Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (10 page)

“Triggers. Yeah, a fucking train-wreck
of a trigger.”

“Ok, that’s a start. Why don’t you tell
me a little about
that.
Can you see that maybe you’re
using some exaggerated language?”

I clench my fist. I like my train-wreck
metaphor. I hate when she takes them away from me. “Fine. Not a train-wreck,
but it was pretty damn close.”

“What happened?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s a long
story.”

“I have time,” she says, and the
gentleness in her voice soothes some of the resistance inside me.

Closing my eyes, I draw in a deep
breath. “Maybe some of it is worth talking about.”

“Then let’s talk about it.”

∞∞∞

I hate to admit that I feel a lot better after my impromptu
counseling session with my therapist, Dr. Flynn. If you would have told me a
year ago, hell, at any point in my life, that I’d not only call a shrink to
help me through a crisis, but actually be glad I did, I would have laughed. No,
I would have punched you. But man, it works sometimes. Talking. Having someone
understand without judgment. Letting them give you perspective because god
knows your perspective can get so screwed up you can’t even see a straight line
let alone walk it.

I’m interrupted by
knocking again, but this time
, manage
to roll out of bed and make my way to the door. It’s Callie, with a bag of
something and a hyper-concerned look on her face. I still don’t want to leave
my island, but I’ve been a dick long enough over the last few hours, and open
the door.

“Oh
my gosh
!”
she cries, throwing her arms around me. I know she has dozens of questions loaded
to fire at me, but
am
grateful she holds off. Instead,
her embrace tells me everything I need to know about how worried she was and
relieved she is to be here now. “I brought you breakfast,” she mumbles into my chest.

I force a smile. “Thank you. I’m ok,” I
assure her. She pulls away and looks up at me, searching my eyes. I can’t tell
if she believes me, but she at least accepts my answer. She pulls out her
phone.

“Ok. I’m going to let Casey know you’re
all right. We were all really worried.”

“I’m fine. I was just tired,” I lie.
I’m fixed now. No point reliving the whole thing again. Ok fine, not fixed, but
fixed enough. By the end we’d traded the word “train-wreck” for “setback.”
That’s a freaking miracle in itself.

“The hotel had these cute
breakfast-to-go bags. Since you missed dinner, I was pretty sure you’d be
hungry.”

“Yeah, I am a little. Thanks.”

She’s still staring but I don’t want to
invite her in. If I do, I’ll have to talk, and that’s not happening.

“Hey, I was just about to jump in the
shower,” I lie again. I feel badly, but it’s more for her sake than mine.
“Catch up with you later?”

She gives me a weak smile. She knows
I’m in one of my “moods,” I can tell. “Sure, yeah. We’re all going over to the
outlets. You should come.”

I cringe at the thought of another
group outing with Wes and the gang. “Thanks, but I think I’m just going to hang
around the hotel a bit today. The pools and hot tubs looked pretty sweet.”

“They are. We were down there last
night. We tried to get you to join us.”

“I know. Thanks for thinking of me.”

She scrunches her face. “Thanks for
thinking of you? Seriously? Ugh, you drive me crazy sometimes,” she mutters,
and I grin.

“Sorry.”

“Of course we think of you, silly! Ok,
well, I’ll let you shower and do your thing…although, really? Shower before
going in the pool?”

I shrug, and she shakes her head.
“Whatever. You better do dinner with us tonight though, ok?”

“I will,” I assure her. She seems to
relax a bit at that.

“Fine. Call us if you change your mind
about the outlets. I think they want to head out in an hour or so.”

∞∞∞

I’m pretty committed to my idea of not going to the outlets,
and head down to the pools instead once I’m sure it’s safe. There isn’t a lot
of activity around the pools yet, which works nicely for me as I lower myself
into an unoccupied hot tub. I close my eyes and rest my head on the concrete
edge, loving the sound of the waves and feel of the warm water embracing every
part of my body. Even better is the way the peace of both transports
me
out of my head to a place where I can get some much
needed relief from the constant storm.

It doesn’t last long.

“Fancy meeting you here.” The voice
crashes into my serenity and my body reacts like it always does when she’s
close. Oh shit, especially in that bikini.

“Morning. You didn’t want to go to the
outlets?” I ask, somehow managing not to sound remotely as unbalanced as I
feel.

She laughs and descends into the water
with me. The struggle intensifies as she brushes past but she mercifully sits
across from me, far out of reach.

“Nah, we’re at the beach! I can shop
anywhere. What about you?”

I shrug and close my eyes again. “Same,
I guess. I was afraid I’d be as bad at outlet shopping as I am at mini golf. My
ego can’t handle another blow.”

“Not possible,” she snickers, and I
can’t stop the grin that spreads across my lips.

Even without looking, I can sense her
watching me. I can feel her eyes all over my body in the saturated silence,
exploring me the same way I’ve explored her in a constant, exasperating loop. I’ve
seen it several times over the last couple days, suffered the effects, but I
can’t be critical. I’d be doing the same if I weren’t using all my energy to
keep mine closed.

“Patrick,” I blurt against the silence,
finally letting go and looking at her.

Her expression is about what I
expected, and I smile. “My middle name. Luke Patrick Craven.”

She doesn’t respond at first. I can
tell that one word means a lot to her, and I feel good about my gift.

“I like that,” she says finally, her
eyes connecting with mine.

I nod, and lean back again. “It was my
father’s name. Patrick.”

“Were you and he close?” she asks. “You
mentioned him the other day with the guitar.”

I take a breath. “Yeah. He died when I
was eleven.”

