Page 7 of Pieces of Me

His eyes narrow on mine while I do nothing but stand there, gripping the straps of my bag because I don’t know what to do. Where to go. What to say.

“When did Esme get an RV?”

Confusion mixed with agitation swarms through my bloodline. “What?”

“The RV… in the driveway.”

“Oh.”Did he even hear anything I just said?”It’s not Esme’s. It’s mine.”

“Right.” He moves to a lying position on the bed, his hands folded beneath his head, ankles crossed, as if this is all completely normal and what the fuck is happening right now? After a heavy sigh, he says, staring up at the ceiling, “So, I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours thinking about this. This house, I mean. You and me. Given any other circumstance, there’s no way I would accept it, but I’m kind of drowning in a mountain of debt at the moment, and this could really help me out.”

I blink, swallow my nerves. “Clearly, she wanted you to get something out of this, so…”

“So.” He sits up again, his feet landing on the floor with athud. He looks at the now empty walls, once filled with my artwork he was so proud of, then to the place where the glass coffee table was—the table I smashed into a thousand broken pieces—and then to the open door, finally finishing on his closed fists resting on his lap. “You wouldn’t happen to be in a financial position to buy me out, would you?”

I almost laugh at the thought. “No.”

“So we’ll sell it?” he asks, and now he’s looking at me. Really, truly looking at me, and I wonder what he’s hoping to see. “We’ll split the money down the middle? I assume your—” He visibly cringes. “He—is in real estate with his grandpa?”

Byhe,he means Dean, and I can only imagine the assumptions that have coursed through his mind.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Good.” Holden clears his throat as he stands, but he doesn’t move toward the door. Instead, he opens the drawers of the side table and says, his back turned to me, “Then you can take care of it. Send me a check. I’m back home now. I’m sure you can find the address.”

With his focus off me, I allow myself a moment of grace and admit to the butterflies that swarmed my stomach the first time I heard his voice yesterday. Then came the sweaty palms and racing heart and all the good things that went along with everything Holden.

Because there was a lot of good, and most times, that good overpowered the bad, and the bad became nothing more than a distant memory.

But now… he’s here. Only feet away. Andheis the distant memory.

Holden turns slowly, his eyes on my feet first, before traveling up the length of me. “You said you were just leaving…”

I spin on my heels and move toward the open door just in time for the first tear to fall. I don’t wipe it away. I want it to stay there as a reminder, let it burn into my skin, punish my flesh with the pain of its existence.

“Hey, Jamie.”

I stop, one foot out the door, but I don’t turn to him.

“Did you ever do that puzzle I gave you?”

4

Jamie

There are way too many pieces, and each and every one of them looks exactly the same. It was a challenge five years ago when I’d first opened the box, and even though he’d offered to help me, I’d declined. It was the first and only puzzle I’d ever owned, and it was a part of me that he’d taken to create a part of himself… all so he could gift me with a thousand pieces of us.

I’d wanted to master the puzzle. Make it my bitch. But there were so many tiny cardboard shapes, and all of them were white with one or two black lines across them. If I were lucky, I’d find the odd few that had more detail, and, swear, it was like being a kid winning a prize at a carnival. At least, that’s how Holden described my reaction. The first time I’d found one, he’d teased me, told me I was crazy and onlyslightlyadorable, and then he leaned over the bed and reached down to the floor so he could show me an even more detailed piece in the pile. I’d narrowed my eyes, told him I hated him, and he smiled that wicked, cocky smile of his—right before he kissed me. We’d been in Esme’s pool house—my new home—and when we had sex that night, the first time since the attack, that, too, felt new. Not just the sex itself, but our emotions and our convictions and our unspoken promises.

He’d taken my face in both his hands, desperate to hold on to me.

To us.

Every touch, every look, every sentiment felt like the first time. And when he’d whispered those three words against my lips, words that I’d been holding on to sincebefore, I’d inhaled theIandtheloveand theyouright into my lungs, and let them become the reason for my new existence.

“After all this time, why is it so important now?” Zeke’s question has me coming back to the present.

To reality.

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