Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (9 page)

“Wait, that’s ‘Perfect Storm’!” Someone in the crowd announces.
“Tracing Holland, right?”

“Oh! They’re in town with Night Shifts Black later this
week, I think! My sister has tickets. Is that…
”

“Yes!”

“I can’t believe it!”

“Oh my gosh! Look!”

I hear the murmurs as the news filters through the spectators.
They’re starting to realize who I am, who she is, but I don’t let it bother me
for once. It’s the music that makes it ok. I can never stop it once it starts.
My fingers navigate the strings with an expertise that comes more natural to me
than eating or sleeping. When I play, it just happens and makes the rest of the
world fade away. There’s no painful past in my music, no history, no nightmares
or baggage, just breathing, just being. I close my eyes and start to sing.

“
You
and me, babe, a tidal wave I never saw coming.

You and me, and that hurricane we can’t outrun.

It shouldn’t have been, but there’s no fight against the
wind.

It all blew in, too fast, too hard, the Perfect Storm.”

Then, there’s another voice.
A beautiful,
edgy harmony layering with my melody.
It gives me chills in its
perfection, the way it wraps
itself
around my notes
and turns them into something entirely different, something breathtaking.

“
You
and me, babe, still afraid but locked into fate.

You and me, losing all the reasons to run.

Oh
sweet ecstasy of defeat, forgive me now.

It all
blew in, too hard, too fast, the Perfect Storm.
”

We continue the song beyond its expiration, taking it in new
directions, even improvising a stunning bridge that shocks me in her ability to
read my lead. She’s always there, every note, every rhythm change, every incidental
I throw in to add that extra spark of magic to a song that’s already stolen the
hearts of the crowd; her own talent and brilliance catch me off guard. I knew
she was good, but you never really know how good someone is until you strip
away the show, the performance, and see what music is actually in
their
soul. Hers is full, like mine, and together we’ve just
uncovered an entirely new level of beauty.

“And I will fight
through the waves

To get to you, to
get to you

And I will scream
through the dark

Against the lies, against
the lies that overtake me”

I don’t want it to end, I sense neither of us does, but
there’s only so much time you can spend in another place before the dream dumps
you back in the present. The small crowd erupts with applause and cheers when
we finally bring the show to a reluctant close. Still, we barely hear them as
we exchange a smile, our eyes speaking volumes about what just happened. An
inexplicable protectiveness and warmth is washing over me as I force my gaze
away and hand the guitar back to the boys. They are still in shock, but no more
so than I am as I try to make sense of these new, tender feelings seeping into
my darkness. I’m not sure I’m allowed to feel this way.
For
so many reasons.

I swallow hard, and am actually grateful for the cloud of
mini golf scorecards that are suddenly shoved in my face for autographs.
Nothing distracts from reality like playing the rock idol.

Holland grins and follows my lead, immediately transforming
into her celebrity role. I find myself watching her every chance I get,
admiring her casual grace as she interacts with her fans. Her authentic smile
and sincerity is addicting, and there are several times I have to force myself
to tear my eyes away to satisfy my own fan obligations. She’s mesmerizing.

It’s a good hour before we’re finally able to make a clean
break and head back to the hotel.

∞∞∞

I open the door to the lobby for Holland when we reach the
entrance, but she doesn’t go inside. Instead, she hesitates, looking up at me
with an expression that tugs at my heart.

“Can we not go in yet?” she asks
quietly.

Confused, I nod and follow her to a
bench near the entrance. She grasps my hand as we sit, pulling it close to her
in a protective embrace.

“Is everything ok?” I ask, concerned by
her sudden mood shift. I’m pretty sure her sad smile is supposed to soothe my
fear, but only causes me to brace myself.

“It’s great, actually. That’s the
problem,” she explains, confusing me further. She leans her head on my shoulder
and studies the passing cars. “I just want to pretend for a few more minutes
before we return to reality.”

Disturbed, I glance over for a better
read. “What do you mean?”

She sighs. “You know what I mean.
Pretending that what just happened today was real. That ‘
this
’ is real,” she explains, holding up our intertwined fingers.

I quiet. She’s
right,
I know exactly what she means. Today was a fantasy. Everything about this is a
dream.

“Luke, I’m sorry. I know I’m not making
this easy for you. I’m a hypocrite and contradicting myself. I know…” She pulls
away and buries her face in her hands. “I just don’t know what it is with you.
You’re this magnet for me. You break all my rules,” she whispers, finally
looking back at me. “But my rules are there for a reason.”

She leans back, crossing her arms as
she gazes back at the street. “And you have rules too, you know? You have so
many rules, so much
baggage,
you don’t even know what
to do with me and my rules. Today was fun, amazing actually, but it wasn’t
real.”

She’s right, of course. I hate how
fucking logical she is.

“I get it,” I say finally, and she
turns to me abruptly.

“Do you? Really?
Because
I’m struggling really hard with this.
I can’t get you out of my head and
it terrifies me.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that.
She doesn’t know what my head’s already done to her. But this isn’t about sex, and
that’s the problem. We understand sex all too well. It’s the rest that’s
keeping us apart, the fear of what we don’t understand, the part that’s ripping
up the little we thought we did.

But it does make sense. It makes a hell
of a lot of sense, even if the truth is killing both of us right now. I’ve done
too much damage in my life to risk this magnificent soul beside me, and she’s
fully aware of the kind of destruction that surrounds me. She’s too smart for
that, too strong, and I wasn’t just speaking out of my ass earlier. I do get
it. I understand. I don’t want to hurt her as much as she doesn’t want to be
hurt by me. Neither of us trusts me with something so precious. I certainly
don’t.

