The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(62)

All these things I do with one thought on my mind. One blaring truth that grips my insides and won’t let go. This is it. And I’m about to f*ck up any chance I have with the one girl I’ve loved since high school. Hell. If I’m being truthful, long before that. But screw what I want. It’s never been about me. And it’s sure as shit not about Tyler anymore.

It’s about getting this girl the help she needs.

Whatever comes after . . . will come after. I’ll deal and accept it and go on.

Sam’s more important.

After we’re back in the room, I peel off my pants, ignoring Sam’s blush. At least I’m wearing boxers—I’m glad I brought some. I normally don’t wear them. But being around her gives me the f*cking libido of a fifteen-year-old. And a boner rubbing against jeans is highly uncomfortable.

I know I affect her, but this has nothing to do with sex. I’m cold and wet and about at my limit. Tossing my soaking jeans to the floor, I stalk toward my bag and lug it to the bed.

I’m still in my wet T-shirt and should probably change, but I don’t want to take the chance I’ll lose my nerve. Not a moment to second-guess my backup plan. My stomach clenches, and I hate that it’s come to this. I rummage through and dig out the plastic Ziploc buried at the bottom.

Yanking out the bag, I place it on the bed and look expectantly at Sam.

Her face falls. “What’s that?”

With a determined breath, I suck in courage and then say, “Your meds.”





Sam

I’m trembling, but it has nothing to do with the AC hitting my wet bikini. My eyes lock on to the clear bag with two orange medication bottles, and my back stiffens.

“How did you get those?” I pull my towel tighter around me. I don’t ask how he managed to fill new prescriptions when I’d flushed my current ones down the toilet. I feel my question covers just about everything.

Holden exhales a heavy breath and runs his hands down his face, his palms pressing together and pausing over his mouth. Like he’s in prayer. His eyes hold mine the whole time. Then he crosses his arms over his soaked T-shirt, his wet hair darker, his bangs dripping fresh beads of water down his face.

“I spoke with your mom before we left,” he says.

I shake my head. “No, you didn’t. I was with you, remember?”

He takes a step toward me. “Before I went to the train station,” he clarifies. “I needed to know exactly what was going on with you, and”—his expression transforms into something akin to pity. I’m tempted to punch the look off his face—“I wanted to be prepared if anything bad happened. And, I think we’re at bad.”

I don’t know what to address first. The fact that he and my mother are conspiring against me, or that he might think I’m one short trip away from being committed. Anger snaps fire-hot in my chest, and suddenly the towel is binding. The room too warm.

Letting the towel drop to the floor, I fist my hands on my hips, unconcerned that I’m standing in front of him in only my bikini. “You talked to my mom about me . . . about us going on this trip? You went behind my back, to my own family, and what?” I cock my head. “Plotted nefariously to get me to take my stupid meds?”

“They’re worried about you.” Holden’s eyes never leave mine, deadlocked and ice blue. “And ‘plotted nefariously?’ Come on, Sam. You have to hear how paranoid you sound.”

I mock laugh. “Oh, no, Holden. It’s just my crazy coming out.” I wave my hands in the air. “Nothing to do with the fact that what I just said is completely true, though, right? Way to avoid my question.”

“I’m not avoiding. I just don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth, Holden!” My breaths sting my lungs as the heat searing my nerves fires through me. “Did you come with me because my mom asked you to? Was this some kind of lame setup?”

His head jerks back, his face looking wounded. “No. Not at all. Rachel was concerned you weren’t taking your meds, so I offered to bring them along. And she was right. You haven’t once taken a pill.”

“It’s none of your business. You went behind my back. You told my mom I was taking this trip. What gives you the f*cking right?”

He steps closer, and I move back. Keeping enough distance between us where I don’t feel threatened by his proximity or touch. “I was just concerned, all right? I’d known that something was wrong. I mean, apparently you’d dropped out of school, stopped taking showers, were talking to yourself, and wouldn’t leave the house.” He presses his lips into a hard line. “And she told me you were seeing a psychotherapist. I put a lot of it together on my own.”

I look up at the ceiling, my jaw jutting out, twisting my mouth into a mocking smile. “Awesome,” I say and lower my head. “Look at you, all f*cking perfect and judgmental. Never mind that you’re a complete ass.”

His hands drop to his sides and he grips them into fists. “Go ahead. Unleash all your venom on me. But when you’re done with your rant, will you just suck it up and take your f*cking meds?”

“Unbelievable.” I stomp toward my pack and plunk it onto the bed, then dig out a tee and my jean skirt. Not caring what the hell I put on, just needing to get out. Away from him.