Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (34 page)

I laugh. “Story of my life.”

He grins. “Yeah, you have some legendary not-so-great
moments. So it doesn’t go away, huh? It’s still a fight, even after you make
it?”

“Every damn day, Jess. But that’s not being a musician,
that’s just life, dude. Your screw-ups just happen to be more tempting,
accessible, and public. Your stakes are higher now. You’re not just some
warehouse kid messing around in his parents’ garage.”

“What if I am, though, you know? I don’t want all this shit
to change me.”

“I’m not saying it should change
you
, just your priorities. The music comes first now.”

“It sounds so easy when you say it.”

I smirk. “Really? Well, it’s not. It’s a hell of a battle
with all the distractions you’ve got coming, but I’m telling you, you’re
gonna
need that banner when you
fight it. You have no chance otherwise.”

”Man, how do you have it so together?” he mumbles, leaning
back against the cushions. “I swear, most days I feel like I’m in way over my
head.”

He’s not trying to be funny, so I hold in my instinctive
laugh. But the thought of Luke Craven having anything under control is a joke
in itself.

“None of us has it together, man. What we have are our
mistakes. I didn’t learn all this stuff because I’m some philosopher.”

“You messed up.”

“Way more than you even know.”

He sighs. “You really know how to suck the glamor out of
being a rock star, you know that?”

“Yeah? And how glamorous did it feel passed out against a
tree next to a homeless guy who probably stole your wallet?”

He gives me a look and grunts. “Fine. Point made.”

“Good. You’re
gonna
figure it out, I promise. But yeah, you’re also
gonna
screw up. A lot.”

“You say it like
it’s
fact.”

“Do you know where I was when I was your age?” I ask.

“Where?”

“Exactly where you are. Dude, you’re not just my friend.
You’re me.”

∞∞∞

I’m
more than a little nervous about Thanksgiving Dinner. My last big family event
wasn’t exactly a cherished memory, and I sense Holland knows where my mind is
locked as we pull up to her parents house.

“It’s just us, I promise,” she says, taking my hand. “I
warned my parents in no uncertain terms that our relationship is not public and
you are not here to meet every person they’ve ever spoken to, ok?”

I nod and force a smile, hating this exasperating
insecurity. I’m a freaking rock star. Fucking Luke Craven, and
I’m
intimidated by roast chicken and fancy napkins at my
girlfriend’s house.

“You’re doing it, Luke…”

“Doing what?”

“That thing you do when you get lost in your head and think
things that are going to piss me off!”

I can’t help but smile when she does and shrug. “As
advertised, right?”

She laughs and squeezes my hand as we approach the door.

We don’t even have a chance to knock before a young woman I
haven’t met yet opens it and throws herself into Holland’s arms.

“Hey, sis!” Holland cries, squeezing back. “Sorry we missed
you Sunday.”

“Yeah, stupid partners wouldn’t let me off.” She pulls away
and turns to me. “And you must be Luke. Hi, I’m Hannah, Holland’s favorite
sister.”

“I heard that!” someone calls from the house.

Hannah smirks and waves us inside.

I brace myself for the worst, and am actually relieved when
the house turns out to be much emptier than I’d expected. True to her word,
this really does appear to be an exclusive dinner. Sylvie flies at me, nearly
tackling me with a giant hug, and follows it up with one for Holland.

“Hi, Sylvie. Good to see you again. I brought a gift this
time,” I say, handing her the bag.

Her eyes light up as she grabs it with a screech and starts
digging through the contents. Each bit of swag elicits a new sound, and Holland
and I exchange several amused glances.

“Wait, there’s more,” Holland announces. “It’s on my phone,
but you have Luke to thank. Hang on, I’ll forward it to you.”

Sylvie’s face is alive with anticipation as she waits for
Holland’s cryptic gift. I can barely contain my own smile, especially when she literally
collapses against the wall the second her display lights up with a video. She
stares at us in disbelief, completely frozen.

“Is that…is that…”

“Are you going to watch it or what?”

She squeals and jumps a few times before drawing in a deep
breath and pressing play.

“Hey, Sylvie. Casey here. Heard you’re into our music.
That’s awesome. Anyway, just wanted to say hello and thank you for all your
support. Hope you like the swag. Enjoy the show tomorrow.”

There’s no response. She presses play again.
And again.
And again.
Then, Sylvie Drake
disappears from view down the hall.

“Geez, Holland. I hope you’re happy. As if mom and dad need
to spend more money on therapy,” Hannah mutters.

∞∞∞

“So
Luke, I hear you’ve decided to officially brave entrance into this family,”
Hannah blurts, selecting a carrot from a tray of snacks on the coffee table.

“Ignore her. She’s the moody, sarcastic one,” Holland
explains, and Hannah makes a face.

“You mean the smart, sane one. Well, minus the meds and
shitload of therapy.”

“Hannah Marie!” we hear from the kitchen.

“Crap-load of therapy,” she corrects. “Crap-load, Mom!” she
shouts. God, I love this girl. “But hey, nothing 10mg of
Nilapax
and some counseling can’t help with.”

“10mg? Not bad. I’m in the 20 club,” I boast, loving the way
her face ignites with a surprised grin.

“20mg? Look at you! Right on.
Weekly or
biweekly sessions?

“Weekly until the tour. Now, as needed by phone.”

“Ha! Weekly for three years, biweekly for the last two.”

I warm to the challenge. “Thirty days in an in-patient rehab
facility.”

“In-patient?” She lets out a low whistle and shakes her head
in defeat. “Damn, Holland. Where did you find this god among men?”

