Page 4 of Pieces of Me

I hadn’t expected anything from Esme, and now…

My phone vibrates in my purse, and I don’t make a move to check it.

I’m stuck.

Somewhere between the past and the present, and nothing makes sense.

Nothing.

The room clears out, and I remain seated, my entire body numb. I can’t even feel the pain of the sharp edges of the keys digging into my palm as I grip them, squeeze them as if they’re my lifeline.

My eyes drift shut when silence surrounds me, and I allow myself a moment of pain. Of agony. I’ve never felt grief like this. Never had a loss this great.

Tears fall through my closed lids, and a single sob breaks through. And then another. I squeeze the keys tighter. Pray for pain. Nothing comes.

“How did she…”

My eyes snap open at the sound of his voice. It’s deeper now than I remember. Harsher. I open my eyes, trail my gaze toward him. I assumed he left with everyone else, but he’s still here, still in his chair, and I don’t know how long he’s been watching me.

His eyes bore into mine now, eyes green like a lively forest, eyes that once terrified me, only to pull me in and make me feel loved, make me feelhis.

I clear my throat, ready my voice before swiping the wetness off my cheeks. “She had a stroke in her sleep,” I tell him, my words barely above a whisper. “She went peacefully,” I assure. Then add, my voice cracking, “At least that’s how she looked when I found her.”

“Jesus,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting shut at the thought. He seems to shift forward as he opens them again, saying, “I didn’t even know until…” he trails off, his gaze focused on the set of keys resting on the table in front of him. As if needing an excuse, he rushes out, “I found the emails and letters last night. My dad thought they were for him, and he’s not really big on opening things, which is dumb because—”

“Is it over?” Dean’s voice crashes through what little sanity I’m holding on to. Holden’s head snaps to the sound, to Dean standing with one foot in the room.

His eyes narrow first at Dean, and then at me. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move an inch.

Dean does, though. He steps toward me, his face conveying a level of concern I’ve grown accustomed to. He attempts to ignore Holden completely, but I can sense the questions I know are building. So many of them. I wonder which one he’ll choose first. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, the first truth I’ve given him since Esme’s death.

I amnotokay.

Because Esme is gone.

And Holden Eastwood is not only in this room, but he’s suddenly back in my life—a life that was already spiraling out of control.

3

Jamie

I wish you’d never picked up a pen.

I wish you’d never put that pen to paper.

And I wish what came of it was nothing but harsh lines, sharp angles, and pure ugliness.

I wish you’d never picked up a pen.

That way, the people who mattered wouldn’t have encouraged you to follow that path.

Those Lines.

Those Angles.

That Ugliness.

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