If anyone were watching me, they would think I have completely lost it. Every screw is loose and I am not only off my damn rocker, but I am running far from it. Hysterical laughter bubbles up before I can suppress it. Wiping the tears from my eyes, trying to calm down, I finally focus back on that stupid, stupid card.
Holt. He will never be Holt to me. I sit there for I don’t know how long . . . hours, minutes—hell, it could have been seconds—just looking at his name in the elegant script, trying to figure out exactly who Holt Axel Reid is today. Is he married? My heart skips a beat at the next thought that filters through my mind . . . Does he have children? It’s a logical question; we aren’t those blind-by-love teenagers anymore. It makes sense that he might have moved on. I did . . . even if it was a laughable move I made. Why does he even want to talk to me? He obviously decided a long time ago that he was done with me. Fate is being a huge fucking bitch by throwing us back in each other’s paths.
I stuff the card into the front pocket of my hoodie and pull my work out for the second time today. What can I say? Denial and I are going to become best of buds.
Dee comes back a few hours later and asks if I want to order some takeout for dinner. I couldn’t really care less, but I tell her sure and to order whatever looks good. I know if I don’t at least act normal—or as normal as possible—she would start fretting and force me to talk. I am not ready.
Four hours and two bottles of wine consumed between the two of us later, I find myself sitting back in my girly room, looking down at that small white card again. Holt. Holt Reid. I’m sure the giggle that comes out this time sounds just as wonky as it did earlier, but I just can’t help it. How fucked up is this whole thing? Holt . . .
It may be the stupidest decision that I have made in a long time, but I pick my phone up off the nightstand and slide my finger across the unlock screen. I add his stupid new name to my contacts and store his information. Opening up a new text screen and thinking, What the hell? Might as well. At least this way I don’t have to look into those brilliant green eyes.
Me: So we go by Holt now, huh?
Axel ‘Holt’: Izzy?
Me: Ah, bingo . . . anyone else out there not know you as ‘Holt’?
Axel ‘Holt’: Plenty, Princess.
Me: No, I am not your Princess.
Axel ‘Holt’: Okay, so we are going to act like we’re still fucking kids? You texted me, IZZY, so you tell me what’s going?
Me: I am not acting like a child. I just don’t understand why you even bothered to ask me to contact you. I think we can both agree the past needs to just stay there . . . in the past.
Axel ‘Holt’: No, I don’t agree with that. Not at all. Where are you? I’ll come to you. We are not doing this over a fucking text.
Me: No, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea. If you’re dead set on dredging this back up, then fine, but we do this on my terms. I need to process this. I can’t just sift through all this in less than a day. You want to talk, fine . . . but not now.
Axel ‘Holt’: Process? What the hell is there to process? Where are you, Izzy? Not asking you again, and I am not fucking doing this text message shit like a goddamn prepubescent little shit.
I really should have known better. Sighing, I set my phone down. There really is no point in continuing to argue with him. I did what I wanted to do and I asked him to let me have my time. If he can’t respect that, then fuck him and closure be damned.
Ten minutes later, my phones chimes. Then a minute after that, I hear the reminder beep, followed shortly by another chime.
Damn.
Axel ‘Holt’: We will be talking about this Izzy. I know you, don’t you fucking forget that. I won’t let you just forget me like you did before.
Axel ‘Holt’: Understand me this, if you think you can just ignore me and ignore this, then you are up for a big wake up call. You want fucking time, fine. One week, that is all I’m willing to give. Next Saturday, I don’t care if I have to knock on every goddamn door in Georgia. I will find you and we will be having this talk. Got that?
Well, shit.
Me: One week, ‘Holt.’ Guess that’s going to have to be enough, isn’t it? I’ll let you know on Friday if I’m ready. Goodnight.
Axel ‘Holt’: If you call me Holt one more fucking time I’m bending you over my knees, yeah? I am not Holt to you, and you damn well fucking know it.
With a gasp of surprise at his audacity, I quickly turn my phone off and throw it across the room like it’s on fire. I definitely can’t deal with that.
CHAPTER 8