When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

“Fucking pathetic.”

My dick softened with humiliation as the feeling of freedom fled, revealing the stark, suffocating responsibilities I’d been trying to escape.

I emerged from the pool house to find Holden sitting on the lounger, smoking a clove cigarette.

“Look, man. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it,” he said stiffly. “Things got a little intense. I blame Prince.”

“It was a mistake.” I cringed at the word and Holden flinched when I said it. “I just… I’ve never…”

“I know you haven’t. It’s my fault. I should’ve been more…not me.” Holden stood up from the lounger, moving like an old man, arms tucked and his back hunched. He used his thumb and middle finger to flick the cigarette into the pool. “Let’s go.”

We moved through the huge silent house to the street, where amber cones of light stood at intervals. Unspent need hovered thickly between us, while the intimacy we’d shared all night was on the verge of disintegrating.

“I’ll call James,” Holden said, reaching for his cell.

“No, I’ll walk. I need to clear my head. I’ll get my truck tomorrow.” I glanced up and down the street. “Which is yours?”

He pointed to a huge Craftsman a few doors down. “That one.”

“No bullshitting?”

“No bullshitting.”

I stood with my hands in the pockets of my rumpled, damp tux, the tie slung loosely around my neck. “Okay, so…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Holden said, sounding and looking more deflated than I’d ever seen him. “Just go home. Go back to your life.” He smiled faintly, his green eyes heavy. Sad. “They need you.”

“Yeah, they do.” My gaze danced around from the ground, to the house, then to him. “Okay, so…goodnight, Holden.”

“Goodnight, River.”

I hated how my name sounded in his mouth. Like goodbye. Because it had to be. I was ruining something that could never happen in the first place.

When I didn’t move, annoyance flashed over Holden’s features.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I’m waiting for you to go home.”

“Why?”

“To make sure you get in safe.”

Holden gaped, then he scowled. “Don’t do that. I’m not asking you for anything,” he said, defiant. “I never have, and I never will.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Fine.”

The silence thickened, waiting for one of us to do or say something that we couldn’t take back.

F

inally, with a muttered curse, Holden trudged back down the street, shoulders hunched. The part of me that had been brave and tasted real life wanted him to turn around. A smaller, weaker part was glad he didn’t.

I waited until he was safely inside and went home.