The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(73)

Once they started playing and the crowd pushed in, staying seated at the table was impossible. My height has always been an issue at concerts and shows, but Holden led us up to a split section where two stairs lead to a top level. I’m now pressed against metal bars between the two levels of the club.

Melody and Darla are to my left, bouncing, their hands formed into horns and pumping the air. And Holden is behind me. I can tell he’s trying not to press into me, but as the crowd gets rowdier, it’s pointless. Finally, he grips the bar in front of me to hold his place, both arms on either side of my waist.

I’m focused on the band, but his proximity is hard to ignore. His body heat rolls over me. His cologne invades my senses. I’m dizzy from the music, atmosphere, and him.

Melody climbs to the bottom rung of the guardrail and raises her hands. Darla gets lost in the crowd as they dance and thrash. And I just let go. Fuck it. I jump up and down, raising my arms, shouting along with everyone else.

The band really is that good. They do their own songs, but a lot of covers, too. And so far, I’ve loved everything they’ve played. I’m bumping into Holden, but I don’t care. He’ll just have to deal. Then I turn toward him. “Spot me?”

His head jerks back in confusion, but I don’t give him time to ask. I climb up beside Melody and lean my thighs against the top bar. “Yeah!” she screams, clasping my hand before she goes back to cheering.

Then I feel Holden’s hands on my thighs, supporting me, and heat that’s not from the overcrowded room washes over me. The band jams through another two fast-paced songs, tearing up the stage, and then the lead singer hushes the crowd.

“We’re slowing it down with a cover from the Misfits.” Her raspy voice booms through the speakers. “This one’s for someone I’ve loved and lost. Come back, Tony.”

My heart tightens. Holden’s hands are suddenly too hot, seeping through my jeans, scalding. A wave of embarrassment crashes over me. I know what song she’s about to sing, and I don’t feel safe standing on my own two feet anymore. My legs lock at the knees.

A quick drum solo leads into a heavy guitar riff, and I swallow down the ache in my throat. I’m suddenly fourteen. Listening to the Misfits because they’re one of Holden’s favorite bands. And then I’m in tears. Hitting repeat on the song Come Back. Unable to understand how I lost him after only just . . .

My legs buckle, and I’m falling forward. Crap. Holden’s arms reach around my waist and stop me from hitting the floor face first. My back presses against his chest as he pulls me off the guardrail. I reach behind me and wrap an arm around his neck.

“Are you okay?” he shouts. He grabs my thigh and swings me around, like I’m nothing but a doll in his arms, as he turns me to face him.

“Yeah.” I close my eyes. The song pumps hard in my ears, the lyrics puncturing a hole in my heart. Or reopening one I thought was healed over.

Holden’s not putting me down, I realize. And when I open my eyes, his face is just inches from mine. His arms secure me to him, and he quickly adjusts me so that my legs are anchored around his waist. I allow my other arm to wrap around his neck. We’re locked together. Just like too many years ago under the tree.

And I’m trembling all over again. Unable to break away from his eyes. Drowning as the phantom feel of rain water submerges me in memories. The singer hits the chorus, repeating come back, over and over.

The look he’s giving me . . . I’m terrified. As if this song means something deeply to him. As if the words pumping through the speakers are driving right home for him. Then his lips move, just barely, but they do.

He mouths, come back.

A current pulls me closer to him, and like static electricity, I’m clinging. One of his hands releases my back to snake into my hair, griping at my nape. His force is pulling me to him. Only we’re motionless. Frozen. In a sea of dancing bodies time stops. And I’m falling so hard into him that I halt breathing.

Then, like being thrust suddenly and violently out of a dream, the overhead lights come on, and Melody is saying something to me. My head rings. The music still blasts my eardrums as I’m dragged out of my daze.

“Best f*cking show they’ve ever done!” Melody shouts.

I blink, and Holden swallows. His hand is still in my hair. His arm still wraps my waist. He closes his eyes and sets my feet on the ground. The spell is broken.



The spray of nearly scalding water washes away the club from my skin. But the pathetic pressure from the showerhead isn’t enough to blast away the confusing and consuming thoughts from my head.

Reaching for the nozzle, I adjust the temperature even hotter, trying to scorch my body and brain clean.

Since Melody and her biker peeps are headed back on the road tonight, Mel wanted us to follow them to another bar for drinks. But after the show, I was done. I told her we’d try to catch up with them again later, and I meant it. I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.

But as I stand in the shower, just a curtain and door separating me from Holden, I wonder if I made the right call.

Yes. I did. Alcohol would’ve been a bad idea. My head is still swimming just from breathing in Holden’s scent. Being so close to him, touching. I clamp my eyes closed. “Stop,” I whisper. Now I’m talking to myself. Great.

I just need to go to bed and put an end to this day. So much has happened, and my brain is spinning. I turn off the water and then wrap myself in a towel. Leaving my hair wet, I yank on my sleeping pants (best to cover all skin) and a tee. Then I stare into the mirror and nod once. Nothing sexy about me. I open the door and walk out, determined to act casual.