Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(2)

“As harmless as a two-by-four to the head,” Holt grumbled. “I’d better go help him, or I’ll never get to my girl.”

That warmth was back. Spreading. Sinking deep into the places that were only his. I pitched my voice low. “Holt?”

“Hmm?” His footsteps told me he was already moving toward the massive garage on the Hartleys’ property.

“This is one night you don’t want to be late.” My voice held a husky promise.

Holt’s steps halted. “Cricket…”

A flutter took root in my belly. “Just don’t be late.”

The list of things that typically kept Holt from running on time was endless. A mama duck was trying to cross the street, and he had to stop traffic so she and her babies could get there safely. He couldn’t find his keys. He’d searched high and low until he found them in the door to his truck. But the most common was that he’d gone out with his dad on a search and rescue call. He’d forget to text, and Grae would inevitably have to let me know where he’d gone.

I couldn’t begrudge him any of it because his reasons were always so good. He was so good. That was Holt. Easily distracted but with the best heart. And I’d love that heart until the day I died.

“I won’t be late.” Holt’s voice was low and full of promise.

That heat inside me sparked and twisted. “See you soon.”

“Soon, Cricket.”

The line went silent, but I kept the phone pressed to my ear as if I could still hear the strains of the voice I knew better than my own curling around me. There was little I loved more than my nickname slipping from his lips.

My mouth curved at the memories of him picking it up. We’d been playing Ghost in the Graveyard, and I’d been scared out of my mind when it was my turn to hide, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs that I’d trembled.

When Holt had snuck up on me, I’d let out the most pitiful chirping noise—not even a scream or a shriek. He’d pulled me into a hug, his warm, strong body cocooning mine, and said, “Don’t worry, Cricket. I’ll scare the ghosts away.”

He’d come to mean safety to me long before we ever became a couple. Looked out for me since before I could walk. But it was more than that. There was no place I felt more at peace than with Holt by my side.

I gripped the phone tighter, holding it to my chest as a million memories ran through my mind. I was ready. I didn’t want the cliché of losing my virginity to Holt in a hotel room after his senior prom next month. I didn’t want our first time to be in his dorm room when he left Cedar Ridge for the University of Washington next fall, worried his roommate might come home at any moment. I wanted special. Him and me.

Pushing off the counter, I started for the stairs and took them two at a time. As I rounded the corner and moved into my room, I studied the space with new eyes, assessing if it was too juvenile.

I’d never felt the two-year gap between Holt and me more than now that he was headed to school. He would only be a few hours away, but it felt like he’d be on another planet. I let out a shaky breath.

The distance didn’t matter. What Holt and I had? It was made to last. We’d been through too much together—the highs and the lows, the everyday and the extraordinary. Birthdays and holidays. Issues with parents and almost losing Grae. Campouts and Hartley family dinners. Our whole lives were forever entwined.

I had all the incarnations of his chuckle, and I wasn’t letting go.

With that thought, I moved to the shower. I didn’t put on music like I usually did. I let the memories of Holt cascade over me as I washed my hair and then dried it. As I painstakingly put on makeup that accentuated my hazel eyes, making them seem greener. As I slipped into my favorite sundress—the one I knew Holt loved.

I grabbed my phone and checked the time. A soft laugh bubbled out of me. Fifteen minutes late. But I knew Holt—sometimes better than I knew myself. So, I’d accounted for that. The chicken still had thirty minutes left to cook.

A car door slammed, and a flurry of sensations skittered through my chest. I hurried to my window, looking down through the gauzy curtains. But it wasn’t Holt’s silver truck in the driveway. Instead, I saw a familiar SUV—a newish one that already had a slew of dents.

My gut tightened as Randy Sullivan and Paul Matthews climbed out. What were they doing here? I quickly glanced around the street, mentally assessing if they’d somehow ended up at the wrong house. If it were after dark, I’d guess they were here to toilet paper my house—because tripping me in the halls and mocking me in class apparently weren’t enough.

Their laughter had me returning my focus to them. Paul lifted his hand, thumb and forefinger making the shape of a gun as he pointed it at my window. A chill skated down my spine.

Randy laughed and jogged up the steps, ringing the bell.

The sound echoed through my quiet house. But I didn’t move.

The bell rang again.

“Wren,” Randy singsonged. “Come on down.”

Something about his voice had always grated against my skin and set my nerves on edge. My grandma always said we had intuition for a reason, and we were fools if we didn’t listen to it. So, I stayed exactly where I was.

As they continued pressing the bell, I could just make out the two boys. A grade ahead of me, they looked just like the rest of the kids in our high school: T-shirts and jeans, hair a little bit askew. But there was cruelty in them. There always had been.