“I’m so sorry, Luke,” she says, and I
can hear the compassion in her voice. It scares me a little, what her empathy
does to me.

I just shrug. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but still. I’m pretty close to
my parents. That had to be hard.”

I focus on her again. My heart is
racing at the direction of this conversation, but for some reason, I’m still
here. I haven’t run yet. Maybe I won’t for once.

“It was. I was very close to my dad.”

“What about your mom?”

A harsh laugh escapes before I can stop
it. “Yeah, right. No. Not my mom.”

She’s studying me with a disturbing
intensity, and I sigh. I’ve invited this. It’s my own fault.

“She was a junkie,” I explain. “Not much
interest in kids.”

I look away again. I can’t handle her
expression, and I’m not surprised when she doesn’t respond. It’s my stupid sob
story, I know. There’s a reason I hate talking about my past. It does nothing
but make all of us regret the conversation in the first place. I didn’t even
get to the bad part.

“Anyway, what about you?” I ask before
things get too awkward.

She shakes her head. “We’re talking
about you. So how’d you end up here?”

I stare at her in disbelief. Even
Callie doesn’t push this hard. “Trust me, you don’t want to know any more than
you do.”

“Oh, trust me, I do,” she returns. “Actually,
I can’t think of anything I want to know more at the moment.” She’s not
flirting. She’s completely serious and my stomach drops. There are precious few
people on this planet who know more than what I’ve just told her.

“What do you want to know?” I manage
finally.

Her smile softens me in ways I’ll never
understand. “How about we start with what you’re willing to tell me, and work
our way up from there.”

I return her smile and shake my head,
knowing my walls are in for the assault of a lifetime. “You’re optimistic.”

“And you’re stalling. Talk. How’d you
end up here?”

I draw in a deep breath. “Ok, fine. My
mom hooked up with some other junkie loser after my dad died, they made my life
a living hell for a few years, then finally decided even that was too much, and
shipped me off to her sister in Houston.”

“Houston? Wow, that’s far. Aren’t you
from Johannesburg or something?”

I glance at her in surprise, unable to stop
my grin. “You did your research, I see.”

“Well, when your manager says you’re
touring with Night Shifts Black, yeah, you do research. You didn’t look me up?”

I’m actually a bit embarrassed and give
her a shy shrug. “Sorry.”

She only laughs and shakes her head.
“Wow. Thanks.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I
believe my exact words when our manager told us we’d be touring with you were,
‘Sweet. They’re legit,’” I offer in exchange. “Bringing you on board was actually
Casey’s idea. He’s been impressed with you guys and told TJ to make it happen.”

Holland looks pleased, and I love that
I’ve made up for my previous disappointment. “Really? Wow. I’m honored. Casey
is extremely talented.”

“And has excellent taste,” I add, but
regret it when her direct gaze and grateful smile shred my shield again.

“And, now you’re back to stalling. Keep
going.”

I sigh. “You got the story. There’s not
much else.”

“Yeah, right,” she smirks. “You’ve
barely started. I want to hear the rest. All of it.”

I grunt. “Really? Come on.” My tone was
too dark. I immediately know my deflection has failed, which only makes me
defensive.

“Yes, really. I want to hear about your
childhood, your dad, your junkie mom.”

“No, I guarantee you don’t. No one
wants to hear about that shit.”

“It’s not ‘shit’ to me.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“Of course it matters! And the fact
that you refuse to talk about it shows how much!”

She’s being way too pushy, and I hate
that I can’t hate her for it. I especially hate the fact that she’s so genuine,
part of me feels like she’s earned the question. And all of that just makes the
other part want to punish her with the answer. I feel my muscles tense, my
heart harden
as my grimace spreads into a glare.

“Really. So you want details about what
it’s like to be an eleven-year-old kid forced to take care of yourself and two
adults who hate everything about you and wish you didn’t exist? About getting
pushed around, going hungry, being told you’re a worthless piece-of-shit who
should probably just disappear. That’s how we’re going to spend our afternoon
at the beach?”

I stop. Suck in air. Something just
happened and I can’t look at her. I know I won’t like what I see.

“Yeah, I do,” she replies quietly after
a long silence, and I glance up. Her eyes reach deep inside of me, and before I
can fight it, I feel something softening. It’s almost painful as the strength
in her gaze mixes with what I think might be tears in her eyes. It’s hard to
tell in a hot tub. “I really do, Luke,” she whispers.

I swallow,
terrified of the fact that I might actually share my story with her.
Most of that part was off limits even to Dr. Flynn. I think
she senses my hesitation, that she’s losing me, and moves to close the physical
distance between us. My stomach is in knots, from her, from the memories.
The ancient pain.
When she takes my hand, I’m not sure what
to do with the war raging inside me.

“Why Houston? How did your mother’s
sister get to Houston?”

We’re compromising. I sigh, grateful.
That one’s much easier.

“That’s where she’s from.”

“Who?”

“Both, really. My mom and her sister.”

Holland straightens in surprise, and I
almost laugh at her look. “Wait. Your mom is American?”

I grin and nod. “Yes. So am I.”

“Um…ok, I don’t remember reading that.
But your dad wasn’t, obviously.”

I shake my head. “No. They met in
Johannesburg while my mom was modeling, so we lived there.”

“Is your mom still alive?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. I doubt it.”

She settles against me, still grasping my
hand, and once again I marvel at the effect of her touch. “Wow. I guess that
answers my questions about immigration and work visas. And why you’re so damn beautiful.”

I laugh. “You’re not even kidding about
that are you.
”