He waves me on, shaking his head and mumbling something about young kids always being in a hurry.
I step into the empty elevator and the doors slide closed. My heart is beating wildly the closer I get to Holt. When the doors open, I hesitate, pushing myself forward and out into the offices. The doors close behind me, and I let my feet carry me down the hallway I’ve become so familiar with.
Brent helped me realize that sometimes in loving us, people hurt us, but it doesn’t mean they don’t love us. It’s rarely intentional but hurts like hell nonetheless. As I replayed what Holt told me, I believe him. I believe that he just wanted to right his father’s wrongs. It’s the only way he could control what happened.
I don’t believe that Holt wanted to fall in love with me, but as I’ve learned, you have no choice with whom you fall in love with. Love finds us at the most unexpected times in our lives. One dare and I fell hopelessly in love with the one man who has the potential to help me move forward from my past—if I can just let it go.
The entire office is quiet; only the perimeter lights are on. Through the glass office, I see Holt’s desk—empty—and his office is dark. I pause as my lungs constrict and my stomach drops. He’s not here. I sigh, disappointed. Through the glass office, I can see the lights from the downtown skyline beginning to sparkle. I open his door and step inside, drawn to city. Then my heart literally stops. Standing in the dark, looking out of his window, is Holt. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his posture slack.
As I release the door handle, it clicks and Holt jumps slightly. However, he doesn’t turn around. “Joyce, go home. We’ll take care of everything tomorrow.” His voice is low and lackluster. He sounds tired, defeated.
My hands shake as I scramble to find the words I want to say . . . need to say. I close the door quietly and clear my throat. My breath hitches as I wet my lips and I struggle to speak. “Holt?”
Even in the dark, I can see his entire body visibly stiffen. He remains facing the windows, looking outside, some eighty stories above Chicago. I take a few steps toward him but stop when he still doesn’t answer or acknowledge me. Is this how he felt when I wouldn’t acknowledge him at the farm? My heart sinks at how much I must’ve hurt him.
“I . . . I . . .” I stutter, trying to form my words. “I forgive you.” My voice breaks, but I will myself to get through this. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to continue. “I love you, Holt. I know that means nothing right now, but I needed to tell you that. I’m sorry for the way I treated you at the farm; there’s no excuse for some of the things I said to you. I was angry at you, but mostly, I was hurt—” I pause, giving him time to say something, anything.
He turns around slowly and looks at me, his eyes indecipherable in the dark office. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he rests his arms at his side, his broad shoulders slouching. As the moonlight casts a low glow in the office, and the city lights twinkle behind him, he is nothing more than a silhouette; however, he’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“I trusted you,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “You lied to me.”
I hear him sigh quietly. He doesn’t respond or move. He stands still and watches me intently. In the dark, you’d think it would be hard to see his reaction to me being here, but I don’t need to see it. I can feel him. From six feet away, I can feel his angst, his hurt, and his anxiousness. I can feel the sparks that have always flown between us, but I can also feel his trepidation—his fear, just as I feel my own.
“But I understand why you did it, Holt, and I forgive you.”
The silence in his office is chilling. I wait for him to respond, yet again, he says nothing. His silence answers every lingering question in my mind. He’s done with me, and rightfully so.
“I just needed to say that.” My stomach twists, nausea rolling through me.
I turn and slowly walk out of his office. He makes no attempt to stop me, and while tears sting my eyes, a sense of calm begins to settle in. Holt may have hurt me, but in doing so, he also set me free. He taught me to love again. This man with his lies brought me back to life. This man opened up my heart and dared me to love again.
As I reach my desk, tucked away in a dark corner of the office, I begin to gather my few personal items. A picture of Zay, Rowan, Kinsley, Emery, and me at happy hour, a small bamboo plant that is now turning brown, and some personal belongings from the drawer.
“What’re you doing?” His voice startles me and I jump back.
“Cleaning out my desk,” I say with my hand pressed to my chest.
“Leave it. You’ll need it for work on Monday.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Leave it,” he orders, his voice firm and his eyes dark. Commanding Holt is back and stands before me.