Page 15 of Tracing Holland (The Hold Me NSB #2)

“It’s great, actually. That’s the problem,” she explains, confusing me further. She leans her head on my shoulder and studies the passing cars. “I just want to pretend for a few more minutes before we return to reality.”

Disturbed, I glance over for a better read. “What do you mean?”

She sighs. “You know what I mean. Pretending that what just happened today was real. That ‘ this ’ is real,” she explains, holding up our intertwined fingers.

I quiet. She’s right, I know exactly what she means. Today was a fantasy. Everything about this is a dream.

“Luke, I’m sorry. I know I’m not making this easy for you.

I’m a hypocrite and contradicting myself.

I know…” She pulls away and buries her face in her hands.

“I just don’t know what it is with you. You’re this magnet for me.

You break all my rules,” she whispers, finally looking back at me. “But my rules are there for a reason.”

She leans back, crossing her arms as she gazes back at the street. “And you have rules too, you know? You have so many rules, so much baggage, you don’t even know what to do with me and my rules. Today was fun, amazing actually, but it wasn’t real.”

She’s right, of course. I hate how fucking logical she is.

“I get it,” I say finally, and she turns to me abruptly.

“Do you? Really? Because I’m struggling really hard with this. I can’t get you out of my head and it terrifies me.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that. She doesn’t know what my head’s already done to her.

But this isn’t about sex, and that’s the problem.

We understand sex all too well. It’s the rest that’s keeping us apart, the fear of what we don’t understand, the part that’s ripping up the little we thought we did.

But it does make sense. It makes a hell of a lot of sense, even if the truth is killing both of us right now.

I’ve done too much damage in my life to risk this magnificent soul beside me, and she’s fully aware of the kind of destruction that surrounds me.

She’s too smart for that, too strong, and I wasn’t just speaking out of my ass earlier.

I do get it. I understand. I don’t want to hurt her as much as she doesn’t want to be hurt by me.

Neither of us trusts me with something so precious. I certainly don’t.

“I want to be friends, though,” she adds, and I almost laugh. It’s such an absurd statement and we’re both smirking at the cliché.

“Sure,” I answer, following the script like a pro. I start to get up from the bench, pretty certain our journey back to reality is brutally complete at this point.

“Luke, wait,” she says, grabbing my arm one last time.

I do, and give her my attention.

“You’re an amazing person. Just know I truly believe that.”

I force a smile. “Thanks,” I manage. “So are you.”

She doesn’t respond. She also doesn’t seem any more content than I am about my return to the lobby, alone.

My pulse quickens as I approach my room and see a figure seated against my door. I immediately tense when I recognize him and brace for the inevitable. I’m in no mood for it, not when Holland and I just had this same conversation a second ago.

“What are you doing, man?” Wes hisses as I reach my door.

“Going into my room,” I toss back casually, slipping my key into the slot. I’m beyond pissed when he follows me inside and lets the door clatter behind him. “What are you doing?” I spit.

“You know what I’m talking about!” he returns, ignoring my question.

“No, actually I don’t. Get out of my room,” I snap, angry but trying to stay calm. I’m not going to let an asshole like Wes Alton goad me into a stupid battle over a woman. After everything I’ve been through, there’s no way in hell I’m going down like that.

“She’s a big girl. She can make her own decisions,” I say. I know that’s not helping, but I’m not the type to back down.

“Yeah, maybe, but she makes bad decisions. You know why? Because she’s good, and trusting, and wants to believe other people are like her. But they’re not. They’re fucking animals, and I’m not going to stand by and watch them tear her apart!”

My glare turns hostile. I can feel the old rage burning, that destructive fire that will leave us both in ashes. “Get out of my room, or I’m calling security. I’m not kidding, Wes! And if they’re not fast enough, I’ll remove you myself!”

His eyes are just as hot, but he begins backing toward the door.

“I know what you are,” he hisses. “ You know what you are. Everyone knows what you fucking are and knows you have no business breathing the same air as her. If there’s any shred of decency left in you, you’ll leave her the fuck alone and go prey on some needy fangirl instead! ”

I freeze. I’m glad he leaves on his own right then because I can’t move. I stare at the door for a long time, my heart racing, pulse pounding, nausea coursing through me.

