Page 72 of Our Secrets and Scars

“Might be something worth thinking about.”

“Yeah.” I smile softly to humor him, though I have no intention of ever having that conversation with my parents.

He sees through me, of course, but thankfully drops the subject.

The truck rolls to a stop in the college parking lot, making me frown at Holden in question. It’s Sunday, so campus is empty aside from a few stragglers making their way home from a night that didn’t end.

“What are we doing here?”

He cuts me a wry smile before climbing out of the truck and hurrying around to open the door for me. He holds his hand out to help me down. “Do you trust me?”

I take his hand and hop down onto the asphalt. “Debatable.”

“Nothing’s easy with you, is it?”

“Nothing worth having ever is.”

“Touché.”

His fingers trace down my arm before intertwining with my own as he leads me across the lot to the Art’s building. The doors bang shut behind us as we enter, the sound echoing through the barren halls.

“It’s kind of creepy when no one’s here,” I say, holding on to Holden’s hand a little tighter.

“You scared, little one?”

“I’m not scared of anything.” I scowl at him, but my grip on his fingers doesn’t loosen at all.

“So you keep saying.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

He stops suddenly and grips me by the arms, turning me to face him so that I have no choice but to look up into the hypnotizing silver of his eyes.

“I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever known, Kinsley Violet Garcia. You have more courage than you realize. You’re a lioness, you’re just still finding out how loud you can roar.”

I stare at him, speechless.

There’s nothing on his face to suggest that he’s lying or being insincere, but I still find it hard to accept that he means what he’s saying. And I know that it’s my own insecurities trying to trick me into believing that he’s feeding me false niceties, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

He reaches for my face and brushes his thumb across my cheek, stroking back and forth as we just stand in the abandoned hallway of the Art’s building, staring at each other like we’re scared to look away.

“Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s go have some fun.”

We push through a set of wooden doors that lead to a large studio. The space is vast and pretty bare. I’ve never been in this building before, but I’d been expecting paint-stained work benches, easels, and charcoal strewn about, but the room in which we stand has very little of that.

Instead, several blue plastic tarps are suspended from the ceiling, creating a temporary room within the existing one.

“Did you bring me here to kill me?” I ask, eyeing the plastic sheets on the floor.

Holden balks. “What?”

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