Never Let You Go (a modern fairytale) (24 page)

He turned back to find her red-faced and furious.

“Do you? ‘Ye’ll live in darkness till yer evil ways is purged! Till yer worthy o’ the light.’ Remember that? ‘Can’t be no cleft in yer remorse! For the wages o’ sin is death!’ Death!
My
death!” she ranted, tears streaming down her face.

“I kn-know the f-fucking words as well as you!”

“Then how? How could you feel . . .
affection
for him?”

“It w-wasn’t f-f-fucking affection!”

“What was it then? When those waitresses snickered? What was it? What was it when you thought of him shooting me in the back?”

“Hate!” Holden screamed. “F-f-fucking hate!”

Birds that had been sunning on the roof took flight, their wings beating against the warm summer air, seeking sanctuary.

“Well. You sure as hell didn’t hate him enough to leave.”

“I was th-thirteen years old, ch-chained to a bed or steering wheel every n-night of my f-fucking life for two years. Even if I c-could get away, where the f-fuck was I going to go?”

“Back to D.C.?” she suggested angrily.

“B-back into the system so someone like M-Miz F-Fillman could m-m-molest me in my sleep?”

“Not all foster parents are molesters,” said Griselda, her voice losing some of its conviction.

“Enough are,” answered Holden. “Or d-drunks. Or they b-beat on you. Or they f-forget to f-feed you.”

“Fine. The system isn’t paradise. But it had to be better than staying with a child abductor! An abuser! A crazy fucking madman!”

“I was
d-d-dead
inside. Everyone—
everyone
—I had ever loved was d-dead,” he said, his voice breaking and eyes burning. “He didn’t b-beat me. He f-fed me. I had a warm place to sleep. By fifteen, we were settled in Oregon, and I enrolled in high school.”

“As Seth West,” she said.

Holden nodded.

“You took his name.”

“After t-two years with him? What the f-fuck did it matter?”

“It mattered because your name was Holden. Maybe I could have found you if you’d still been Holden.”

“You couldn’t have f-f-found me, Gris, because you were f-f-fucking
d-d-dead
!” he yelled. He took a deep breath as she stared back at him, their gazes in a deadlock.

She stood up, dropping the notebook on the chair, her face disgusted and sad and furious. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t follow me.”

“D-don’t f-fucking leave. Gris, talk to me!”

“I can’t,” she said, putting her leg over the railing and following it with her other, and his heart clenched because he suspected it was so she wouldn’t have to risk touching him as she passed by his chair.

“Please,” he said softly to her retreating form, but she never turned around.

***

Griselda walked purposefully through the meadow, refusing to look back at him despite his quiet plea, which threatened to break her fucking heart in half.

Not only had he stayed with the Man, but he’d developed some sort of—what? Holden refused to call it affection, but it sure as hell felt like that!—
softness
for Caleb Foster. Almost as though some part of Holden had believed himself Seth West and had accepted Caleb Foster’s protection, and even, when snarky waitresses giggled at them, returned it.

This was the man who had abducted them, tortured and terrified them, whom Holden believed had killed Griselda, murdered her in cold blood and buried her. She’d been dead only two years, and Holden was living it up with Caleb, eating his food, sleeping in a space he provided, going to high school like the holy hell of West Virginia had never even fucking happened.

That’s not fair
, her heart whispered gently, interrupting her inner tirade.

She stepped out of the meadow and into the woods, the not-too-far-away sound of a stream drawing her to the left.

He’d been kidnapped too—
because of you!
her heart reminded her—and he’d endured more than his fair share of beatings. He’d been brave, but she knew he’d been as terrified as she. He’d tried to escape and failed while she had succeeded. He’d essentially been abducted again, this time alone, with no one for comfort, and his dearest friend dead. He said he’d felt dead inside, and Griselda believed it, her tears falling faster as she imagined his thin wrist shackled to the truck wheel, to motel beds, freedom close but never possible. He’d reminded her that he was only thirteen, still a child, and he’d lost everything and everyone that mattered to him. And yes, he could have escaped and gone back to the system, as she suggested, but he was right. She flinched, remembering Mrs. Fillman’s hand on Billy’s thigh at the park. Holden, with his blond hair and all-American freckled face, would have been easy prey.

