Page 40 of Tracing Holland (The Hold Me NSB #2)

“Hey, Sylvie. Casey here. Heard you’re into our music. That’s awesome. Anyway, just wanted to say hello and thank you for all your support. Hope you like the swag. Enjoy the show tomorrow.”

There’s no response. She presses play again. And again. And again. Then, Sylvie Drake disappears from view down the hall.

“Geez, Holland. I hope you’re happy. As if mom and dad need to spend more money on therapy,” Hannah mutters.

“So Luke, I hear you’ve decided to officially brave entrance into this family,” Hannah says, selecting a carrot from a tray of snacks on the coffee table.

“Ignore her. She’s the moody, sarcastic one,” Holland explains, and Hannah makes a face.

“You mean the smart, sane one. Well, minus the meds and shitload of therapy.”

“Hannah Marie!” we hear from the kitchen.

“Crap-load of therapy,” she corrects. “Crap-load, Mom!” she shouts. God, I love this girl. “But hey, nothing 10mg of Nilapax and some counseling can’t help with.”

“10mg? Not bad. I’m in the 20 club,” I boast, loving the way her face ignites with a surprised grin.

“20mg? Look at you! Right on. Weekly or biweekly sessions?

“Weekly until the tour. Now, as needed by phone.”

“Ha! Weekly for three years, biweekly for the last two.”

I warm to the challenge. “Thirty days in an in-patient rehab facility.”

“In-patient?” She lets out a low whistle and shakes her head in defeat. “Damn, Holland. Where did you find this god among men?”

She presents her fist, which I tap with a laugh.

“Are you two seriously bonding over antidepressants and treatment plans right now?”

“Well, it beats doing each other’s nails…or does it?” She gives me a look. “What kind of rockstar are you exactly?”

Holland smacks her arm as I laugh again.

“The kind that prefers discussing my struggle with mental illness over manicures,” I assure her.

She lets out a dramatic breath. “Ok, good. You can keep him,” Hannah says to Holland. “Not that the nail painting would have been a problem, it’s just we’ve already got Sylvie so, you know, that’s a lot of primping for one house.”

“Seriously! I don’t know why I ever bring anyone home,” Holland mumbles.

“Um, because we’re awesome.”

“Because you love us,” Annie adds, dropping another plate of food between us. “Hannah, I hope you’re not tormenting your sister.”

“Me? I would never!” she cries, shocked hand to her horrified heart. She exchanges a grin with me as Holland rolls her eyes. “So who’s ready for the clarinet recital?”

“You play clarinet?” I ask.

She snickers. “No. But I should totally learn just for moments like these.”

“Or you could sit quietly and not scare away my boyfriend.”

She scrunches her nose and studies me. “Nah, he’s not scared. I’m pretty sure if Sylvie’s Casey Barrett obsession hasn’t accomplished that, we’re good. I mean, are we not going to discuss what happened in the foyer? We’re just gonna pretend that was totally healthy?”

“She’s got a point, Holland,” I admit. “To be fair, I haven’t seen ‘The Room’ yet either.”

Hannah laughs. “Ok, whew. Don’t let him. He’s growing on me,” she whispers to Holland. Her phone buzzes and she curses. “Ugh, work again. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“Sorry about her,” Holland mutters once we’re alone.

“Are you kidding? She’s amazing,” I say.

“Of course you’d think that. She’s the female version of you. Except a lawyer.”

I laugh. “So you’re dating your own sister? That’s not Pavlov, babe. Whole new ballpark right there.”

She rolls her eyes, and I give her a quick kiss. The sweet moment turns more urgent when she pulls me in for another one.

“You had to mention Pavlov, didn’t you,” she breathes. My own pulse starts to pick up, excited by her as much as the stolen moment.

“You just like how much I’m impressing your family.”

“You got me. You’re killin’ the small talk, hon.”

“And that veggie platter.”

“So hot.”

“You know, Holland’s old room may be an office now, but I think there’s still a futon in there,” Hannah quips, and we freeze before exchanging a grin. “That’s a thing, right, Hol? Quickies in your childhood room?”

Hannah ducks as a pillow flies toward her head.

Dinner is delicious, the conversation flows, and I find myself laughing and joking during a family meal for one of the first times I can remember.

Holland and I are cuddled up on the couch, watching the Jays continue their playoff bid with James, when Annie interrupts the game carrying an armload of equipment. Sylvie and Emma are close behind, neither of whom look thrilled.

“Ok, everyone up!”

