The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(22)

My foot halts mid-step, hovering above the concrete. “I have to go. And I don’t want you to come.” When my foot hits the ground, I turn and run. I hear him curse.

I’m almost to the train doors when his arms wrap around my waist. He pulls me to a stop, securing my arms against my sides. “Don’t make a scene,” he whispers harshly, taking deep breaths between his words.

A chill slides down my back, replacing the heat from his body. I spot a security guard near the ticket booth and think about screaming. Kicking. Making the exact scene he warned me not to make.

But a spark of clarity bursts through my panic. I can’t chance being found out. And they’ll no doubt want the details as to why I’m fighting with my dead boyfriend’s brother in the middle of the train station. Would Holden out me?

“Dammit,” I grit out.

I watch the train pull away as Holden’s arms hold me tight. The fight leaves my body, and I go limp with defeat. He waits until the train has completely left the station before he loosens his arms, then he backs away.

“I couldn’t let you endanger yourself,” he says, low, his deep baritone grating against my nerves.

Straightening my T-shirt, I fill my lungs with foul air, then turn and walk out of the station. I can hear him following behind me, but I don’t look back.

“Where are you going?” he asks as he matches my steps, moving beside me.

I blow a puff of air through my lips, lifting my bangs from my forehead. “Away from you.”

“You’re giving up? I don’t remember you being a quitter.”

Anger seizes my steps for a second, but then I start again, walking faster. “Who said I’m quitting?” I say. “And you never knew me. Don’t pretend like you did.”

He doesn’t respond, and I’m tempted to look over, to see if my words have any effect on him. But I don’t know what I’d do with that knowledge either way. I keep my gaze straight ahead.

“Just tell me.”

I huff. “I’m going to get my car, I guess.” I stop near the crosswalk, look around. Savannah isn’t a big city. I can’t just hail a cab, so I dig out my phone to call the same cab service I used earlier to pick me up.

Holden throws his hands up and groans. “God, you’re so stubborn.”

My thumb scrolls through the recently called numbers. With a weighted heart, I bypass the missed calls from my mom. I put my phone on silent mode so I wouldn’t have to deal with that anxiety . . . yet.

“You’ll break into a freakin’ crypt with me, but you won’t ride in the cab of my truck.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Is being around me really that bad? Do I smell?”

I almost laugh. I know he’s trying to lighten the mood, but I’m too pissed off for that. And the fact is, he actually smells really good. Like crisp fall air and his woodsy cologne. “Go away, Holden. You’re not getting your way.” As I step off the curb, my eyes still glued to my phone screen, I hear a blaring horn and then a screech. Startled, I freeze.

I’m yanked back as Holden pulls me off the road and out of the path of an oncoming car.

“Shit, Sam.” His arms once again encircle me, and I can feel his rapid heartbeat against my back. My own heart is in my throat. “That’s it.”

I yelp as he picks me up. “What the—? Put me down!”

“Shut. Up.”

I bite my lip. I know he’s pissed. I’m pissed at myself. Not even able to process what almost happened—just like Tyler.

Holden doesn’t throw me over his shoulder like he previously threatened, but carries me toward the parking lot cradled in his arms, like Douchebag Superman. He shakes his head. “So f*cking stubborn.”





Holden

Okay. So maybe I went too far. But I didn’t toss her over my shoulder, at least. She scared the hell out of me, though. And I think I scared her right back.

Sam’s always been strong-willed, determined, independent. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, pushed all the way against the door of the truck.

But she’s never been this.

Dammit. Why did I ever think I could do this trip with her? I’m not a masochist. I deserve her wrath for what went down in high school, but this is more. More than just angst over being rejected. And more than her grief over Tyler.

She’s afraid of me.

I slam my palm against the steering wheel, releasing a harsh curse when my injured hand flares with pain. She flinches. Fuck. That sure as hell didn’t help. Breathing deeply, I rein in my anger. I know what must be going through her head, what’s probably been going through it for the past eleven months, since the accident that took my mom. And now with Tyler . . . I don’t know how to handle this.

I crank my truck, check the rearview and glance over my shoulder, then pull out.

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice is small, broken. It makes the fiery lump burning at the back of my throat thicken.

“Home. Your house.” I swallow. “To get your car.”

She rubs her tiny hands over her face and groans. “Why did you have to follow me?”

Hiking an eyebrow, I swivel my body just enough to stare at her without losing sight of the road. “You don’t want to go home now?” I’m ready to ram my head through the windshield, just to stop thinking. I can’t figure her out.