Page 26 of Holding Out

Holy shit, this did feel like Christmas.Like when you know you’re the first one awake in the house, and there’s all thattreasuredownstairs, just waiting for you to tear the shiny paper off.

Except in this case, the treasure was Becca’s body and the shiny paper was her clothes.And the fantasies he was having weredefinitelynot the stuff of a family-friendly Hallmark flick.

He drove up 101, past the tourist helicopter ride, surf shops, pizza parlors, pot dispensaries, dive bars.Nestled between the storefronts were small houses, some still impeccably maintained, others falling to shit.He passed his favorite sign of all time: I’d Crack That Chiropractic, with the illustration of a woman whose back was bent at a spine-endangering angle.Best advertisement ever for chiropractic services.Sign him right up.

Griff’s phone buzzed.He broke all his own rules and peered down at the screen.

I’m ready for you.

Well, holy fuck, that had just taken him fromcalmly puttering down the highwaytoprimed to the teeth.

He picked up the phone.Traffic wasn’t too bad.“Send a message to Becca Drake,” he instructed Siri.

“What do you want to say to Becca?”

She was so cooperative, that Siri.He wondered how many nerdy high school boys were in love with her.

“‘You’re going to need to explain what you mean by that,’” Griff dictated.

“Your message to Becca Drake saysYou’re going to need to explain what you mean by that.Ready to send it?”

“Yes.”

He set the phone down, jazzed to the gills.He couldn’t wait to see what she’d text back.

Highway 101’s flotsam gave way to estuary and farmland, then to a stretch of big box stores, the land all jagged geometries, and Griff stopped at the light in front of a Fred Meyers.Grabbed his phone.She’d texted back, which ratcheted his heart rate up.

You’ll see when you get here.

Give me a hint,he tapped.

You’ll like what I’m wearing.

Oh, now.He would.He was pretty sure of that, no matter what it was.I still have four hours of driving, Becca.

The light turned.Goddammit, that was the last light before the bridge, wasn’t it?Grudgingly, he pulled forward and accelerated.

Buzz.

He wasn’t going to look.

He wasn’t going to look.

He grabbed his phone.

That will give you plenty of time to get ready, too.

The only body part he needed for the job crowed,I’m ready!

“Hey Siri, text Becca Drake, ‘I don’t need time to get ready for you, gorgeous.’”

Just past the last of the strip was one of the wildest and most beautiful sights Griff knew, the place where the Columbia River emptied itself into the Pacific, freshwater mingling with salt, flowing to the horizon in what felt like every direction.He crossed the bridge, circled the roundabout, and came into Astoria.

A weight settled in his stomach.This—up on the hill to his right—was where he had once lived with Marina.He couldn’t see it from here, but somewhere up there was the house that he had come home to, only to find it empty and her gone.She’d gotten that house in the divorce—he hadn’t wanted it—and she lived there now with her boyfriend, Scott.

Griff’s stuff was still in the basement of that house.Marina had asked him to come get it, but he hadn’t been up to seeing her, or the house, or—most of all—her and fucking Scott living happily together.So she’d told him she’d keep his things there until he was ready to grab them.

Pretty decent of her, actually.His stuff had been sitting there ever since, although a couple of weeks ago he’d gotten an email from her asking him to finally get the job over with—she and Scott needed the basement back.His stomach had clenched in knots and he’d deleted the email.

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