The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(41)

When Holden reaches out and takes my hand, my breath stills on my lips. He wraps his strong fingers around my arm and turns it over. His thumb traces the desolate, inky branches on my wrist.

“I don’t know about dead trees,” he says, his voice deep, guttural, like friction against my skin. “But I do remember learning something about the heartwood.”

I try to ignore the many, sudden tremors that quake just beneath my skin where his fingers caress, and keep my voice steady. “The dead part of the tree?”

He nods slowly.

“It’s the darkest part,” I say, and a mock laugh tumbles from my mouth. “I can relate. It’s dark, stubborn, callous, dead on the inside.” The wind picks up, sending my hair lashing against my cheeks. I don’t care how crazy I sound to him anymore. It’s true. Since losing Tyler, I’m just like my lovely dead trees.

Holden’s thumb pauses over my vein, and his arctic eyes find and hold mine. “That’s only one perspective. The way I see it, the heartwood is strong, beautiful, and resilient. It can fight off any outside threat that tries to invade, and in rare cases . . . is alive. It may be the darkest part, but a living heartwood is a force to be reckoned with.”

His eyes penetrate mine, won’t allow me to look away, as his words break down the hardened bark that surrounds me. My eyes sting. I can feel them welling up, and if I blink, I know tears will spill over. I hold them open, fighting against the wind.

Finally, Holden releases my arm and lies back down, freeing me from his hold. My skin is cold, the contrast in temperature jarring, missing the warmth of his hand.

And right now—in the second that clarity overrules my heart—I remember why that little girl fell in love with the boy in the first place. He might have compared me to the heartwood, but he’s like the bark. Rough and fractured, guarding, protecting the living part inside.

It makes me ache for everything that was lost. For him. For me. Between us. I want to know why, and how, and what happened that day to make him turn on me more than ever.

Shit. I can’t do this again. I worked too hard to close off that part. And now, I don’t have Tyler to mend and put me back together again.

“Enjoy your nap,” I say, standing and picking up my sketchbook.

As he closes his eyes, before I can pull myself away, I take a mental snapshot for my drawing. One good memory out of a million painful ones. I can keep at least this one.





Holden

I feel the cool drops hitting my face before I hear the shouting. I’m in that groggy, in-between state where you know you’re sleeping, but can’t wake yourself up fully. But when another scream blasts my eardrums, I discern Sam’s startled cry, and I bolt upright. Wide awake.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Sam yells.

Shit.

I glance around, looking to put a hurt on someone—her voice is that frantic. But there’s no one besides us. I watch her face redden as her voice pitches even higher, and realize she’s having a meltdown. That’s almost worse. I could’ve handled putting my fist through a real person.

Sam shouts again. To the air. To the f*cking invisible air.

Pushing myself onto my feet, I start toward her. I open my mouth to ask what’s going on, only to stop when she swings her hand out and slaps air.

“You dick! I can’t believe . . .” She hangs her head. Her chest rises and falls as she huffs short, heavy breaths. “Shit, Tyler.” She laughs, but it’s filled with spite. “Oh, don’t even go there. Kevin Banks flirted with me. I never did anything to lead him on.”

What the hell? “Sam,” I say, my tone low and warning. I don’t want to frighten her out of her current mental state, but she’s losing her shit. She needs to calm down.

Her heated eyes snap to me. Then they widen, and she stomps toward me. Gets right into my personal space. Her head is cocked back, her eyes staring up, red-rimmed and glassy. “You knew he cheated on me?”

And the air is punched from my lungs. My mouth opens and closes.

“You *s!” She shakes her head. “I swear, I’ve now put up with too much shit from the both of you. You’re both alike. The biggest *s, and I’m the stupid girl that—” She bites off her rant, her lips pressed together so tightly they’re turning white.

“Sam,” I try again, straining to keep my voice level. I hold up my hands, reach out, and then drop them by my sides. “What the hell are you talking about?” I fail. My cool is officially gone.

Her head whips around, and she points a finger at the air. “Don’t even . . . I don’t care if you claim you don’t think you actually sleep with her. I don’t buy that crap. You better f*cking remember. But even still, you thought about it?”

My heart is in my throat, and I’m now looking between Sam and the empty place she’s screaming at. I make a call. Play the game, just until she composes herself. “He didn’t sleep with her.”

Spinning around, she levels me with a look that could flay me. “You’re covering for him. Don’t. Not anymore. I want the f*cking truth.”

The only thing I can think of is . . . The memory closes off, my brain trying to shut it down. I force through the barricade. Drudge up the horrific and painful memories.

The night Mom died, right before . . . Tyler and I were out at a bar celebrating his birthday. A little redhead had been hanging all over him, and we’d gotten into a fight. Me telling him that he was going to f*ck everything up with Sam. And him drinking himself into oblivion. He was having second thoughts about marrying Sam so young. He was freaked out, claiming he’d only ever been with one girl. That he wanted to have one fling before he tied the knot. I was pissed. Beyond pissed. Sam was . . . everything. Everything I had wanted and given up. For him. And I drove my hand through the bar bathroom wall instead of his face.