Page 80 of Pieces Of You

“Will youshut up.”

“Because you deserve it, Jamie. More than anyone.”

My eyes drift shut; my mind numb. “I know,” I tell him. Maybe notmore than anyone, but I at least deserve a semblance of it. And I don’t know why I suddenly feel like it’s slipping through my fingers.

I spendevery night working and drawing and pacing and wondering. And by Thursday, over a full week since Holden disappeared, my middle finger has a blister on the side of the first knuckle from constantly gripping a marker.

“Here,” Zeke says, handing me five takeout containers filled with food. “Try to get some sleep tonight, all right, kiddo?”

I take them from him, grateful, and open my backpack to carry them home. “How could you tell?”

He smiles, but it’s sad. “The giant bags under your eyes gave it away.” I’ve also been in a crappy mood, quieter than usual, and sucky at my job—though he won’t say any of that. Zeke knows as much as I’ve told him—which is everything I know—Holden left.That’s it.

I zip up my backpack, haul it over my shoulders, then pat the side pocket, making sure the pepper spray is there. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He watches me, the pity in his stare palpable. “Bye, sweetheart.”

I push open the door, and I’m immediately blinded by headlights. I recognize the lights right away and the boy sitting on the hood of his truck. I don’t think. I just run, and when I’m in Holden’s arms… I take my first full breath in what feels like an eternity. I let him hold me, ignoring the fact that he hasn’t called, that he didn’t tell me he was even leaving. Because none of it matters. “I was so worried,” I tell him, hugging him tighter. I’ve missed him, I realize, and maybe that’s what the fear was… the dread…losing someone.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I don’t even care what he’s sorry for.

“Is your dad—”

“He’s fine.”

“And Mia?”

He pulls away. “Can we just go back to your house? We should talk.”

We don’t talk.

The second we’re alone, we do anythingbuttalk.

And maybe that’s where we went wrong.

Because when I wake up the next morning, Holden isn’t in my bed. I sit up, trying to adjust my vision, before flicking on the lamp on my nightstand. I startle when I see Holden in the room. Wearing only sweatpants, he’s leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed, watching me. “You scared me,” I breathe out, hand to my chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

His gaze drops. “I can’t sleep.”

“Come here,” I say, patting the bed. He moves toward me, his head lowered, and he keeps it that way when he slumps down on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. “What’s going on? You still haven’t told me what happened.” I shuffle on my knees until I’m at his side, and then I reach up, run my hand through his hair.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he says, pulling away from my touch.

I sit taller, trying to silence the voices in my head warning me of what’s to come, but when he lifts his gaze, those empty eyes searching mine, I know my fears are justified.

I don’t know how long we sit there, only inches apart, while he says everything he means without ever saying a word. And with each second that passes, with each beat of my heart, I feel the dread in my chest become heavier, weighted by the barriers being rebuilt. Re-enforced. Wall after wall. Piece after piece. I’m quick to stand, to move to my dresser so I can remove his shirt I’d slept in. I replace it with my own and hand his back. “You should go.”

“Jamie, just give me a minute—”

“It’s okay,” I cut in. Besides, I’ve heard it all before. First comes the reasoning. Then the excuses. Then the empty promises followed by the apologies. I turn my back to him and stare at the ceiling, hoping that gravity plays its part. I refuse to let him see me cry. See me weak. “You’ve been gone over a week and not once did I hear from you, so I kind of figured where I sat on the scale of importance in your life.” I force out a breath, trying to remain calm amid the storm building inside me. “I just don’t get it. Like, why come here and screw me, and—”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he insists.

I scratch at my arms, try to rid the filth only I can see. “I feel so gross right now.”

“Jamie.” He sighs. “I came straight to your work from the airport to do…this.”

I face him, see his regret staring back at me.

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