Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(51)

Quickly ducking into her bedroom, I searched for the comfiest sweats I could find. Grabbing those, a T-shirt, and some underwear, I headed back into the hall. It was quiet at first, just the steady fall of the water against the shower’s tile floor.

Then one guttural sob pierced the air, and my chest cracked right along with it.

Another sounded, a third on its heels.

There was a brokenness to the noise that I’d never heard in all my life. A brokenness that had been living in Wren since that day ten years ago. A brokenness I’d left her alone in.





24





WREN





It was too much. As if my entire system were overloaded and short-circuiting.

My legs shook so badly that I had no choice but to slide to the shower floor. Water pelted down on me, but I wanted it to hurt—I wanted my body to hurt the way my soul did. At least after the shooting, after Holt left, my outsides matched my insides.

My fingers found the scar between my breasts, the one where they’d cracked open my chest and rearranged my insides in a bid to save my life. Now, it was like I was in the middle of open-heart surgery but with no anesthesia.

Memory after memory slammed into me. Holt’s voice telling me he loved me as I woke up after surgery. Mr. Peterson’s kind expression as he asked me how I was holding up. Gretchen’s wide smile as she recounted all the ways the shooting had made her grateful for her life.

The sobs came faster. Harder. I couldn’t take in any air. It was as if there wasn’t any in the room around me.

The shower door jerked open, and the water cut off. I couldn’t find it in me to care. All I could do was rock and gasp for the air.

A second later, a towel wrapped around me, and someone lifted me into strong arms. The world around me blurred. I thought there was a blanket then, too. A bed.

And then I was drowning in Holt. He was all around me—that pine and spice.

“I’ve got you.”

I felt the words against my skin as much as I heard them, a gentle brand that sliced to my very core.

“Do you?” I choked out, my voice raw.

Holt held me tighter against him. “I’m so sorry, Cricket. You’ll never know how much. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words only made me cry harder.

“Cricket.” My nickname was an anguished plea.

There were no more words. Only soft caresses. His lips ghosting across my forehead. His hands skating up and down my back.

The last of my walls came tumbling down. Because the truth was, the only thing that could bring me comfort right now was Holt—the tender way his fingers moved, the feeling so achingly familiar. The way his mouth uttered nonsensical things in a language that was all ours.

I wanted nothing in this moment but him. Needed to lose myself in the man I had never truly let go of.

I released it all. The what-ifs. The pain. The grief. And I let Holt soothe every wound that had been festering for a decade.

It wasn’t just one action or whispered prayer. It was all of it, coming together from the boy he had been to the man he was now.

I gave myself over to it. As the tears subsided and the trembling ceased, I still couldn’t get close enough. I was a woman starved. Cut off from the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced and finally feeling it again for the first time.

“Holt.” His name was a hoarse whisper—a rough plea.

His hands brushed my wet hair out of my face. “Tell me what you need, Cricket. Anything.”

“I need you.” They were the hardest three words I’d ever said. Terrifying and painful, yet full of hope.

His body went rigid. “I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

I was already pulling away, the sting of rejection too strong. But Holt caught me, bringing me back to him. “Look at me, Cricket. See me. I’ve thought about you every damn day. Wanted you with every breath. Nothing will change that. Ever. But I won’t be able to live with myself if we go there, and you regret it tomorrow. You’ve been through hell today—”

I pressed my fingers to his lips, stopping the trail of words. “Trust me, Holt. Trust me to know my mind. To know what I need.”

Right now, that was to remember that I was alive. Breathing. That even if I didn’t have Holt forever, I could have him for this moment. Maybe we could live our forever in this room. In the moments that passed from one breath to the next.

He stared at me. Searching.

Slowly, I pulled my hand away from his mouth and leaned in. My lips hovered a breath away from his. I waited for one beat. Two. Then I closed the distance.

I sank into the familiar heat that was Holt. I’d kissed those lips a thousand times. Felt their coaxing warmth and gentle pressure.

This kiss was different. It was a mix of deepest want and coming home. There was a desperation in it that had never been there before. His fingers tangled in my hair as I sank into the melding of our mouths. I wanted to disappear in the taste of him.

Holt’s hand dipped under the blanket, the towel, and then his fingers were on my skin. They danced over my waist, moved to my hip, pulling me flush against him.

I’d always loved the feel of his roughened fingertips against my more delicate flesh. The way they sent waves of pleasant shivers flying through me. That wave was back. Only this was more.