When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

“You and I hadn’t spoken in months and—”

“I already knew.”

“How?”

“I told you. Miller and Violet are soul mates.”

River huffed a sigh. “But Holden, as far as I know, we’re still going together. And even if not, I can’t—”

“Be seen with me in public?”

He made a pained sound.

“I’m messing with you,” I said. “I know the deal and besides, it’s not like all my shit has suddenly vanished either. My mental baggage isn’t going to be cured by spending quality time with your huge, perfect dick.”

He coughed. “Jesus, dude.”

“Alaska is still there. I can’t promise it won’t drag me down again like it did that day.”

I waited with my breath held for River to tell me that he’d changed his mind and that my shit was too much to deal with. That I wasn’t worth it.

“Forget what I said about not wanting to see it,” River said. “I want to be there for you and…help you through whatever I can.”

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “It’s a lot.”

“Let me take it,” he said. “I want to. I don’t know what’s going to happen with my mom, but when it does, it’s going to be bad. If we help carry each other’s shit, maybe it won’t all seem so damn heavy, you know? Maybe we won’t feel so…”

“Alone.”

“Yeah. Okay so…” River cleared his throat. “I guess we’ll talk soon.”

Disappointment bit at me. This is what taking

it slow looks like.

“Yep. Goodnight, River.”

“Goodnight, Holden.”

We hung up and I stared at my phone, stifling a smile to keep it from getting too big and dopey.

I want to see you again…

“Patience, grasshopper,” I told myself. “Good things come to those who wait, or some such bullshit.”

Twenty minutes later I’d changed into pajama pants and a V-neck T-shirt and lay on the couch, flipping aimlessly through TV channels when a knock came at my door.

“Beatriz,” I said, hauling myself up with a grin. “Are we going to make Movie Night a thing? Because I am here for it…”

My words died as I opened the door to River. He filled my doorway, still in his uniform and smelling like gasoline and cologne, his eyes raking me up and down.

“You’re not Beatriz.”

“I’m not staying,” he said.

“That’s…disappointing.”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I never thanked you for the book.”