Page 22 of Tracing Holland (The Hold Me NSB #2)

Baltimore, Maryland

“Thanks for returning my call,” Dr. Flynn says, and I squint at a building across the street as I settle on the bench I’d found a block from the venue.

It’s a surprisingly chilly morning and I wish I’d brought my jacket. But that would have required planning and foresight which we all know I avoid at all costs. I grimace.

“I almost didn’t, then realized, you might be the only person in existence I can talk to about this. You know, since I literally pay you to keep my secrets.”

She’s quiet at first. I’m pretty sure it’s my “secret” comment. “What kind of secrets are you talking about, Luke?” she asks, confirming I’m way too good at this.

“The truth about those pictures everyone’s talking about. I didn’t actually slip up in Charlotte. Those pictures are old. I leaked them to take the spotlight off Callie. The media was going after her about her past and I didn’t want them talking about her anymore.”

This new silence is because she’s processing, and I almost roll my eyes but manage to stop myself. I’m the one who called her after all. Not to mention, it’s a pretty big bombshell for eight in the morning.

“So you saw your friend in trouble and stepped in to help her by turning the negative attention on yourself.”

I sigh. “Yep, pretty much. But of course, as usual, it totally backfired and now everyone hates me, including Callie, and thinks I’m a total fuck-up. Which I guess I am by definition.”

“You consider yourself a ‘fuck-up’ right now?”

“I’m pretty much the poster boy, I think.”

“Really. And what’s your definition of a ‘fuck-up’?”

“Come on, Doc. I see what you’re doing. But let’s be honest, even you have to admit I’ve written the book on this. Every time I make a choice, try to do anything, even for the right reasons, it turns to shit.”

She’s thinking again, and I wait. It’s gonna be bad, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. “Luke, can I take you up on that offer? To be honest with you?”

“I pay you a fortune for that,” I joke.

I can almost hear her smile into the phone. She’s a good person. We’ve always connected well. I had to try three before I found the right fit.

“You’re a very intelligent young man. Your self-awareness and ability to self-reflect is astounding in a lot of ways, which is why I feel comfortable asking you to step into that role for a moment and listen to an outside perspective.”

I brace myself. Her comfort with a topic rarely translates into the same for me.

“Go ahead. Shoot,” I say anyway. Time to get my money’s worth.

“If I’m understanding correctly, you are perceiving this latest challenge as a case of good intentions gone awry.”

“Yeah. I just wanted to help Callie.”

“Luke, that’s not what I see.”

I suck in my breath. Of course it’s not. “No?”

“No. From my perspective, I see a long pattern of self-sabotage, disguised as altruism.”

I nearly choke as her words slam into me.

“You still with me?”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

Her voice softens as she continues. “I know that may be hard to hear, but I think it might help you make sense of your frustrations at your tendency toward destructive choices. You use altruistic reasoning to justify decisions that isolate and punish you. You believe you need to protect others from yourself because the depression still has you convinced that you’re not worthy of love, that they’re better off without you.

Deep down, part of you still doesn’t believe you deserve happiness.

You still believe you should be punished. ”

I can barely breathe. She’s right. Dammit, I hate when she’s right because it’s usually devastating.

I don’t respond for a long time and just stare into the distance, her words ricocheting like blinding neon signs in the darkness of my head.

I think back over my life, over every relationship I’ve had that’s important to me.

When have I ever let someone get close? When have I ever let myself be happy?

The second a spark starts to ignite, I do something to snuff it out.

Elena, Casey, Callie, and now Holland. I surround myself with shallow and destroy anything that slips beneath the surface and threatens to go deep.

“But Callie. I really did want to help her,” I mutter finally, feeling like I need to put up some defense.

She sighs. “I know you did. I know you believe that, but let’s look at the other side for a minute.

There are many ways a friend can help another friend in need.

In this particular situation, you could have stood by her and supported her through the challenge, provided a compassionate ear, a shoulder to lean on, encouragement from your own experience.

Instead, your instinct led you to try to ‘help’ her by lying to her and damaging your relationship at a time when she needed it stronger than ever.

You removed yourself from her instead of drawing closer. ”

That one hurts. Maybe even more than the other.

I close my eyes, wanting desperately to argue.

That can’t be right, but isn’t that exactly what happened?