“I want to be friends, though,” she adds,
and I almost laugh. It’s such an absurd statement and we’re both smirking at
the cliché.

“Sure,” I answer, following the script
like a pro. I start to get up from the bench, pretty certain our journey back
to reality is brutally complete at this point.

“Luke, wait,” she says, grabbing my arm
one last time.

I do, and give her my attention.

“You’re an amazing person. Just know I
truly believe that.”

I force a smile. “Thanks,” I manage.
“So are you.”

She doesn’t respond. She also doesn’t seem
any more content than I am about my return to the lobby, alone.

∞∞∞

My pulse quickens as I approach my room and see a
figure seated against my door. I immediately tense when I
recognize him and brace for the inevitable. I’m in no mood for it, not when
Holland and I just had this same conversation a second ago.

“What are you doing, man?” Wes hisses
as I reach my door.

“Going into my room,” I toss back
casually, slipping my key into the slot. I’m beyond pissed when he follows me
inside and lets the door clatter behind him. “What are
you
doing?” I spit.

“You know what I’m talking about!” he
returns, ignoring my question.

“No, actually I don’t. Get out of my
room,” I snap, angry but trying to stay calm. I’m not going to let a
pissant
like Wes Alton goad me into a stupid battle over a
woman. After everything I’ve been through, there’s no way in hell I’m going
down like that.

“She’s a big girl. She can make her own
decisions,” I say. I know that’s not helping, but I’m not the type to back
down.

“Yeah, maybe, but she makes bad
decisions. You know why? Because she’s good, and trusting, and wants to believe
other people are like her. But they’re not. They’re fucking animals, and I’m
not going to stand by and watch them tear her apart!”

My glare turns hostile. I can feel the
old rage burning, that destructive fire that will leave us both in ashes. “Get
out of my room, or I’m calling security. I’m not kidding, Wes! And if they’re
not fast enough, I’ll remove you myself!”

His eyes are just as hot, but he begins
backing toward the door. “I know what you are,” he hisses. “You know what you
are. Everyone knows what you fucking are and knows you have no business
breathing the same air as her. If there’s any shred of decency left in you,
you’ll leave her the fuck alone and go prey on some needy
fangirl
instead!”

I freeze. I’m glad he leaves on his own
right then because I can’t move. I stare at the door for a long time, my heart
racing, pulse pounding, nausea coursing through me.

I’m devastated by his words, furious,
but mostly because he’s right. Because deep down there’s the part that agrees
with him and is always waiting to claw its way back up into my consciousness.
Triggers. Triggers. Shit! Fuck!

I drop to the edge of my bed and rake
my hands into my hair. Triggers. It’s just a trigger. It’s just…I’m not…. I am!
God, I am! I’m a disease! I’m going to destroy Holland, like I destroyed Elena,
like I destroy everyone else. Callie, Casey, I’m going to erase them all with
my insidious infection.

I’m pulling at my hair so hard now I’m
having trouble focusing on anything but the pain. It’s so beautiful, the pain.
I love how it takes away from the worse pain that I can’t handle. I clench my
eyes shut and focus on that for a moment. Pulling harder when my brain starts
to adjust to the agony. So hard, I actually think I pull some out. Then, it all
stops, transforming into something else.

I draw in a ragged breath and collapse
on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My phone is buzzing with texts. Probably
Callie or Casey asking about dinner. Holland making sure we’re cool after our
conversation. Kenneth reminding us about some minor bullet point on an appendix
no one saw or remotely cares about.

I take my phone and shove it in the
drawer of the nightstand. Tonight, I’m alone. Just
me and the
pain.
Just the brutal quarantine of this vile
infection.

∞∞∞

The battle with myself does not go well. By the following
morning I’m exhausted from my fitful sleep and tormented thoughts. I had ignored
a few knocks on the door since locking myself inside, and turned off my phone
when the constant buzzing finally pushed me over the edge.

I’m actually somewhat surprised no
authorities were called, or at least a hotel manager to come inspect the room
for a body. But Holland must have assured them I was very much alive and stable
when she released me back inside.

I don’t feel like getting up, I don’t
feel like doing anything, which is why I know I absolutely have to do one thing.
I retrieve the phone from my nightstand and brace myself as I turn it on. Sure
enough, the display floods with texts and missed calls, but I don’t bother with
them. That’s not what I need right now. I search through my contacts, find the
name, and place the call. It’s a little early for her, but I’m hoping she’ll be
willing to take my drama anyway.

She does.

“Luke, I’m glad you called. How are you?”
she asks, and the concern in her voice dissolves every bit of strength left in
my own.

“Not good,” I manage, the tears filling
my eyes as I try to blink them away. God, I’m so pathetic. The anger returns,
and I’m grateful for that at least. I’d rather hate myself than pity myself.

“What’s going on? Tell me about it.”

I suck in my breath. I don’t know
exactly. I just know whatever it is can’t continue or I’ll lose myself again. I
slid far last night and am still spiraling.

“I had a really bad night,” I whisper.
I hate that it comes out in a whisper. “Fucking awful,” I add, firmer this
time. It sounds forced, and I know she’ll know I’m trying to cover up my
weakness. She’s really good at what she does.

“I can hear in your voice it was a bad
night. Are you able to identify any…”