When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

“That doesn’t fucking count.”

Ronan leaned in closer. “Look. I know him. He needs…help. Or I don’t know what. He needs you.”

I swallowed hard. “I need him too. Just as much.”

“Show him.”

“How? He won’t talk to me. He won’t answer my calls and my mom is sick. I can’t be camping out on Holden’s goddamn porch for hours…” I ran my hand through my hair, my voice grating with frustration. “I want to do whatever he needs but…fuck. My life’s about to have a bomb dropped on it.”

Ronan rubbed his stubbled cheek, thinking. “There’s a parking lot near the Cliffs. Not much to it. A utility shed at the west end. Go there today. Four o’clock and keep out of sight.”

“Dude, I don’t have time for some cloak and dagger bullshit—”

“Do you want to see him or not?” Ronan demanded. “Be there. I’ll handle the rest.”

The hours crawled toward the last bell. There were six more days of school, but I was done. No chance I was going to spend my time in classes that didn’t matter anymore instead of with Mom.

Her parents had died when she was little, but family was trickling in from out of town—aunts and uncles and cousins. They came in and out of the house—grocery shopping, doing the cooking and cleaning, or just sitting and visiting.

When I arrived home that day, only Amelia and Dad were with Mom while Dazia hovered over everyone. The master bedroom had become the center of the house, all things drawn to it—my books, Amelia’s dolls, Dad’s newspapers he still insisted on reading. Mom was the sun with the rest of us revolving around her as long as we could before she burnt out.

Her nightstand table was littered with meds and tissues. A humidifier churned quietly in the corner and her oxygen tank sat by her bed, feeding a nasal cannula. Her doctor said she could stay at home so long as she was comfortable. Hospice nurses came in shifts—that was new since I’d been in the hospital.

But Mom looked better that day. A little stronger. Talking and laughing more easily. And I knew there was no other time. No other day than this one.

“I have to step out for a bit,” I said, bending to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Since my truck was still in the shop from its roll down a hill, I drove my Dad’s old pick-up to the parking lot Ronan had told me about. I parked behind the utility shed and waited.

Right on time, James’s black sedan arrived, and Holden stepped out. My chest ached to see him. It had only been days and yet it felt like years since that night on the beach when I held him and kissed him and told him the truth. That he owned me, body and soul.

He looked like hell—messy hair and shadowed eyes—and yet completely perfect at the same time, wearing jeans, a black turtleneck, and a long gray tweed coat.

“Wait here, would you?” I heard him say to James. “I won’t be long.”

“Of course, sir.”

As Holden started for a small path that led down to the beach, I stepped from around the shed.

“Hey.”

He stopped short. “Ronan, you fucker,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes searched me, jumping from injury to injury—the bandage on my temple, my left arm in a sling, my wrist in a cast. Pain washed over his features. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m good, actually.”

“Your head?”

“They say I shouldn’t play football anymore. But it doesn’t matter. I meant what I said that night at the beach. I told my dad. I told him everything.”

“You told him about me?”

“I sure as hell did.”

“How’d he take it?” Holden forced a smile. “He didn’t book you a ticket to Alaska, did he?”

“No,” I said gruffly. “But I wish you’d been there. I wanted you by my side when I told him that I loved you.”

Holden winced and shook his head. “Christ, don’t say that, River.”