She presents her fist, which I tap with a laugh.

“Are you two seriously bonding over antidepressants and
treatment plans right now?”

“Well, it beats doing each other’s nails…or does it?” She
gives me a look. “What kind of rock star are you exactly?”

Holland smacks her arm as I laugh again.

“The kind that prefers discussing my struggle with mental
illness over manicures,” I assure her.

She lets out a dramatic breath. “Ok, good. You can keep
him,” Hannah says to Holland. “Not that the nail painting would have been a
problem, it’s just we’ve already got Sylvie so, you know, that’s a lot of
primping for one house.”

“Seriously! I don’t know why I ever bring anyone home,”
Holland mumbles.

“Um, because we’re awesome.”

“Because you love us,” Annie adds, dropping another plate of
food between us. “Hannah, I hope you’re not tormenting your sister.”

“Me? I would never!” she cries, shocked hand to her horrified
heart. She exchanges a grin with me as Holland rolls her eyes. “So who’s ready
for the clarinet recital?”

“You play clarinet?” I ask.

She snickers. “No. But I should totally learn just for
moments like these.”

“Or you could sit quietly and not scare away my boyfriend.”

She scrunches her nose and studies me. “Nah, he’s not
scared. I’m pretty sure if Sylvie’s Casey Barrett obsession hasn’t accomplished
that, we’re good. I mean
,
are we not going to discuss
what happened in the foyer? We’re just
gonna
pretend
that was totally healthy?”

“She’s got a point, Holland,” I admit. “To be fair, I
haven’t seen ‘The Room’ yet either.”

Hannah laughs. “Ok, whew. Don’t let him. He’s growing on
me,” she whispers to Holland. Her phone buzzes and she curses. “Ugh, work
again. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“Sorry about her,” Holland mutters once we’re alone.

“Are you kidding? She’s amazing,” I say.

“Of course you’d think that. She’s the female version of
you. Except a lawyer.”

I laugh. “So you’re dating your own sister? That’s not
Pavlov, babe. Whole new ballpark right there.”

She rolls her eyes, and I give her a quick kiss. The sweet
moment turns more urgent when she pulls me in for another one.

“You had to mention Pavlov, didn’t you,” she breathes. My
own pulse starts to pick up, excited by her as much as the stolen moment.

“You just like how much I’m impressing your family.”

“You got me. You’re
killin
’ the
small talk, hon.”

“And that veggie platter.”

“So hot.”

“You know, Holland’s old room may be an office now, but I
think there’s still a futon in there,” Hannah quips, and we freeze before
exchanging a grin. “That’s a thing, right,
Hol
?
Quickies in your childhood room?”

Hannah ducks as a pillow flies toward her head.

∞∞∞

Dinner is
delicious, the conversation flows, and I find myself laughing and joking during
a family meal for one of the first times I can remember.

Holland and I are cuddled up on the couch, watching the Jays
continue their playoff bid with James, when Annie interrupts the game carrying
an armload of equipment. Sylvie and Emma are close behind, neither of
whom
look thrilled.

“Ok, everyone up!”

Holland groans. “Seriously, Mom? Right now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How often do I get my entire family under
the same roof? Where’s Hannah? Hannah!”

I’m still confused as Holland reluctantly straightens from
my arms and starts adjusting her clothing.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, and she rolls her eyes.

“Family picture,” she explains.

“It’s tradition. We’ve had one every Thanksgiving since
Holland was born,” Annie explains as she begins unpacking what I can now see is
a camera and tripod from its case.

“Well, technically since before she was born, eh?” James
corrects, lowering the footrest of the recliner. “You were pregnant with
Holland that first year, weren’t you?”

“Was I?”

“At least we don’t have to wear matching outfits anymore,”
Hannah snickers, entering the room.

“You girls were so cute in your little matching dresses. We
should do that again.”

“Over my dead body,” Holland mutters.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart,”
Annie
chastises. “A quick shot and you can go back to your game.” Her smile grows
mischievous. “Or you could try coming home more than twice a year!”

Holland sighs. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes. I’m in the middle of something,” Sylvie echoes,
joining her sister by the fireplace.

“I’m pretty sure watching an endless loop of Casey Barrett
saying your name doesn’t count as being in the middle of something,” Hannah comments,
and Sylvie casts an irritated scowl.

“Ok, girls. We want smiles for the camera! How about that?”
Annie chirps.

“I don’t know, hon. Maybe this is the year we capture them
in their natural state,” James teases, earning four sets of eye rolls for that
remark.

For my part, I can’t get enough.
A family
photo.
No, a long tradition of family photos.
Matching
dresses. It’s too much, and I fight the urge to pull out my phone to film this
strange, touching, and hilarious event. I can feel the grin on my face as I
take it all in. Studying Holland, my heart exploding at the image of her
surrounded by so much love, the thought that she has twenty-nine years of
memories like this. I want to know them all right then. Each one, I want to absorb
them, let them fill my own void and stabilize the foundation for a future of
creating more. I want her, us. I want to give that woman a lifetime of these
moments.

“Holland, move closer to Hannah. Hannah! Stop that!
Emma, honey, your hair, yes.
Perfect. Sylvie, turn more
toward me. A little more, oops too much. James, stand to the right, but make
sure to leave enough room in front for me…”

Annie stops abruptly. “Wait, where’s Luke?”

I had removed myself out of the way against the far wall and
straighten at my name.

“Right here,” I say, moving toward her. “Would you like me
to take the picture?”