Page 39 of The Road Back Home

I stir to consciousness, groaning at the soft light that stretches toward my face from the window.

An emptiness presses against my back. It’s relentless in its absence of my boyfriend.

I roll over to face the cold stretch of mattress, and something in my chest gives a harsh tug at the sight.

A small part of me expected it, especially after having fallen asleep alone last night, but most of me had hoped that Holden would be here when I woke up.

Pushing back the blankets, I roll out of bed and shiver in the cool air of the morning.

My brows furrow when I realize I can’t hear any voices.

Ashton isn’t babbling away to his stuffed animals in his room or downstairs talking to Holden.

I rub my hands along my arms as I make my way to his bedroom.

Finding the room empty fills me with a twisted sense of déjà vu. I turn away from the unmade bed and strain to hear something—anything—that will tell me where the child is. Thankfully, it’s easy enough to follow the soft notes that filter through the air, the quiet voice humming along.

Ashton is curled up on Holden’s lap, blue eyes watching as Holden’s hands move across the keys of his piano.

I breathe a sigh of relief and cross the room to sit next to them.

Holden doesn’t stop playing even as he leans over to kiss me, and my heart soars at the sweet smile he gives me.

This feels right, more like it should be.

It almost makes me forget the reality of the situation.

“Morning, favorite boys of mine. How long have you two been awake?”

Holden shrugs, presses his lips to Ashton’s hair. “Not too long. Sorry if we woke you.”

“You didn’t.” The lack of you did . I don’t voice the thought. “What are you playing?”

“Something I’m using for the album.”

“It’s beautiful.”

And it is. The melody drips with poignancy, saturated with a sense of loss and heartbreak. I lean into Holden’s side and close my eyes. I want to ask why, why this particular tune, what is he thinking? I can’t find the words, though. Not without potentially making him doubt himself.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmurs after a moment, fingers stilling on the keys, then he pulls his hands back. “Hey, Ash, why don’t you go read your books for a minute? Auntie Dee and I need to talk.”

Ashton huddles closer; his eyes fall shut as he buries his face in the front of Holden’s shirt. “No.”

I stifle a giggle as Holden’s expression turns exasperated. When he turns betrayed eyes on me, all I can do is shrug. He reluctantly smiles, hefts Ashton into his arms, and moves toward the living room. I follow. Ashton clings tightly to Holden as they sit on the couch.

“He’s missed you,” I announce in a quiet voice.

“I’ve missed him, too.”

“So you were thinking,” I remind him in lieu of letting out everything I’m holding back, instead of asking if he missed me, too.

“Yeah. Phil was right. Our anniversary is next month. We should do something.” He pauses and shakes his head. “I lost track of time. I didn’t realize it was so close, even though I knew it was coming up.”

“Holden, it’s fine. You’re not the only one who’s dropped the ball. Besides, it would be different if you forgot on the actual day. We have time.”

“I just… I don’t want you thinking our relationship isn’t important to me. Because it is. You are important to me. I love you, and I don’t want you to doubt that.”

“I don’t. So what do you want to do for our anniversary?”

“Well, as you said, we have time to figure it out.”

I nod slowly and pull my knees up to my chest. Ashton squirms a few seconds later, pushes away from Holden, and I watch the toddler as he digs through the toy-box.

He comes up with a fistful of cars, settling down to push them across the floor.

A traitorous voice in my head reminds me I’m not the only one that is going to get hurt. Guilt twists hotly in my chest.

If this doesn’t work out, Ashton is going to be the one to pay the price. He’ll be losing yet another person in his short life.

And it’s all my fault.

I stare across the table at Holden, scrutinizing him as he skims over the menu. I hadn’t been sure we would be able to do this tonight—not with how much time he’s been spending trying to ready for his tour. I hate how deeply I’d expected him to cancel the date.

But he hadn’t. Holden had come home an hour later than he promised, but he came home.

I’m just thankful he didn’t forget or tell me he couldn’t make it.

We need this opportunity to get out of the house, away from Ashton and the responsibilities of raising a child, to be on our own and let ourselves be in love.

This last month has been a struggle. Work is fine—my friendships with my colleagues have become steadier.

My personal life, on the other hand, is nowhere near as stable.

The disconnect has only grown harder for me to ignore.

