Page 34 of Pieces Of You
“I’m out,” I tell whoever is listening. It doesn’t seem like anyone is because no one reacts. I get to my feet; my hand already shoved deep in my pocket to pull out my keys. I make it all the way to my truck parked out on the street when Dean calls out, “Eastwood!”
I freeze with my fingers on the door handle and heave out a sigh. The last thing I want is to deal with whatever he needs to get off his chest. I could leave. Just get in the car and drive away and pretend like I didn’t hear him. But that would be pathetic. And kind of ridiculous. And so I square my shoulders before turning around and facing reality. “What’s up?”
He waits until he’s standing right the fuck in front of me to say, “Have you heard from her?”
He’s cradling a bottle of beer to his chest as he attempts to keep the glare in place, but his bleary eyes make it hard for me to take him seriously. “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
I almost laugh.Almost.
“She wasn’t at school today, and she isn’t responding to my texts.”
“She’s her own person,” I tell him. “If she doesn’t want to talk to you, then she doesn’t have to.”
Lowering the beer to his side, he asks, almost sounding defeated, “What’s the deal with you two?”
Now I actuallydoplay dumb. “What do you mean?”
Dean’s single laugh floats between us, and it’s so full of sarcasm, I want to knock the sound out of his mouth with my fist.
“Look,” he says, his lids heavy when he looks up at me. “I don’t know how well you’ve gotten to know her—physically or otherwise—but Iknowknow her. And trust me, man…” He pauses a beat. “She’s way too much for you to handle.”
My eye twitches as my fists ball at my sides. He must notice because he takes a step back. “Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and can’t handle?”
He scoffs, bitter, and raises his chin in defiance. “She’s gotten to you, hasn’t she?”
“No.” The lie falls effortlessly from my lips. “Not even a little.”
“Holden, is that you?”Mom calls out the second I step foot in the house.
“No, it’s Santa Claus!”
“Smartass.”
I shut the door behind me. “Where are you?”
“Bedroom!”
I make my way over, pausing at the doorway when I see her packing a small suitcase.
“I thought you were at a party tonight,” she says, her gaze flicking to mine quickly before focusing back on her task.
“I was,” I respond. “It was lame.” Then I slump down on the edge of her bed next to a pile of her clothes. She’s only going for a few days, so I don’t know why she needs all this. I look up at her, and for the first time in what seems like forever, I catch her smiling. “I didn’t want to stay out too late since I’m driving you to the airport.”
Her hands pause mid-fold, eyes trailing to mine. “I didn’t tell you?” she starts, and I can hear the hesitation in her voice. “Joseph organized for a car to pick me up.”
I hold back an eye roll, fight back the anger brewing deep, deep, deep inside me. “Of course, he did,” I murmur.
“Holden.” It’s a single word—my name—but when she says it like this, it carries the weight of a thousand meanings.
What do you mean, Holden?
You’re being unreasonable, Holden.
It’s not what you think, Holden.
She throws the dress she’d been folding into the suitcase and sits down beside me, her entire body turned to mine.
