Page 76 of Pieces Of You

I don’t answer.

I just hold her.

Tight.

She’s slow to respond—understandable—but then she’s hugging me back, and I’m suddenly inundated with memories of all the other times she’s held me like this. All the scraped knees and broken bones from being far too daring, far too young. Or every time she had to comfort me when I found an injured animal and couldn’t save it, or the times Mia and I fought over nonsense. Or just the times when I needed to be held by my mother.

“What’s this for?” Mom asks, and I’m too choked up to respond verbally. All the emotion I’d harbored while Jamie was speaking is coming out now, and I’m grateful that my mom’s here to pick up the pieces.

“Thank you, Ma,” I say over the lump in my throat.

“For what?”

It takes a moment for me to find the words. “For always being there for me. For giving up your life for me and always putting me first. For... for being my mom and alwaysprotecting me.”

36

Jamie

“We’re almost there,”Holden says, squeezing my leg as we go over a particularly uneven patch of road.

I have no idea where “there” is.

He’d walked into my fifth-period economics class, and without even looking in my direction, made his way over to the teacher, handed him a note, and then he disappeared just as quickly as he arrived. Whatever was on the note excused me from the class, and I packed up my things and left. Holden was waiting just outside the room for me, and before I could ask what the hell he was doing, he took my hand and said, “Ready?” It wasn’t a question.

But I answered anyway. “Yes.”

I had zero clues where he was taking me, and I realized then—as he squeezed my hand and made a game of covertly sneaking out to his truck—that I’d pretty much do anything Holden Eastwood asks of me.

It’s a dangerous feeling. Terrifying, really. And it’s safe to say that I’m officially a goner for the green-eyed boy sitting beside me, leading me blindly into what he calls “an adventure.”

It’s strange how things can change in a blink of an eye.

Or a single kiss.

Or a single line drawn in black marker that has the power to changeeverything.

Now, Holden turns onto an unmarked gravel road led to him by his phone’s navigator. We’ve been driving for an hour already. Asking where we’re going would be pointless—something I figured out after the first five minutes.

A few more dips in the gravel, and me holding onto the dash for dear life, and we come to a closed gate at the end of the road. “This isn’t sketchy at all,” I murmur, looking behind me.

Ignoring me, he hops out of the truck, ordering over his shoulder, “Stay there.”

I do as he asks, watching as he pushes open the gate and gets back in the truck. He drives, and I… I keep my eyes on his profile—at his full lips and sharp jawline covered in overnight stubble, high cheekbones slightly redder than normal, and is he… “Are youblushing?”

He glances at me quickly before refocusing ahead. “You keep staring at me like that, and I’ll have to pull over and do dirty, filthy things to that smart little mouth of yours.”

“Yeah, but where’s the punishment in that?” I tease, and he groans, adjusts himself in his seat.

“You’re bad.” He hits the brakes. “And we’re here.”

I finally tear my eyes away from him and look around us. It’s nothing but open space and green, green grass dotted in white and yellow. “What is…” I trail off when he gets out, makes his way over to my side.

He helps me out of my seat and onto my feet, and I take a few steps away, slowly spinning around to take in our surroundings. My breath catches the moment realization hits, and it hitshard.Heat burns behind my eyes as I crouch down, pick a flower by my feet and bring it to my nose. They’re everywhere around me, these tiny little rays of sunlight. “A field full of daisies…” I breathe out. I’d mentioned it in passing only yesterday, and he’s already delivering it to me.

Holden smiles as he steps up beside me, then drops a kiss on my forehead. “It hardly seemed fair that you have to draw what you want to see, Jamie.” He takes my hand in his. “You deserve to experience it.” Without another word, he leads me to the bed of his truck, where he pulls out a picnic basket and blanket.

He lays them out on the grass just by his truck, and we sit together, looking at nothing in particular. And we talk—something Holden and I rarely do. He tells me about his football season—all losses so far—which isn’t a surprise, according to him. And I tell him about my plans for the upcoming weekend. “I found a thrift store online that I want to check out.”

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