Caleb Foster fed him, offered him a warm place to sleep, didn’t beat him, and eventually let him attend high school like a normal kid.

She couldn’t imagine it had been a good life, but she knew, as he did, that it could have been worse.

The sound of trickling water was louder now, and she came on the stream she’d been seeking—not too wide across, maybe fifteen feet, and not too deep either, but clear and clean, with some big rocks for sitting by the shore. She sat down on one, took off her sandals, and stuck her feet in the water.

I’ll make you come. I’ll hold you while you sleep. I’ll change for you. I’ll live for you. I’ll never let you go.

Did she believe him?

I’m whole. You make me whole.

After these revelations about Caleb Foster, could she trust him?

I’ve always loved you, Gris.

She sobbed, and her body came alive as she thought of the reverent way he’d touched her, looked at her, made love to her.

You won’t leave me?
he’d asked. And she’d answered,
Never.

And she meant it.

She’d held on too long, hoping to find him again, and finding him was too miraculous, too right, too good to give up, because he’d succumbed to some fucked-up version of Stockholm syndrome. She could allow him to have some gratitude to Caleb Foster for keeping him alive.

And then it occurred her.

Despite everything Caleb Foster had done to them, she had to admit, she felt some gratitude too.

She was grateful that Caleb hadn’t shot and killed Holden that day. She was grateful that he’d taken care of Holden so Holden
didn’t
run, ending up in some fucked-up foster family that could have broken his spirit. She was even grateful that Caleb had taken such good care of his truck so Holden could return to West Virginia.

She’d long held the belief that Caleb was an irredeemable monster, and he was, but she also couldn’t deny that things could have been worse for Holden. He could have been killed. He could have been further abused. He could have been starved or trafficked or any number of other unthinkable horrors. Instead, as Holden pointed out, he’d been fed, he’d had a place to sleep, he hadn’t been beaten anymore, he hadn’t been molested. He’d survived.

Her lip twitched in objection because she despised Caleb and didn’t want to humanize him, but once the window to that train of thought had been opened, she couldn’t close it. The Holden who had made love to her today was, in some part, a product of the care he’d received from Caleb during their years apart, and for that she could be grateful.

“Still pissed?”

Startled, she looked up to find Holden standing behind her.

“I told you not to follow me,” she said, turning back to the river.

“Not good at listening to directions, I guess.”

“Obviously,” she said, slipping her sandals back on and standing up to face him. He’d thrown on a long-sleeved flannel shirt and buttoned two buttons, but his feet were still bare and his jeans were still undone.

He looked at the river, eyes narrowed. “What if you came across someone out here? Some perverted hunter who wanted to hurt you?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “You might be feeling better, but you still have two bruised ribs. You’re not in any shape to be my protector. You’re weak.”

“Like hell,” he said, his eyes flaring.

She huffed. She didn’t want to be mean to him, but it would take a little time to understand what had happened to him and how it had made him into the man he was now.

“I hate it that you stayed with him,” she said.

“I know. Sometimes I do too.”

“But I can also understand. What Miz Fillman was doing to Billy . . . I’m glad that didn’t happen to you.”

“I didn’t like him, Gris,” he said gently, reaching for her. He put his arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest, and she didn’t resist him. “I was a broken kid. And yes, he was evil, but to my mind he was the least of possible evils.” He sighed against her hair, holding her tighter. “So I stayed.”

“I don’t want to judge you for it.”

“Then don’t,” he said. They stood silently for a while before he spoke again. “I’m not weak. I want to take care of you, Gris.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said softly, unwilling to surrender completely.

“I’m strong,” he whispered near her ear. “Let me do it instead.”

