With each kiss, I allow the walls I’ve built to crumble, brick by brick, allowing Holt access to my heart, a heart I once thought was dead.
After a nap, I awaken sated, wrapped in Holt’s arms, the late afternoon shining in the window. Holt’s soft lips press against my temple, and he pulls me closer to him.
“Hey there,” he says quietly. “Time to get up.” He presses another kiss to my cheek. “Car will be here in an hour.”
I roll over and wrap my arms around his neck. “I could lie here with you forever.” I pepper his chest with light kisses.
“I think I’d love that,” he says tenderly, running his fingers through my hair.
I wrap my legs through his and can feel his heart beating against my own chest. “Thank you for bringing me to New York. I had an amazing time.”
His eyes search mine, and he smiles softly. “I had an amazing time as well.” He presses one last kiss to my forehead before pushing himself out of bed.
Five and a half hours later, we’re taxiing into Chicago, New York a recent memory. Holt worked the entire trip back, and I snuggled into one of the large reclining chairs and read. Now, Mr. Jones is waiting for us with his car and loading our luggage while Holt gets me settled in the back. Less than an hour later, I wake from a little nap as we’re pulling into Holt’s driveway.
“We’re home.” He wakes me with a kiss.
Home. As much as I’ve resisted the thought of losing myself in Holt so quickly, this does feel like home. Not the house, but Holt. Holt is home to me.
Holt
I lie in bed, replaying my mother’s angry words repeatedly in my head, her eyes glistening with tears as she held onto my arms.
“Tell her, Holt,” she begged. “You have to tell her.”
I inhaled deeply. “I can’t now. It’s too late.”
She squeezed my arms tighter, her eyes pleading. “It’s never too late. You’re going to lose her if you’re not honest.”
“Do you think I don’t already know that,” I snapped at her. Sighing, I shrugged out of her grip. “That’s why I can’t tell her. I will lose her.”
She shook her head, her shoulders heavy with sadness. “Holt, how in the world did you get yourself into this mess?”
“I was trying to right some wrongs. I had no idea what to expect when she walked through that door.” I raked my hands over my face and through my hair, resting them on top of my head.
“That is where it should have stopped. Do you realize what this could do to her?”
My hands fell from my head as my mom buried her face in her hands and cried. “I thought this was behind us.”
The sound of Saige’s whimpering pulls me from my thoughts. Her breathing quickens and her shoulders begin to shake. I pull her closer. “Saige. Baby, you’re okay. I’m here.” She awakens and shifts in my arms. “You okay?”
She nods her head quickly and rubs her neck. “Yeah.” Drops of sweat line her forehead and she swipes at them.
“Same dream?”
“Same nightmare,” she corrects me, her voice dripping with sadness.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really . . .” She hesitates, and settles into the crook of my arm. Her head rests on my chest and her arm is draped over my stomach.
I sigh. “Someday, I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me.”
“Someday, I hope I won’t have these, and we won’t need to talk about it,” she says quietly. “One can hope.”
She sounds so hopeless, my heart aches for her. “I love all of you, Saige. The good parts, the bad parts, the parts you don’t like, and the parts that scare you. I love all of them because they are what makes you who you are.” Her arm tightens around me, and she presses a soft kiss to my chest. “Think about that . . . dream about me,” I whisper to her.
It doesn’t take long for her to fall back asleep while I struggle to bury the guilt I have for lying to her about who I really am. Every word my mother cried rings through my ears, keeping sleep at bay.
Monday morning, we’re sitting in typical bumper-to-bumper Chicago traffic, even though we’re only a few miles from the office. Saige is nervously fiddling with her hair and mumbles to herself as she settles into her seat.
Gripping the steering wheel, I weave around a car, trying to make an illegal left turn, and I curse under my breath. “What has you all worked up?”
“Nothing.”
“Saige,” I admonish her.
She sighs. “I love our weekends together, but the shit they give me at the office . . .” Her voice trails off, and she looks at me out of the corner of her eye.
I reach over and pull her hand into mine giving it a light squeeze. “You know why they do it, right? Because you let it get to you. Walk in; tell them you had a great time in New York. Tell them you found a dress and had a non-eventful dinner with my mother.”
“It wasn’t non-eventful.” She nailed that on the head, but I don’t respond.
“Saige, you know what I mean. If you offer it, they’ll feel like they’re getting what they need from you and they’ll leave you alone.”