

The words are rushed, a mishmash of syllables that takes me multiple heartbeats to understand.

I blink once, thrice, then scoop my phone off the nightstand.

Holden scoffs, abruptly shoving away from me.

When I meet his gaze, it’s to find his eyes aflame with rage and the planes of his face sharp and severe.

“Really? You’re going to check your messages. Right now. When I’m trying to fucking talk to you.”

I shake my head quickly—vehemently—and show him the screen of my phone. The numbers ratchet upward with each second that passes. His eyes follow my movements as I set the phone between us. He hesitantly lowers himself back to the bed, and I gesture for him to speak, to tell me what’s bothering him.

“Why are you recording us?” he asks instead, and I shrug.

“Because this is important to you. I don’t want to forget or be able to say you never said anything about it.”

“Dee…”

I shake my head again and pick up his hand where it rests next to my phone. “It’s okay. I just, I want you to be happy with us here. If something is bothering you, I want you to be able to talk to me. I need to know. I need to have the chance to fix it.”

Holden exhales sharply through his nose then nods succinctly.

He doesn’t look at me, his finger running over the smooth curve of my nails, the ridge of my knuckles, and I listen as he tells me how frustrated he gets when he sees books and toys on the floors outside of Ashton’s bedroom.

When it takes nearly an hour of picking up with a fussing toddler because they put off the clean-up until after his pre-bed cartoons.

“I know you have a lot to do around here, between Ashton and trying to catch up on your classes and work—”

“But I could do a better job of making sure the house isn’t a disaster zone caused by Tornado Toddler.

I get it.” I exhale slowly, flipping my hand over to twine our fingers together.

“You’re right. I’ve been slacking. You do a lot around here, even with you about to go into the studio, and I haven’t been. I’ll do better.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

He shakes his head and reclines against his pillows.

I squeeze his hand then tap my phone’s screen.

After saving the recording, I toss the device onto the nightstand and turn to Holden.

He doesn’t hesitate—he opens his arms and lets me curl into his side.

I rest my hand on his chest and let my palm absorb the steady strength of his heartbeat.

“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper. “I didn’t realize it was so hard on you. I’m sorry for that.”

“I could have told you at any point over the last month,” he counters.

“Just let me be apologetic, okay?”

He laughs softly, jostling my shoulders until I rise up.

We meet in the middle, a warm kiss that sends my heart pounding against her ribs.

I tilt my head, my lips part, and I shift so I can straddle his waist. His hands come up to grip my hips; his thumbs press against the ridge of bone, and his touch brands my skin.

I huff out a breath through my nose, press closer, and try to convey the words I can’t speak aloud.

I adjust the neckline of my cream-colored dress, smoothing out the lacy edges, then reach for my denim jacket.

It’s one of the more unseasonably warm days, but I know the mid-March weather has a chance of turning without warning.

After a quick check in the mirror to make sure my hair and makeup are flawless, I turn off the light and pad downstairs with bare feet.

I’ve just reached the foyer when the doorbell rings.

I roll my eyes but head to the door, pulling it open.

My giggle at the situation fades when I see Holden on the other side.

He has dressed casually, much like I have, but he makes casual look beyond perfect.

My mouth goes dry as I give him a once-over.

“Hi,” he says softly, his lips curving, “I’m here to pick up Dealla.”

I shake my head, biting my lower lip, even as a laugh escapes me in a huff. “One second.”

Holden waits while I tuck my phone into my purse and slide my feet into a pair of wedge sandals.

Once I’ve locked the door behind me, I lace my fingers with his and tug him closer.

His confusion melts when I stretch up to kiss him gently.

His chuckle ghosts across my face, his fingers soft against my skin as he pushes a curl aside.

“That’s supposed to happen at the end of the night,” he whispers.

“Well, don’t be so gorgeous, and I won’t wanna kiss you every second of every day.”

Gentleman that he is, Holden holds the car door open for me, closes it once I settle into the passenger seat, and I watch him round the car.

The interior of the vehicle fills with the scent of his cologne almost instantly after he slides in behind the wheel, and I breathe it in. Something inside of me calms.

“Ash settle in okay?” I ask, and Holden nods as he starts the car.

“Yeah. He was a little upset he couldn’t come with us, but Henry distracted him easily with blocks. I barely got a hug from the little guy before he was off.”

“I’m glad he’s okay with this. You did tell Phil and Samantha thank you for this, right?”

“Of course I did.” Holden turns his head to meet my gaze for a quick second then focuses on the road again.

“Dealla… I understand you’re nervous about leaving him while we go on this date, but please try to relax.

Ashton loves Phil, Sam, and Henry, and they love him, too.

Phil will call if there are any problems. So, deep breath, yeah? ”

“Deep breath. Right.” Exhaling sharply, I squeeze his forearm, smile at him. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This is only the, like, second time I’ve ever let someone else watch him, outside of Tristan and Luci, and that was just so I could go to the interview.”

“I understand, sweetheart, but tonight is about us.”

I give a slow nod and will away the butterflies that flutter violently in my gut.

I think I have reason to be nervous—it’s the last night we have together before Holden leaves for New York.

He’d promised filming the music video won’t take more than a few days, but I know anything can go wrong.

He could be delayed for any reason. So I want to send him off with a pleasant memory of our—

“Holy shit,” I breathe, and Holden glances at me. “This is our first date.”

He freezes, knuckles straining against skin, then huffs out an incredulous laugh. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Almost an entire year, and we’re just now getting to the whole ‘date’ thing.”

“In our defense, we were sleeping together before we made us a thing.” He exhales slowly, reaching for my hand and bringing it to his lips. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”

“So’m I.”

Holden parks in the lot of a brick-faced building that stands two stories tall.

Afternoon sunlight stretches across wide windows, golden swathes of light sparkling off the glass.

Early blossoms dance and shiver in their wooden boxes lining the sidewalk, and a hanging basket of violets by the door sways slightly in the breeze.

I smile at the pretty picture it all makes then follow Holden’s cue to exit the vehicle.