The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(50)

I’m tempted to stop at a drug store and grab some sleeping pills, but push the thought aside. I’ve never depended on anything to get me through shit, not even Tyler’s death. I’m strong enough to deal with Holden, too.

Keeping the reminder that he’s an * fresh on my mind should help.

We ride the elevator up in silence. The weight of things unsaid heavy between us. And when we enter the room, the stillness is deafening. I can hear my heart beating, and the pressure building beneath my skin makes me want to claw at my arms. Wanting to unleash whatever fire is trying to consume me.

Plopping onto the bed, I kick off my shoes, grateful I at least wore my Converse tonight, and won’t suffer from sore feet tomorrow. Holden flicks on the TV, and the sound settles my nerves. Some. The quiet between us is still too thick.

Holden rummages through his bag, pulls out a white T-shirt. I think he’s about to change, and my stomach knots all over again, until he tosses his bag on the floor and heads to the bathroom.

My forehead creases. Not that I’m not thankful for his decency not to change in front of me . . . but I’m starting to think he’s purposely hiding his tattoo. Most guys, especially in the residence hall, walk around shirtless all the time. It’s like, they want every girl to see them half naked. I don’t know whether Holden’s just being chivalrous, or what. But my curiosity over his tattoo is becoming morbid.

He steps out in his tee and blue and black checkered boxers. My heart skips a beat. I guess he has no qualms about walking around in front of me wearing those, however. “It’s all yours,” he says, jerking his head toward the bathroom.

“Thanks.”

The uncomfortable tension between us is palpable. I could reach out and carve my hand through it. Pushing down the anxiety roiling in my stomach, I yank out my sleeping clothes from my pack and go to the bathroom.

Locking the door behind me, I flip on the vent. Then brace my hands on the sink counter. “Shit,” I breathe. The mirror reflects the emotions tormenting me clearly on my face. I look ill. Terrified. Turned on.

“Tyler,” I whisper. And wait. I just need to see his face. Feel his presence. Be reassured that he’s still with me. When he doesn’t materialize, “Tyler. I need you.” Silence.

With shaking hands, I strip off my clothes. I’m just pushing my sleeping shirt over my head when a knock sounds at the door.

“Sam.” Holden’s voice is gruff and questioning. Worried. “Open up.”

I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but the last thing I want to do is open that door. Look into his pale eyes and see the same desire in them I saw back at the club. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not strong enough. I know that for a fact now. I’m battling too much, too soon, and I’ll sleep in the damn tub if I have to.

The knock comes again. “Look. You’re scaring me.” A beat. “I’ll bust down this door if I have to.”

I have no doubt that he will. Filling my lungs, I suck in a steadying breath, and yank the door open. “I’m fine. I’m a girl, ya know. We need more maintenance.” I hike my eyebrows, hoping my joke and forced, cool demeanor throws him.

It doesn’t. He’s braced against the doorway, his hands gripping each side of the doorframe, like it’s all that’s holding him back. Stopping him from getting to me.

As his gaze drifts down my body, lingeringly, I realize I hadn’t yet put on my sleeping bottoms. Holden’s biceps flex as he strains against the doorway. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on one of the studs. A shudder wracks my body.

Please, go away. Now. “I’m fine.” My voice is small, shaky. And not convincing in the least. But I just need him to give me five minutes to pull myself together. If he keeps looking at me like that, my legs are going to buckle. And if he touches me . . .

He blows out a heavy breath and pushes away from the doorway. I can see the physical and mental fight it takes for him to do that one action. With a backward step, he says, “All right. Goodnight, Sam.” And then he turns and leaves. The audible click of him turning off the table light and then the darkening of the room sends my nerves back on high.

I still need time, so I grab the toothpaste, and with a breathy curse, realize I didn’t bring my toothbrush in with me. I turn on the faucet. Wetting my finger, then squirting a line of toothpaste onto it, I decide it will have to do.

When I’ve talked myself down enough, and know that Tyler isn’t going to make an appearance, I turn off the light and the vent, and then walk out. The white-blue flicker of the TV illuminates my quick path to the bed. I keep my gaze on the carpeted floor. Then I crawl under the covers. They’re cool and crisp, dousing some of the heat still clinging to my skin.

And with a groan, I realize that I still forgot to put on my bottoms. Hell. What is wrong with my brain? The answer comes with Holden’s hurried movements, adjusting his position in the bed next to mine. Just the sound of him rearranging his pillows and rustling his covers sends my nerves careening against my arteries.

I force my eyes closed. Will myself to fall asleep. My traitorous hormones have no control over me. Holden is an *. He’s my boyfriend’s brother. He broke my heart—but his words at the oak begin to pulse through me, hitting me hard. What if I was wrong about him?

With his past, I can’t imagine how messed up he must have been during that time. I don’t know anything, really, about the man lying in the bed next to me. And suddenly, I want to.