She let her muscles relax against the warmth of his chest, cherishing the solid comfort of him, memorizing the feel of him holding her so tenderly. Placing her cheek on his shoulder, she looked out at the river.

“It’s an awful lot to digest, Holden. So much has changed all at once.”

“So take your time,” he said, one hand rubbing her back. “We’ve finally got time, Gris, and I ain’t g-going anywhere.”

Minutes turned into hours, hours into days, into the end of their second week together, which found its own fragile identity, its own tentative rhythm.

During the day, Griselda sat in the rocking chair on the little porch, filling her notebook with stories that she read to Holden in the evening. Many nights, he’d make a fire in the fireplace, and they’d sit side by side on the futon as she read, his arm around her shoulders, his lips kissing the top of her head whenever he felt like it.

They hiked in the woods daily, swapping stories about their lives in the time they’d been apart, and occasionally sharing a happy memory from when they were together: the times they’d seen wildlife on Caleb Foster’s property; their birthdays, which they’d celebrated quietly together in the dark cellar; and the couple of times Caleb had tripped over their chains and knocked himself out for a few hours.

They held hands. They kissed. They held each other and laughed. They held each other and cried.

They visited the little stream many times, soaking their feet in the cool water, picnicking on the rocks and skinny-dipping. More than once, Griselda stole Holden’s clothes and ran back to the cabin through the woods, jumping into bed, breathless and sweaty, giggling and naked when he caught up to her there.

His injuries healed quickly, and by the beginning of the second week, his face looked almost normal but for some small spots of yellow, and while his ribs would needed a couple of more weeks to mend, they didn’t ache anymore. The doctor had advised Holden that his stitches would dissolve in about six days, and sure enough, they had. He wasn’t a hundred percent yet, but he was certainly on his way. He hadn’t started working out again—Griselda had forbidden it—but he’d found an ax in the cabin, and he was aching to get outside and chop some wood, use his muscles, feel strong and whole again.

Especially because he’d finally listened to the messages left on his phone by her fucking asshole of an ex-boyfriend. He’d been checking his messages, deleting texts from Gemma without reading them and writing back to Clinton, who asked how he was doing. He remembered Griselda’s request that he not listen to Jonah’s messages before deleting them, but his curiosity got the better of him and he listened anyway.

Part of him wished he hadn’t.

Jonah’s hateful voice, calling Gris a bitch, a cunt, and fucking garbage, made Holden’s fist curl with rage as he listened in disbelief, tamping down the murderous instinct to get in his truck, drive to Maryland, find this dickhead, and beat him until his mouth and fingers didn’t fucking work anymore. He wondered in what other ways Jonah’s aggression had manifested itself toward Griselda. Had he hit her? Had he beaten her? If Holden ever found out that Jonah had laid a hand on her in anger, he’d better start looking over his shoulder because Holden would be coming for him.

After he’d listened to the messages, he sent a text to Jonah’s number:
She’s done with you. You ever go near her again and I will end you, you cocksucking fuck. Seth

Since then, Jonah had written back a steady stream of expletive-laden messages to Holden, a couple per day, mostly at night, calling Griselda and Seth every filthy name in the book. Holden didn’t read them anymore, but suffice it to say that his foot was good and ready to find a home in Jonah’s ass should they ever have the bad luck to meet in person.

It wasn’t lost on Holden how fucked-up their sex lives had been—him, sleeping with anyone who opened her legs in an effort to exorcise Griselda from his life, and her, shacking up with a total asshole who appeared to have no respect for her, and zero concept of the amazing woman he’d been lucky enough to have in his arms.

It bothered Holden tremendously that Griselda would invite such a person into her life—and yes, into her bed—because he felt she deserved so much better. Better than Jonah, for sure. Even better than himself, lowly factory worker and fight club headliner that he was. It angered Holden that he didn’t have more to offer her, but the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to remedy that. He wanted to be everything to her: her best friend, her confidant, her support, her partner, her lover.

Her lover.