I’m devastated by his words, furious, but mostly because he’s right. Because deep down there’s the part that agrees with him and is always waiting to claw its way back up into my consciousness. Triggers. Triggers. Shit! Fuck!

I drop to the edge of my bed and rake my hands into my hair. Triggers. It’s just a trigger. It’s just…I’m not…. I am! God, I am! I’m a disease. I’m going to destroy Holland, like I destroyed Elena, like I destroy everyone else. Callie, Casey, I’m going to erase them all with my insidious infection.

I’m pulling at my hair so hard now I’m having trouble focusing on anything but the pain.

It’s so beautiful, the pain. I love how it takes away from the worse pain that I can’t handle.

I clench my eyes shut and focus on that for a moment.

Pulling harder when my brain starts to adjust to the agony.

So hard, I actually think I pull some out.

Then, it all stops, transforming into something else.

I draw in a ragged breath and collapse on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

My phone is buzzing with texts. Probably Callie or Casey asking about dinner.

Holland making sure we’re cool after our conversation.

Kenneth reminding us about some minor bullet point on an appendix no one saw or remotely cares about.

I take my phone and shove it in the drawer of the nightstand. Tonight, I’m alone. Just me and the pain. Just the brutal quarantine of this vile infection.

The battle with myself does not go well. By the following morning I’m exhausted from my fitful sleep and tormented thoughts. I had ignored a few knocks on the door since locking myself inside, and turned off my phone when the constant buzzing finally pushed me over the edge.

I’m actually somewhat surprised no authorities were called, or at least a hotel manager to come inspect the room for a body. But Holland must have assured them I was very much alive and stable when she released me back inside.

I don’t feel like getting up, I don’t feel like doing anything, which is why I know I absolutely have to do one thing.

I retrieve the phone from my nightstand and brace myself as I turn it on.

Sure enough, the display floods with texts and missed calls, but I don’t bother with them.

That’s not what I need right now. I search through my contacts, find the name, and place the call.

It’s a little early for her, but I’m hoping she’ll be willing to take my drama anyway.

She does.

“Luke, I’m glad you called. How are you?” she asks, and the concern in her voice dissolves every bit of strength left in my own.

“Not good,” I manage, the tears filling my eyes as I try to blink them away. God, I’m so pathetic. The anger returns, and I’m grateful for that at least. I’d rather hate myself than pity myself.

“What’s going on? Tell me about it.”

I suck in my breath. I don’t know exactly. I just know whatever it is can’t continue or I’ll lose myself again. I slid far last night and I’m still spiraling.

“I had a really bad night,” I whisper. I hate that it comes out in a whisper. “Fucking awful,” I add, firmer this time. It sounds forced, and I know she’ll know I’m trying to cover up my weakness. She’s really good at what she does.

“I can hear in your voice it was a bad night. Are you able to identify any…”

“Triggers. Yeah, a fucking train-wreck of a trigger.”

“Ok, that’s a start. Why don’t you tell me a little about that. Can you see that maybe you’re using some exaggerated language?”

I clench my fist. I like my train-wreck metaphor. I hate when she takes them away from me. “Fine. Not a train-wreck, but it was pretty damn close.”

“What happened?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she says, and the gentleness in her voice soothes some of the resistance inside me.

Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep breath. “Maybe some of it is worth talking about.”

“Then let’s talk about it.”

I hate to admit that I feel a lot better after my impromptu counseling session with my therapist, Dr. Flynn.

If you would have told me a year ago, hell, at any point in my life, that I’d not only call a shrink to help me through a crisis, but actually be glad I did, I would have laughed.

No, I would have punched you. But man, it works sometimes.

Talking. Having someone understand without judgment.

Letting them give you perspective because god knows your perspective can get so screwed up you can’t even see a straight line let alone walk it.

I’m interrupted by knocking again, but this time, manage to roll out of bed and make my way to the door. It’s Callie, with a bag of something and a hyper-concerned look on her face. I still don’t want to leave my island, but I’ve been a dick long enough over the last few hours and open the door.