Page 5 of The Road Back Home

I fail to quell the feelings over the next week.

The ‘good morning’ texts, random conversations through the days, and ‘goodnight and sweet dreams’ messages at night…

None of it helps. I struggle to ignore how my heart flutters in my chest. How I look forward to talking to Holden.

It’s impossible to ignore everything good about him.

He even asks about Ashton regularly. He commiserates with me whenever my homework gets frustrating.

Even though I know he’s withholding something, I relish the conversations.

I try to build the barrier, to shore it up with stone and ice, to make it impenetrable, but each day, he chips away more and more.

Adjusting the volume on the radio, I signal to switch lanes, deftly sliding in between a semi-truck and a pickup with a dog hanging its head out the window.

I grimace at the song that comes through the speakers—popular it may be, but I hate it.

What’s so good about hearing how the singer can treat someone better than her current partner?

I quickly press the button to skip to the next song and curse my music app for adding the song to my curated station.

The pop beat is replaced by a smooth guitar, and I smile to myself as the voice joins in to speak of a love found in the unexpected.

The traffic light turns yellow, and I come to a stop at the line to wait.

A glance at the stereo display shows a name and title: Holden Lynch, Too Little .

Something in the voice brings a shiver to my spine, goosebumps to my skin, and the timbre of the baritone is almost familiar.

I lift my phone to take a photo of the stereo screen, wanting to remember the title so I can listen to it again later, only to nearly drop the device on the floor.

Someone honks behind me, and I wave shakily at the driver before pressing on the accelerator.

Tristan cocks his head when I enter the coffeeshop twenty minutes later, and I lower myself into a chair by the drinks cooler.

He finishes making the coffee for the lady waiting at the counter then comes to sit across from me once she exits the building.

Without a word, I slide my phone across the table and drop my head into my hands.

Staring at him through my lashes, I watch his expression closely.

I see the moment he comes to the same realization I did.

“ No .”

I nod unsteadily and exhale slowly. “What am I supposed to do with this, Tris? He never told me he was a musician! It was awkward enough talking to him when he was just a dude, but now this?”

“Okay, first off, how often have you talked to him? Don’t answer that, why am I asking you?” he mutters as he taps at the screen. “Oh, wow. You told him about Ashton, like, right off the bat. And this is a lot of texts, Dealla. Do you two talk every day?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” I blow out a breath and give my friend a pleading look. “What am I gonna do?”

“Keep being his friend,” Tristan says simply.

“Tristan—”

“I’m serious, Deals. There’s obviously a connection between y’all, and since he’s who he evidently is, I don’t think he really gets to be friends with people without his status being brought up or worrying about if they’re using him.

Besides, what could it hurt to have another friend? You don’t have nearly enough of those.”

“I have you and Luci. What more do I need?”

“And now you have him.” Tristan sighs, pushing my phone back toward me, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Look. It’s ultimately up to you, but I suggest you handle this with delicacy and tact. And don’t sabotage this friendship just because of who he is.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“I know you. I love you, Dealla Taylor, but I know you.”

I know he’s right—I’ve always done what I could to protect myself from any sort of pain, and this… This whatever ‘this’ is I have with Holden is ambiguous enough. It already promises future hurt if I’m not careful.

Pushing to my feet, I tuck my phone into my back pocket and head toward the door. My heart thunders beneath my breast. Tristan calls after me, but I ignore him and slip out onto the sidewalk. As much as I love him, he can’t help me right now.

The running paths are mostly devoid of others when I arrive.

The city is busy with other responsibilities at nine-thirty on a Wednesday morning.

I make sure the laces of my sneakers are tied securely, the doors of my SUV locked, and hook the keys to my bra strap.

I hesitate then open my music app. The song starts again, and I gaze down at the face on the screen.

Gray eyes glitter up at her, a half-smile pulling up one corner of Holden’s mouth, and I sigh before setting off in a jog.

It takes under two hours before my muscles ache and protest movement.

I slow to a stop in the middle of the walking bridge and lean against the tall balustrade.

My lungs burn as I pant and drag in quiet gasps of air, but I smile into the pain.