From the moment she’d walked back into his life, Holden had wanted her, as though sleeping together, joining their bodies in the most intimate possible way, would somehow bind them together. And in some ways, it had worked. Learning how she liked to be touched, moving inside her, watching her face as she climaxed—because of the depth of his feelings for her, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. And when she slept naked, curled up next to him, her head heavy on his chest, her hair soft and golden on his skin, Holden felt a peace he’d never known.

And yet he sensed her reluctance to commit to what was happening between them and what it could mean to both of their lives. When he tried to talk about what would happen at the end of their month together, she suggested they enjoy the time they had. When he mentioned college, she smiled, but she didn’t engage in the conversation. When he asked about her life in Maryland and D.C., she glossed over the McClellans and her friend Maya, invariably changing the focus of the conversation back to him, like her real life was an off-limits topic.

He knew that they’d been reunited for only a couple of weeks, but he was anxious—and yes, perhaps unreasonably so—to know that she bought into the idea of a future together. And it frustrated him that, though her feelings for him seemed genuine, she didn’t appear to trust that when he said he loved her, he meant forever.

He had two more weeks to convince her that this wasn’t just a pause in their mediocre lives before they returned to reality. Holden truly believed that this month, reunited, spending time together, learning about each other, loving each other, was just the beginning of the rest of their lives. He’d do whatever it took to convince her of it too.

“You awake already?” she asked him, her voice still fuzzy from sleep.

“Sunshine woke me up,” he answered, stroking her hair.

“Mmm. That’s nice.”

“What should we do today?’

“Mmm,” she murmured, still half asleep. “More of this.”

He chuckled, a low, satisfied rumble. She wiggled a little against him, and his dick sprang to life, growing and pulsing with every beat of his heart.

“Maybe go into town?” she asked, rubbing her breasts against his chest.

“Sure. If you want.”

“I want,” she purred, dropping her lips to his chest and sucking his nipple into her mouth.

“Ah,” he gasped, his erection pressing urgently against her hip. “Gris, unless you want me inside you, you better stop.”

She paused, looking up at him, her blue eyes sleepy but tender. “Of course I want you inside me. I’d let you live there if I could. So you’d never be farther from me than . . . me.”

It was a rare allusion to the future, so he took it and filed it away, feeling hopeful. Flipping her to her back, he settled his weight on his elbows and looked down at her. “How’d we find each other?”

“You were fighting in a field. I showed up.”

“It was a one-in-a-million chance.”

Her eyes drank in his face, resting on his eyes, then his cheek. “I hate it that you fight.”

“I’ll stop.”

“But the money?”

The several hundred dollars he’d made at that fight had been financing their little retreat, and they both knew it. “I’ll figure out something else.”

She nodded, offering him a weak smile before looking at his lips despondently. He read her expression easily: uncertainty, insecurity, doubt.

“I will, Gris. For you, for us. I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will,” she said, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced.

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“Not my strong suit,” she said, arching her back a little so her breasts pressed into his chest, distracting him, which he knew was her intention.

“Work on it,” he suggested, circling his hips, then drawing back to position his dick where she wanted it.

“Okay,” she said, licking her lips, her eyes dilating to black with anticipation.

He slid into her slowly, staring deeply into her eyes, watching as they flinched, narrowed, fluttered, then closed, her head pressing back into the pillow as her lips parted with a gasp, chased by a sigh. He felt it too—all of it—the slick heat that meant she was ready, the subtle ripples in the walls of her sex that massaged him, the wonder of their bodies joining, the comfort of being as close as possible, the excitement of having her to himself for however long she welcomed him.

“I love you,” he said through panted breaths, wishing she would open her eyes. “As long as we’re together, we can figure it out. I . . . I’d do anything for you.”

She wet her lips, pushing her head back into the pillow as he pulled out as far as possible before sinking into her again.

Whimpering, her fingers skimmed up the uneven scar tissue on his back, burying in his hair, and she leaned up, pressing her lips to his. Holden quickened his pace, his tongue plunging into her mouth as his sex merged relentlessly into hers.