Isn’t that why I’m here, talking to Dr. Flynn, shunned by everyone else on that bus?

Hell, isn’t that exactly what I admire about all of them?

Casey’s unflinching loyalty to those he loves, even in the heat of battle.

Callie’s compassion, even when she has no reason to love.

Holland’s inexplicable faith in people. Then there’s me who shows love by lying, rejecting, and destroying all of that.

That’s not love. Oh god, that’s what Flynn is saying.

That’s not love! It’s something else. Something dark, something poisonous.

“How are you processing this, Luke? You still there?”

I don’t know how to respond. I’m processing it way too well, I think. “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” I mumble after a long pause.

She doesn’t respond at first, and I know she recognizes my signal that I’m done with this conversation. She’s just going to have to hope she’s gotten through. And she has. For the love of all things holy in psychiatrist land, she has. I feel ready to puke.

“I should probably go,” I say.

“Luke, this was a very difficult conversation, but we’re having it because there are people in your life who love you and whom you love.

This wouldn’t hurt so much otherwise. You are very close to letting them in.

We just made a huge leap. In your language, an ‘epic’ one, I believe.

” I actually do crack a smile at that. “So please, just do me one last favor. Put our conversation into action. Test it. Test me and my perspective. Just try telling one of your friends what you told me. Tell them the truth about the photos. Let them in, truly in, and see what happens. Stop showing love by punishing yourself and see what happens to these relationships, to you and your life, when you accept real love and return it in kind.”

I let out a dry laugh. I’m sorry, but that sounds ridiculous.

There was nothing funny about this conversation until now.

“That’s it, huh? Just rewire my entire approach to relationships, the very concept of Love embedded in my soul.

Just undo twenty-eight years of betrayal, fear, and pain. Yep, that’s it? All fixed?”

“Luke, I’m not asking you to do any of that. I’m asking you to take a small step.”

“It sounds like a giant, fucking rocket launch to me.”

“That’s because you’re projecting way beyond what I’m actually asking.

You’re skipping to the end when all I’ve asked is for you to open the book.

All I want is for you to pick one person and tell them the truth about the photos.

A simple, tangible, measurable action. Tell them it was a lie, that you didn’t go out partying.

You were trying to protect Callie. Then just see what happens next. That’s it.”

“That’s it? And when they laugh in my face or explode on me?”

“You can call me back and say ‘I told you so,’ and rub it in all you want.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. But Luke?”

“What?”

“It’s not going to happen.”

Eli sends me a text to meet him in catering for lunch. I do think it’s strange, but since he’s one of the few still talking to me, I make the effort to show up. I’m surprised to find everything looking completely normal. Jesse, Parker, and Reece are seated at a table with Eli who waves me over.

“Hey, Luke! Grab some food,” Eli calls. I nod a greeting and pick up a plate. I fill it while they continue their conversation about getting a new front-of-house console.

“What’s up, guys?” I say, taking the empty seat across from Eli.

“Hey,” they answer.

“I meant to ask, what’d you think of Charlotte? Do you like playing the outdoor venues?” I ask Jesse.

He smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, it was pretty sweet. Fucking hot, though.”

I laugh. “Yeah, Charlotte in early September can be a bitch. But you guys sounded great.”

“Really?” Jesse asks, and I like that he seems sincere in his appreciation of my praise. Maybe he’s starting to forgive me, too.

“Really. You seriously do have a sick sound. I love the vibe. Your vocals are killer, Jess, and rocked that venue.”

He’s beaming now, and I feel my cloud start to lift.

“Thanks, Luke. That means a lot,” he says.

“Did you get a chance to sign the pallet?”

“The pallet?”

“Yeah, above the fireplace in the green room. You saw that, right? With your warehouse background I figured you’d be all over that.”

“Wait, the one with all the burnt signatures?”

I nod. “We signed it at our first show there.”

“Aw, damn, no. But that Coke fountain was…”

His response is cut off by the sudden shouts of Derrick, their bass player.

“It’s gone!” he cries, bursting into the room.

“What’s gone?” Jesse asks.

“The bus!” Derrick continues.

We all just stare at him.

“Huh?” Jesse says. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s gone! I went to get something just now and it’s missing! The NSB bus is there. Tracing Holland, the crew bus, they’re all there, but ours is gone!”