No matter how much thought I’d put into his reaction to me the morning after, I had never been able to come up with answers. It was something I probably wouldn’t ever understand, and I’d given up on figuring it out long ago. If it’d meant anything to him, he would’ve done something about it.
The only explanation I could think of—and the one I’d convinced myself of over the years—was that he felt responsible for taking my virginity. I was his best friend’s sister. He’d known me since I was six. There were times he’d acted protective over me, both when I was younger and again during high school. There was also the awkward stage of life we all suffered through when I apparently annoyed him and Matt to no end. Then again, they were busy with the popular crowd at school and had just started driving on their own, so they wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn’t fault either of them for avoiding me.
But the one thing that hurt more than anything was the end of my relationship—friendship—with Holden.
In April, I’d sat on his couch and cried to him. I told him things I couldn’t even tell my own brother, things about my relationship with Justin. Things no guy wanted to hear about his little sister. But Holden had listened. And not once did he make any move to leave me in the pursuit of kicking my ex’s ass. Later, he’d admitted to finding Justin and having a rather intense conversation with him, but when I needed him, he was there. Wholeheartedly. Both physically and mentally.
Then, two weeks later, on the night of my prom, Holden was the one who’d taken me to binge on ice cream. Afterward, he took me to an empty softball field. The lights were on and lit up everything around us. However, instead of the fluorescent bulbs highlighting our every move, we basked in the silver light of the moon hanging above. And right there, in the grass, he blared horrible music from his speakers and gave me the most memorable prom of my life. The best part being the respect he’d shown at the end of the night.
Over the few months between then and Vegas, we’d grown even closer. It wasn’t like we suddenly hung out all the time, but he’d occasionally check in with me to see how I was doing, knowing how much the breakup had affected me, and how I tended to stuff everything deep down and keep it hidden. Holden was the only one capable of pulling it all to the surface and making me feel okay again.
That was what I’d missed the most over these last five years.
There had been plenty of times I could’ve used his support.
But I didn’t have it. Or him.
I didn’t really care that I’d lost my virginity and couldn’t remember it. And I certainly wasn’t bothered by the fact I’d lost it to Holden, especially since I’d spent the better part of my teenage years daydreaming of the night I would offer it up to him on a silver platter, on our wedding night, with candles and rose petals decorating a lavish hotel room and music playing softly to set the mood.
Ironically, the reality wasn’t that far off.
As it turned out, it was on our wedding night, and we were in a hotel room. From the sounds of it, I’d more than offered it up on a silver platter, practically begging him to take it, if his recounting of events were accurate. And even if it wasn’t, I didn’t have a leg to stand on to refute his claims. There could’ve been candles and rose petals—hell, we could’ve even had Adam Levine himself serenading us from a corner for all I knew.
None of that bothered me, other than my inability to remember being with him.
My God, I’d spent eleven years infatuated with the guy. I even had a binder filled with our wedding plans, all the way down to the napkins with our initials embroidered in gold thread. Spending the night with him wasn’t the issue. My already broken heart had taken yet another beating when he’d vanished. When I had to fly back home next to his empty seat with the mental snapshot of his sorrowful eyes after he learned I had no memory of the night before, it haunted every second of that flight.
Then my bruised and battered heart shattered weeks later when we all gathered at Matt’s new house. I’d prepared myself to crush the tension we’d had between us since Vegas, eager and ready to move forward—even if that meant we had to pretend he didn’t know what I looked like naked.
Only he never showed up.
Feeling a little beaten down, my ego slightly bruised, I’d made a few more attempts to talk to him so we could clear the air. But either the timing was wrong, too many people were around, or he played Houdini at whatever event it was. By the end of summer, on my way out of town for college, I’d officially given up.
That was what had hurt me the most.
He hadn’t cared enough to make things right.
“You’re…you’re getting married?” His question sounded forced, pained, like he’d swallowed shards of glass before asking. “Since when? To who? Do your parents know? Matt never said anything.”
I wanted to believe he was hurt. I wanted nothing more than to hear the pain and shock in his tone and convince myself it was caused by the thought of my being with someone else. Even though I knew that wasn’t remotely true. Couldn’t have been. He had to have known I wasn’t celibate over the last five years, and not once did he make any effort to claim me. To tell me his wants and desires for me.
They say a picture speaks a thousand words.
Well, so does silence.
And his silence was heard loud and clear.
“It’s really none of your business, now is it, Holden?” It was my turn to give him as much attitude as I could muster. “Until five days ago, I wasn’t even aware we were married. You—for whatever reason—kept that from me. And now you want to question the status of my relationship? What right do you have?”
I knew I needed to cool it before he started to get suspicious. Truth be told, I didn’t want him knowing anything about Connor, or about the prize money. If he knew, then my brother would know, then my entire family would find out, and they’d never let me hear the end of it.
“It’s just surprising, is all. I mean, you haven’t been in a real relationship in years.”
“How would you know that?”
He tilted his head and gave me a dumbfounded expression complete with bored eyes and a disbelieving smirk. “Really? Your love life is your mom’s topic of conversation any chance she gets—or should I say, your lack of love life is all she ever complains about. It’s like she can’t live her own life until all her babies are married off and stable. So trust me, I get an earful on a weekly basis when I’m at your parents’ house for Sunday dinner.”
I had to replay his words to myself a few times to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood him. “You go to my parents’ house every Sunday for dinner?”