Page 4 of The Road Back Home

I chew on the smile curving my lower lip and relish the warmth in my chest before I regain control of myself.

I’m acting as if there’s more than the most superficial of friendships between Holden and me.

He’s given no indication that he views us as more than two people who text each other.

Sure, we text practically every day, and learning about him has been wonderful—I’ve loved hearing about his days, his family, the old couple who lives two houses away who invite him to their family reunions.

I will never admit to the minutes spent examining the selfies he’s sent, memorizing the smiles and glimmer in his eyes or the tousled hair that curls over his brows.

I keep to myself the wonderings of what a real friendship with him is like.

A friendship where we spend time together instead of being just words on a screen.

But we’re only friends… if that.

I sidestep his last message. After all, what can I say that won’t come across as weird?

Instead, I ask what his plans for the day are.

His response comes slower and after seemingly numerous attempts judging by the way the typing bubbles appear and disappear multiple times, as if he’s hesitating, as if he’s struggling to think of what to say.

This piques my interest; after all, it should be relatively simple to tell someone what you plan on doing.

Just another sign he is keeping a secret.

But he replies eventually, saying he plans on going to lunch with a friend before hitting the gym.

Unfortunately, the conversation, which has drifted to our favorite quotes that we live our lives by, comes to an end far too soon, and I reread the messages before pushing to my feet.

I enter my bedroom long enough to grab a clean outfit then head into the bathroom.

Setting my phone on the counter, I start the shower and strip out of my pajamas.

Once the water is steaming, I step into the tub and pull the curtain closed.

I’ve just finished rinsing shampoo from my hair when the door bangs against the wall. A hand shoves the shower curtain out of the way, the rings rattling on the rod, and I hurry to cover myself.

“Tristan!” I shriek as a familiar face shoves itself into view.

He grins without shame. “Happy birthday, hurry up.”

“Get out of here, you ass!”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t see anything.”

But he does leave, slamming the door closed behind him.

I tug the curtain back into place and reach for my body wash with a trembling hand.

My breathing shakes, my heart racing. Despite the hot water beating pinpricks into my skin, I’ve gone sweaty and cold.

I rush through scrubbing my body clean then turn off the water.

Tristan’s phone plays music from the living room, an undercurrent of voices conversing threading through the notes.

Once my skin is dry, I pull on my clothes and exit the bathroom.

“You hung up on me earlier,” Tristan says when he catches sight of me.

I glower at him but accept Luci’s hug. “You woke me up at five in the morning on my one free day this week.”

Luci claps her hands, throwing them in the air, and announces before Tristan can speak, “I brought wine.”

I can’t stop the giggle when my friend gestures toward the four bottles of wine on the counter, as if she is showing off a prize on a gameshow.

Tristan shoves her out of the way and fills three glasses with moscato while I drop onto the couch, bringing my knees to my chest. Luci passes over a stemless glass then cuts into the cherry pie Tristan brought. They join me a moment later.

“Ever think we drink too much?” I ask before taking a sip of the wine, and Tristan snorts and shakes his head.

“I’m serious! It’s not even two o’clock in the afternoon, and we’re already drinking.

And also, every time you guys come over, there’s at least three bottles in the recycling the next day. ”

“At least it’s wine and not heroin or something,” he retorts with a shrug.

“I’ll toast to that,” Luci comments, laughing quietly.

As Tristan brings up the media streaming app on the television, Luci launches into a retelling of her weekend.

I settle into the cushions, listening with one ear and making small sounds of acknowledgment at the appropriate times.

A small part of me, the part not overly interested in my friend’s chatter, feels like something is off-kilter. Something is missing.

Someone is missing.

It isn’t until after we’ve cracked open the second bottle and the pie is gone that I realize it isn’t only Ashton I miss.

I wish Holden could be here.

I pause, glass halfway to my mouth, and wonder if it’s a bad sign.

Shaking my head, I shove the musings away.

Push thoughts of Holden to the back of my mind.

Ignore the knowledge that somewhere along the way, I developed a crush on the man.

It won’t last, I know it. Nothing will come from it, and it’s the way it will always be.

No matter what, no matter which multiverse I exist in, Holden is not in my plans.

I swallow another mouthful of wine and vow to rid myself of whatever it is that I feel for the man.