I spend so many hours of the night trying to figure out where things have gone so awry, and it’s affecting my sleep schedule. It’s affecting my waking hours.

I yearn to fix this—everything that isn’t perfect—but I haven’t the faintest notion of where to start. I wish I knew how to tell Holden I’m unhappy without making him feel guilty. I don’t, so I keep the question behind my teeth.

“How’s the prep for tour going?” I ask, hating the hesitation in my voice.

Holden looks away from the menu. Candlelight flickers across his face, and I see the distracted glaze ease from his eyes. He sips his wine and shrugs jerkily.

“It’s going pretty well. Should be able to head out without trouble.”

“That’s good. I’m excited for the world to hear your songs.”

“I’m excited to play them.” His face lights up, and he folds his arms on the table. Leaning forward, his gaze meets mine. “It’s some of my best work, I think.”

“So tell me about it, then. I mean, you haven’t really told me much about it, and I haven’t heard more than a couple snippets off it. Is there a theme?”

“Yeah, there is. Haven’t quite gotten it completely sorted yet, though.”

Holden smiles shortly, his gaze dropping to the tabletop.

His fingers tap against the wood, and I slump against the disappointment.

Now he’s ended the topic of his music, he doesn’t look nearly as engaged in the potential conversation.

I sigh and reach for my glass. Should have just stayed home .

A wince pulls at my face when the thought crosses my mind.

Accurate, it is, but not something I should be thinking on our anniversary.

After dinner turns out to be nothing more than a drive back home.

Unlike our first date, Holden doesn’t try to be sweet, doesn’t plan anything else.

I wish I had planned something more, but I hadn’t, either, too afraid this date would never have materialized.

So I accept the reality and, with a void in my chest that suffocates me with each breath, head into the house.

The low beep of an incoming text breaks through my sleep, jerks me from my dreams—the loneliness, the emptiness, the desolation. I fumble for my phone and peer at the screen.

Luci

Hey, I love you and all, which is why I’m bothering you on your anniversary to ask if everything is okay .

Dealla

Dude, it’s 2 in the morning. Why are you pestering me right now?

Luci

Sorry I woke you up. I didn’t think about the time. ANYWAY! Is everything okay?

Dealla

Yeah, everything’s fine. Why?

Luci’s response is a link, and I tap on it. My heart sinks when the webpage loads; the post is full of photographs. They’re grainy, dark, but there’s no mistake. They were taken when Holden and I were having dinner. That article leads me to a blog that brings nothing but more pain.

The poster spends seven lengthy paragraphs pointing out how neither of us seem to be speaking to each other, even as we sit at the same table.

I sit up, curling in on myself, as I read each bit of ‘evidence’ proving the nearing end of the relationship.

And with each word, my throat tightens more. The poster makes valid points.

It’s the last few sentences that stab me through the heart:

this relationship? whatever it actually is? totally not gonna last. and he’s all the better for it - seriously, who else thinks this chick is using him, especially since her kiddo needs a daddy, and why not someone rich and famous???

I exit out of the browser, lock my phone, and toss it onto the nightstand.

I can’t breathe through the tears. Was it really that obvious that I’m not nearly as happy as I was only a couple short months ago?

And do people honestly think I’m using Holden so Ashton has a father figure?

I would never—I would rather shoot myself in the foot than do something so heinous—it breaks my heart that they could operate under that assumption.

No matter what anyone thinks, I love Holden for who he is as a person, not for anything else.

Rolling over, I stare at Holden through the dark, barely touched by the gentle glow of the nightlight across the room. My entire being aches, and I don’t stop to think about what I’m doing. I slide farther down into the blankets, curling up against him, and close my eyes as the tears keep coming.

I’m fine.

Nothing is wrong. I’d tell you if something was.

I’m fine .

Over the last few weeks, I have said this so many times that I’ve lost count.

It hasn’t helped that every time I’ve looked at Holden’s social media, there are more and more comments questioning the photos of our anniversary.

His fans beg for some explanation or confirmation that he’ll dump me.

I know, I know I shouldn’t be doing this to myself—checking his profiles regularly—but I can’t stop.

If he’s going to slip up, if he’s going to hint about the comments being true, if I’m going to find out about our breakup through a damned social media post… I have to know.