His muscles started bunching just as the moans in the back of her throat got louder, and he demanded, “Tell me, Gris. Say it.”

“I . . .,” she panted, gasping and whimpering as her inner walls clamped down on his dick, sucking him forward with their pulsating contractions. “Oh God, I love you!”

Her words made his eyes burn, and he thrust deep inside one last time, yelling her name as he surrendered to heaven.

***

“You really want to go into town?” he asked her a few minutes later.

Griselda scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her feet over the side. “Mm-hm. We need a little food, and believe it or not, I need another notebook.”

Writing down her stories over the past two weeks had become almost as addictive as Holden, giving her a purpose she’d never enjoyed so much before. In addition to the various characters she’d created for Holden and Prudence—Princess Sunshine and Princess Moonlight, Prince Twilight, Princess Stormcloud, Lady Starlight and the Sun King—she created a fairy tale world where these characters lived with sun, moon, and star fairies, and where the evil Glacier Queen and her minions of Freezites and Hailions threatened to steal every bright, warm, and beautiful thing from the Kingdom of the Sun.

Every day, as she stared out at the wildflowers, with Holden flipping through one of Quint’s many birding books in the rocking chair beside her, she escaped to a world where her characters struggled to live and love, to survive and thrive together.

She loved it.

I love this cabin and these wildflowers.

I love every minute in Holden’s arms and every second writing down my stories.

These are the best and happiest days of my entire life, and I will be grateful as long as I can have them.

But an underlying melancholy wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d been unloved by her mother and never close enough to her grandmother for any real affection. She’d unwittingly orchestrated Holden’s abduction and abandoned him to Caleb Foster as she escaped across the Shenandoah. Sooner or later, he’d rethink everything. Someday soon, the sex wouldn’t be new anymore. They’d be all caught up on each other’s lives. The surprise and wonder of their reunion would wear off, and when it did, he’d decide that he didn’t love her anymore, that she wasn’t worthy of his love. Even though she knew it was coming, it would break her in half when he walked away, so she tried not to let go of her entire heart. She tried to protect a small part so that she was able to bear it when he finally turned his back on her.

This can’t last. This can’t last. This kind of happiness can’t be yours. Don’t get too comfortable.

“Filled the whole notebook, huh? Well, I’m not surprised at all. The Glacier Queen sure makes things tough on the Sun King.” Holden grinned at her. “So you want to shower first? Then we’ll head into town?”

She nodded, slipping off the bed and stretching her naked body in a thick, bright stream of morning sunshine.

“Keep that up, you won’t get to the shower for another hour,” he said, and though his voice was light, when she looked at his dark eyes, she knew he wasn’t entirely kidding.

Winking at him, she headed for the tiny shower. She looked back just for a moment to see him take his phone off the bedside table and narrow his eyes at the screen.

And that was something else.

As much as he said he’d break things off with Gemma when they returned to Charles Town, she knew that he was still reading her texts. She saw Holden’s eyes cloud over with anger and frustration as he typed into his phone when he thought she wasn’t looking. It made her edgy. It made her wonder.

Sometimes she thought about Holden’s tally marks—he’d been with so many women—and although he reassured her that she was the love of his life, she had to admit the marks bothered her. She mostly believed that he loved her right now, and certainly not one of the women represented on his arm, including Gemma, knew Holden in the same way she did, but it was a hell of a lot of tally marks.

She flushed the toilet and reached into the tiny RV-size shower to turn on the hot water, letting it warm up. She didn’t believe that she was a conquest or a tally mark to Holden, but she cringed inside when he talked about the future or alluded to them staying together beyond the time they spent at this cabin. And she feared that his feelings for Gemma weren’t quite as cut-and-dried as he let on. He’d been with her for six months. That had to mean
something
, right? Griselda appreciated that he
said
he’d break things off with Gemma, but until he did, she had to prepare herself for him possibly going back to her, didn’t she? She’d be stupid and naive not to.