Page 31 of Our Secrets and Scars

“What makes you think I took some time out?” Holden pauses and looks at me closely.

I look right back at him. At the broadness of his shoulders and the muscles in his arms. At the way the silver in his eyes shines with one too many secrets, the confidence in his gait, and the assuredness in which he carries himself. He knows who he is. And that isn’t a trait I’ve noticed in many eighteen-year-old guys.

“Come on. You’re hardly a boy, are you?”

“No?” He smirks. “What am I then?”

I roll my eyes and hit him lightly across the arm with the back of my hand. “I’m not feeding into your enormous ego.”

“Enormous?” He wiggles his silver-studded eyebrows at me, and though I go to some effort to disguise it, I can’t help the laugh that slips out.

“So, are you going to tell me how old you are?” I ask as we slow to a stop in front of my dorm building.

“Nah.” He shakes his head with a lazy grin.

I sigh, though I should have anticipated his response. The man loves mystery; I’ve known that all along.

“You and your secrets,” I say, then lean up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, because sometimes I like surprising people too.

And as I walk away, though the wind carries the sound of late morning chatter and rustling leaves, I hear him mutter, “You have no idea, little one. You have no idea.”

It’s a week later when I see him again. And maybe I should have expected to find him waiting for me against the wall of the campus coffee house with my pink creamy coffee in hand, but I’m just as mystified to see him as I was last week.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him, not even bothering to disguise the skepticism in my voice.

“Walking you to class.” He says it slowly, like he’s trying to communicate with a toddler or hold a conversation with someone who speaks a different language. Like his reason for being here is obvious, and I’m stupid for needing to ask.

“Why?”

“Owen.”

That’s all he says. And though his tone tells me not to say more on the subject, I do. I’ve never been one to hold back. Even when I was in high school and desperate to be perfect, my thoughts have always found a way to break out into the world.

He hands me the drink, and I thank him, sipping at it quickly before asking, “And how is it that you two know each other?”

I watch as his body tenses. The rigidness that overcomes him at my question, the flare of his nostrils, and the heavy breath he exhales, it only makes me want to know the answer even more.

“We grew up together,” he grinds out. “Used to be best friends.”

“And you’re not anymore?” I ask, though the answer is as clear as a cloudless sky.

The hatred with which they looked at each other at the party the other night was profound. It’s clear that whatever happened between them was unspeakable. I know that without even needing to know the details.

“No,” he growls, inviting no further questions. His voice is so deep, so rough, that I take a step backward.

It’s like storm clouds have fallen from the sky to settle in the space around him. It’s thick and heavy, the tension in the air now, and I find it hard to believe that such an acute shift in mood came about just by the mention of a man he used to be friends with. It’s interesting to me, though, that the very same guy who used to be his best friend is now the man he’s determined to protect me from.

I don’t push though. I will at some point, but now hardly seems like the time. He’s got walls up around that subject, and I’m not sure I have the effort today to break them down. I’m in the mood to do something fun, and this conversation certainly isn’t it.

“You got any plans today?” I ask, taking another sip of my drink and shivering when the coldness seeps into my bloodstream.

“I’ve got a class later and work tonight.”

“But nothing now?”

His eyes narrow as he looks at me curiously. “What are you planning, little one?”

“Wanna get out of here?”

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