Page 82 of Win You Over
“You don’t eat brownies because you’re hungry, you eat them because they make you happy,” Nadine offers, picking one up with her hand and taking a bite. “And you need cheering up.”
Annoyed, I push away the blanket that Holden laid over my lap earlier and stand. The stitches on my side pull and I wince, sucking in a breath and cursing myself for not moving slower.
Holden pushes up from his seat, a puzzle piece falling to the floor.
“Careful, Rem,” Mom warns. And I know she’s only saying it because she’s worried. I know everyone in this house only cares that I get better. But I am so tired. And so angry. And so sick of the pity and the concern. “You had a serious injury. You need to rest.”
Holden comes closer and I bat his hand away, hating the way hurt flashes across his face before he drops his walls and schools his features. I get that this isn’t like me; I am well aware of it. But I can’t do anything about that, not right now. Not when this anger is boiling over like a pot left on the stove.
Raising my own hands, I step away from everyone, heading towards the door of the lounge.
“I know I had an injury,” I snap. “I was there. I feltallof it.” I’m yelling and my eyes are burning and it’s like a floodgate has opened and my words and my tears are pushing their way out, uncontrolled.
I tap my chest. “I got hurt by someone Itrusted. My best fucking friend! And why? Because he was jealous that I was happy with someone else? Because he grew up in this fucking town thinking people like us are so much better than everyone?” I laugh bitterly. “And then, because he just couldn’t accept my relationship, he set out to hurt the man I love? It’s all so fucking messed up, and I’m sorry if I’m having a really hard time with it.” My breathing is choppy, my cheeks wet as salty tears stream down my face and over my lips.
“I’m sorry a chocolate brownie won’t improve my mood and I’m sorry I can’t be the fun Remington you all want right now.” I glare at Nadine. “He’s not available. Please try again later.”
Holden’s eyes are wide and wet at the edges, one hand over his mouth and the other hanging loosely by his side.
Mom stands, and Dad pulls her closer with an arm around her waist. Everyone is looking at me, not saying a word. It dawns on me then what I just admitted. To my entire family, and in the worst possible way.
I laugh without humour, the sound harsh in my ears.
“Great! This is exactly how I wanted to tell you, Holden.” Sarcasm rolls off my tongue. “Standing in my parents’ lounge, with tears blurring my vision and an ache so deep in my chest, I feel like there’s something trapped there.” I turn towards him fully. “I love you. So fucking much.” He takes a deep breath and I step forward but don’t reach out for him. “I love you and you deserved to be told in the most romantic way possible, but I fucked it up.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’m sorry. I just...” I shake my head, looking at all the worried expressions in the room. “I just need a moment alone.”
Chapter 31
Holden
Istand in the middle of the living room, watching Remington’s back as he walks out.
I don’t know what to do with any of what just happened. I’ve never seen Remington angry, not like that. Nor have I seen that level of hurt in his eyes. Losing his best friend really fucked him up. He may come across as unflappable to some, but Remington wears his heart on his sleeve, something I love about him.
Because I love him too.
Moving towards the table I was sitting at with Curtis, I pick up my bag that’s hanging over the back of the chair. The same bag that Finn must have dug through while we were away, and taken the knife out of.
I sling the bag over my shoulder and gather up the last of my things – my sweater, my phone, the pen and paper that were next to me on the table – shoving them all in. The puzzle Curtis and I were building sits incomplete, the wheels of the racecar still to be put together.
“Don’t go,” Charlene says from where she’s standing with her husband. “He’s upset, but he wouldn’t want you to leave.”
It’s hard to know what Remington would want right now. In one breath, he says he loves me and in another that he needs space. I’ll give Remington anything he wants, and if that is a break from me, then so be it. Even if it hurts.
Charlene puts a hand on my forearm. My eyes fall to her manicured fingers, the pinky brushing over a faded heart drawn on my skin. Remington drew that right before we walked out for the party.
“He’s stubborn – you know that,” she starts. “And he’s hurting in a way he hasn’t dealt with before. My guess is he’s really overwhelmed by what he’s feeling.” Charlene’s words resonate with me, because I understand what it’s like to experience so many emotions at once that you struggle to do anything but sink into yourself and hide away from the world.
I look at her, taking in how her usually well kept appearance is missing today. Her blonde bun lopsided, strands falling around her face and her eyeliner creating a smokey blur beneath her eyes.
“What Finn did to you and to him? It’s the biggest rejection he’s faced. And we know how well he deals with rejection.” She smiles and I can’t help but return the gesture, however small it may be. “Stay, Holden. Give him some time and then go up there and talk to him.”
I mull over her words, looking down at my hands that are wringing together in front of me, aching for his hand to hold them. Remington Langford loves me. Sure, he was angry and sadwhen he said it, but I know he meant every word. And in a short while, I am going to march up to his room and tell him exactly how I feel. I need him to know that I love him back. More than I have ever loved anyone or anything.
I nod, then put my bag down on the floor and scoot onto the sofa next to Nadine. She rests her head on my shoulder.
“Keep loving him, even when he’s moody,” Nadine says before pressing play on a Christmas movie. I don’t mock her for her choice as the couple on screen share a kiss under the mistletoe.
One awful festive film later, I make my way upstairs to Remington’s room. Pushing the door open, I find the space dark, save for the light coming from his bedside lamp. Remington is sitting on his bed, his back to the headboard. A slowed down version ofMr Brightsideby the Killers is playing through his smart speaker and his head is bent, his tattered copy of Death on the Nile in his hands.