Holland groans. “Seriously, Mom? Right now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How often do I get my entire family under the same roof? Where’s Hannah? Hannah!”

I’m still confused as Holland reluctantly straightens from my arms and starts adjusting her clothing.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, and she rolls her eyes.

“Family picture,” she explains.

“It’s tradition. We’ve had one every Thanksgiving since Holland was born,” Annie explains as she begins unpacking what I can now see is a camera and tripod from its case.

“Well, technically since before she was born, eh?” James corrects, lowering the footrest of the recliner. “You were pregnant with Holland that first year, weren’t you?”

“Was I?”

“At least we don’t have to wear matching outfits anymore,” Hannah snickers, entering the room.

“You girls were so cute in your little matching dresses. We should do that again.”

“Over my dead body,” Holland mutters.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart,” Annie chastises. “A quick shot and you can go back to your game.” Her smile grows mischievous. “Or you could try coming home more than twice a year!”

Holland sighs. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes. I’m in the middle of something,” Sylvie echoes, joining her sister by the fireplace.

“I’m pretty sure watching an endless loop of Casey Barrett saying your name doesn’t count as being in the middle of something,” Hannah comments, and Sylvie casts an irritated scowl.

“Ok, girls. We want smiles for the camera! How about that?” Annie chirps.

“I don’t know, hon. Maybe this is the year we capture them in their natural state,” James teases, earning four sets of eye rolls for that remark.

For my part, I can’t get enough. A family photo.

No, a long tradition of family photos. Matching dresses.

It’s too much, and I fight the urge to pull out my phone to film this strange, touching, and hilarious event.

I can feel the grin on my face as I take it all in.

Studying Holland, my heart exploding at the image of her surrounded by so much love, the thought that she has twenty-nine years of memories like this.

I want to know them all right then. Each one, I want to absorb them, let them fill my own void and stabilize the foundation for a future of creating more.

I want her, us. I want to give that woman a lifetime of these moments.

“Holland, move closer to Hannah. Hannah! Stop that! Emma, honey, your hair, yes. Perfect. Sylvie, turn more toward me. A little more, oops too much. James, stand to the right, but make sure to leave enough room in front for me…”

Annie stops abruptly. “Wait, where’s Luke?”

I had removed myself out of the way against the far wall and straighten at my name.

“Right here,” I say, moving toward her. “Would you like me to take the picture?”

Her look of surprise stops my heart.

“Of course not, son. This is a family shot. Go stand next to Holland.”

I’m pretty sure I’m still smiling from my encounter with the Drake family by the time we reach the hotel, our rooms, and our favorite cooking show while reclining on Holland’s bed. And that’s without ever gaining access to the Casey shrine in Sylvie’s room.

“Oh, hey. Look what my mom just sent,” Holland says, shifting so I can see her phone. I mute the TV and glance down at the display. A sudden warmth explodes in my chest at the image.

“Can I see that?” I ask quietly. Her expression softens as she hands me the phone and I study the seven smiling faces in awe.

“I’ll forward it to you,” she offers gently. “She also said they loved having you over and hope we’ll come by again before we leave. Dad wants to take you for burgers.”

“I’d love that. Maybe Saturday?”

“Sounds good. I’ll let them know.” She rests against me and takes my hand. “Thanks, Luke. It meant so much to me to have you there.”

“Your family is incredible, Holland. I…” I look away. “I guess I didn’t know. I didn’t get it.” I’m not sure how to explain, how to describe the impact of my first family photo.

“There are going to be a lot more of those, Luke. A lot more of this.” She holds up our locked hands.

“Yeah? What about this?” I ask, moving toward her lips instead. I can feel her smile against mine, which only draws me closer.

“Um, yeah. Way, way more of that.”

Suddenly, she pulls back with a start, her gaze shooting to my left hand. Tears gather in her eyes, and I swallow the lump developing in my throat.

“Luke…” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine. They’re so beautiful in that moment, endless, timeless. I have to blink back my own tears.

She traces the small tan line on my left hand, and I instinctively glance at the ring on my right.

“It felt like it was time tonight,” I explain quietly. I have no more words for this, but maybe that’s enough when she weaves her fingers with mine and kisses my hand. That vacant spot so full of meaning.

I seem to have stripped her of words as well until finally she settles against me again, gripping my hand, treasuring it. It’s her hand now.

“I’m going to be in love with you, Luke Craven,” she breathes into the peace.

I smile. “I’m going to be in love with you, too, Holland Drake.”