There was a long pause before Rachel, my youngest sister—who was nine years older than me—spoke again. “Are her and Holden together? They used to be close before she left. Maybe they have a thing and she came back to see where it’d go.”
Silence stretched out before the sound of a smack filled the room, followed by Stacey gasping, “Ouch.” After a few hushed giggles, Stacey finally said, “I highly doubt that. For several reasons. One…if they had something before she left, that would’ve put her at seventeen or eighteen, and he would’ve been twenty-one or twenty-two. I doubt at that age, in or fresh out of college, he would’ve found anything in common with a girl in high school.”
“You never know. I met Steve when I was a senior and he was in college.”
“I guess it’s not impossible, but I just don’t see it. She’s too immature. He runs a private accounting firm with Matt—who’s married and very much an adult. He’s got far too much going for him to waste his time with Janelle.”
The burning behind my eyes grew more intense, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop it.
“Why are you hating on her so much?”
Stacey huffed, and even without seeing her, I knew exactly what she looked like—head thrown back, eyes rolling, and mouth agape. Her typical frustration tantrum. “I don’t mean to hate on her. She’s my sister, and I obviously love her. But it’s irritating how she gets away with everything. It’s like we’re all held accountable to such impossibly high standards, and she gets to do whatever the hell she wants.” The more she talked, the louder her voice became until Rachel quieted her down. “I know you see it, too. You feel it, too. I’m not the only one. We’re all here—physically, mentally, and emotionally. But where is she?”
“Being young, Stacey. She’s in her early twenties. She just finished college.”
“That’s not an excuse. When we were her age, we had jobs—full-blown careers. When Nikki was twenty-three, she was a mom. She had a baby, and a husband, who was still in school. She had a family to take care of. Look at Matty. He was already married to Christine when he was fresh out of college, getting ready to get his CPA license. Making preparations to open his own accounting firm…with Holden. So no, her being in her early twenties, just out of college isn’t an excuse to be so flighty.”
I couldn’t take any more. For all I knew, they continued their conversation. Maybe Rachel agreed with her. Maybe she didn’t and actually stuck up for me. I would never know, because I refused to stick around and hear the rest. I ran away from the kitchen, down the hall, and didn’t stop until I twisted the doorknob to the bathroom and pushed it open.
Only to run face-first into a very hard wall of muscle.
I glanced up, tears streaming down my cheeks and blurring my sight, but they didn’t stop me from recognizing Holden as I held onto him, steadying myself after the harsh impact. Without hesitation, he pulled me into the newly remodeled bathroom and set me up on the fancy vanity. Once the door was closed, the latch clicking in place, he situated himself between my legs and held my face in his hands.
Tears came for many different reasons, and people reacted to them in many different ways. For me, if I cried, there was a good chance it was because I’d found myself in that tight space between rage and frustration. The point when the anger implodes and you don’t know if you want to punch a brick wall with your bare knuckles or drink your weight in tequila, because you know once you get the anger out, you’ll feel better. For me, that’s the moment I break down in tears. That’s how I got the anger out. When I got sad, I became quiet and withdrawn, so my friends always said if I had tears in my eyes, it was time to run.
Unfortunately for Holden, he never got that memo.
He shushed me softly, his entire demeanor full of immense sympathy. However, that only made things worse. Not only did I despise being hushed, I also couldn’t stand pity. It only served to make me angrier, which made me cry harder, all of which Holden had no idea how to handle.
Aside from the typical tears of a child, the only time he’d ever seen me lose it like this was after my breakup with Justin. Even then, there was enough separation between the physical breakup and finding myself crying on his couch. He never witnessed the blinding rage that poured out of me in the form of saltwater coating my cheeks.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” The level of concern in his tone was noted, but it wasn’t enough to calm the storm. It wasn’t until the pads of his thumbs traced over my cheek bones, wiping away my liquefied frustration, that I finally stilled. With my hands fisted in his shirt, our gazes locked together, I was reminded of him being my hero. And rather than fight him like I had been since coming back, I gave in and let him rescue me. “Babe…what happened? Talk to me.”
Ignoring the term of endearment, because I didn’t have anywhere near the right amount of headspace to analyze that blunder, I sniffled and tucked my chin, prepared to explain to him what I’d heard before running into him. “I overheard Stacey and Rachel in the kitchen. Stacey doesn’t want me here.”
“That’s not true. I’m sure she wants you here very much. I know she’s missed you a lot over the years.”
“You’re a horrible liar.” I tried to laugh, but it just sounded pathetic and made me cringe. “She said I get away with everything, and I’m too immature. Oh, and you’d never be interested in me because you’re far too good for someone flighty like me.”
“I’m sure she didn’t say that. And if she did, she’s probably taking her stress out on you. It’s not right, and she shouldn’t have said any of that, but if they were talking in the kitchen, behind your back, you were never really meant to hear it.”
I peered up at him and blinked slowly, as if I’d misunderstood him, like the more I stared and the slower I blinked, I could rewind time and hear the words he really said. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.
“I’m sorry, what?”
7
Janelle
I shoved at his chest in a vain attempt to push him away. I should’ve known it would be futile—you can’t budge a brick wall. But that didn’t stop me. My anger fueled my need to add distance between us, which outweighed my hormone’s desire to have him wedged between my legs. Had we not been wearing pants, the outcome might’ve been rather different.
“I don’t mean to sound like a dick, but sometimes, people need to state their frustrations out loud. They have to purge them so they aren’t obsessing about it or letting it fester until it ruins their day. It’s not right to talk about people behind their backs. I will fully admit that. But if she’s upset about something, isn’t it better that she gets it out to her sister, someone who can defend you in your absence, rather than hold it in and take it out on you to your face?”