My mind is no clearer, but I feel lighter, as if I have run off the brunt of my emotions.

The river flows lazily beneath me; various boats dot the expanse of shimmering water.

Green trees surround me, line the river, and it all reminds me of why I love Austin so much.

It’s a home I’ve never found before—even as a child living with my parents—and it bustles with life, both human and nature.

My phone vibrates, and I pull it from the band wrapped around my bicep.

Five texts sit in my inbox from Holden and another from Tristan, and I wince.

I read Tristan’s first, a simple Remember what I said, silly girl , and hesitate but move on to Holden’s.

They’re clearly boredom-induced, and I let out a quiet laugh at the stream of consciousness.

I reply, asking if I can call him in a few, before turning in the direction of my car.

“Hey, I was beginning to think you forgot about me,” Holden says lightly when he answers my call an hour later.

I roll my eyes and put the call on speakerphone. Grabbing my hairbrush, I run it through my shower-damp hair. “Sorry, I went for a run. Then I came home to take a shower and lost track of time. So what’s up?”

“I, uh, I have some free time coming up this next week, and I was thinking maybe you could show me around Austin?”

I freeze. He wants to come back? To see me ? He’s a musician—a relatively well-known country presence, judging by his social media profiles that I absolutely did not trawl—and I’m a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But...

I do want to see him again.

“I’d like that,” I finally manage to respond, and I bite back the giggle when I hear a gust of breath crackling down the line. “Holden, you’re always welcome here. I’d just like a heads-up.”

“Well, we don’t really know each other that well, so I didn’t wanna just invite myself.”

“We’ve been talking for a month. I think I can trust you enough to not, like, cut my throat and hack me into pieces or something.”

Holden barks out a laugh. “Why does your mind always go to murder?”

“I watch too much true crime.”

He laughs again, and I set my brush on the counter and tug a tank-top over my head.

The silence between us stretches on, but it’s a comfortable thing, an easiness I’ve only ever felt with Tristan and Luci.

I wonder about it, but then he’s speaking, telling her of his plans over the next few days.

There is no mention of his music, and I chew on her lower lip as I pull on a pair of leggings.

Should I ask him about his music? Ask him why he’s kept it from me?

“You listening?”

Holden’s question startles me back to attention. My thoughts have consumed me, and I’ve missed most of what he was saying. Clearing my throat, I assure him I’m still here, I’m paying attention—now. Holden doesn’t say anything for a moment, then he speaks:

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing important.”

“Dee?”

“Dee”? , I think with a small smile. The only other person who calls me ‘Dee’ is Ashton, and hearing the nickname falling from Holden’s lips fills me with warmth.

Instead of mentioning it, I say simply there’s a song stuck in my head.

I should have known he would prod for the title, for any indication of what the song is, but I hadn’t thought about it. I hesitate before capitulating.

“I don’t remember the name,” and God, does the lie come easier than it should, “but it sounds like—”

I hum the beat of the chorus of Too Little .

When I finish, the damning silence deafens me.

My skin crawls, prickles with the buzzing electricity zipping along my nerves.

Checking the screen of my phone tells me he hasn’t hung up.

A chill crashes over me at his lack of speaking.

Picking at a stray thread on the hem of my top, I close my eyes when Holden sighs.

“Guess you know now.”

“I know what? All I know is it’s a good song.”

“Dealla—”

Tristan was right . “Look. Holden, you’re still you.

You’re still the guy brave enough to interrupt an incredibly beautiful stranger so you’d have a place to sit in a crowded coffeeshop.

You’re still the guy who came over to hang out and entertained a toddler and cleaned my apartment.

So you sing, too. Who cares? Doesn’t change the fact that the guy I know is a pretty cool dude I’ve enjoyed getting to know over the last month. ”

“I like getting to know you, too,” he admits after a pregnant pause. My cheeks burn as I smile. His voice lowers, softens. “Thanks, Dealla.”

“You can thank me by not making this weird.”

“I’ll try.” He pauses. “So… An incredibly beautiful stranger, huh?”

“I just—”

“No, no, don’t take it back. It’s true, y’know.”