The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood 1)

This must convince her, or maybe it’s the resolve in my voice. Or whatever my face is betraying of the emotions pummeling me. But she jerkily nods as she bites her lip.

“He came back,” she says. “I think everything . . . you being around, me away from home . . . has been making it more difficult for Tyler to manifest.” That word triggers something dark inside me. I don’t like it. “But he finally did, and I—we needed to talk.” Shame flashes in her eyes before she looks away. “We argued. He became angry. And somehow when he vanished, it was like he was being sucked into a black hole.” She shivers, and without thought, I run my hand along her arm. “This blackness reached out and pulled me under. But it wasn’t him. He didn’t do it.” Her eyes enlarge, pleading. “He wasn’t trying to hurt me. It was just something that happened.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh, God, what if he’s really gone this time. There was so much blackness . . .”

Taking measured breaths, I get my body under control, but my mind is loud and turbulent. My heart bangs painfully against my chest as I hold her gaze. I won’t look away and make her think I doubt her. But shit. This is going too far. No matter what she’s struggling with inside, I can’t let her hurt herself. She believes she’s not doing any of it. But she’s doing all of it.

And what happens next? When it’s time for Sam to say goodbye to my brother—when we’re leaving our last destination—and she cracks. Will she throw herself off a bridge? Will she slit her wrist, claiming Tyler’s manifested spirit made her do it? She’s slipping further and further away. From reality. From sanity.

From me.

And I just got her back.

No fucking way.

I inhale a deep, stinging breath before I say, “Come on.”

Her brows pull together, but she nods. “Okay. And thanks.” She smiles hesitantly. “For pulling me out.”

Returning her smile with a tight one of my own, I don’t explain anything as I climb the ladder and then turn to help her out. I don’t say another word as I grab her towel and wrap it around her shoulders, securing it in the middle, while my soaking clothes weigh heavily on my body. My mind is reeling. And when I lead us to the elevator, receiving curious glances from the hotel staff, I just hit the button for our floor.

All these things I do with one thought on my mind. One blaring truth that grips my insides and won’t let go. This is it. And I’m about to fuck up any chance I have with the one girl I’ve loved since high school. Hell. If I’m being truthful, long before that. But screw what I want. It’s never been about me. And it’s sure as shit not about Tyler anymore.

It’s about getting this girl the help she needs.

Whatever comes after . . . will come after. I’ll deal and accept it and go on.

Sam’s more important.

After we’re back in the room, I peel off my pants, ignoring Sam’s blush. At least I’m wearing boxers—I’m glad I brought some. I normally don’t wear them. But being around her gives me the fucking libido of a fifteen-year-old. And a boner rubbing against jeans is highly uncomfortable.

I know I affect her, but this has nothing to do with sex. I’m cold and wet and about at my limit. Tossing my soaking jeans to the floor, I stalk toward my bag and lug it to the bed.

I’m still in my wet T-shirt and should probably change, but I don’t want to take the chance I’ll lose my nerve. Not a moment to second-guess my backup plan. My stomach clenches, and I hate that it’s come to this. I rummage through and dig out the plastic Ziploc buried at the bottom.

Yanking out the bag, I place it on the bed and look expectantly at Sam.

Her face falls. “What’s that?”

With a determined breath, I suck in courage and then say, “Your meds.”

SAM

I’m trembling, but it has nothing to do with the AC hitting my wet bikini. My eyes lock on to the clear bag with two orange medication bottles, and my back stiffens.

“How did you get those?” I pull my towel tighter around me. I don’t ask how he managed to fill new prescriptions when I’d flushed my current ones down the toilet. I feel my question covers just about everything.

Holden exhales a heavy breath and runs his hands down his face, his palms pressing together and pausing over his mouth. Like he’s in prayer. His eyes hold mine the whole time. Then he crosses his arms over his soaked T-shirt, his wet hair darker, his bangs dripping fresh beads of water down his face.

“I spoke with your mom before we left,” he says.

I shake my head. “No, you didn’t. I was with you, remember?”

He takes a step toward me. “Before I went to the train station,” he clarifies. “I needed to know exactly what was going on with you, and”—his expression transforms into something akin to pity. I’m tempted to punch the look off his face—“I wanted to be prepared if anything bad happened. And, I think we’re at bad.”

I don’t know what to address first. The fact that he and my mother are conspiring against me, or that he might think I’m one short trip away from being committed. Anger snaps fire-hot in my chest, and suddenly the towel is binding. The room too warm.

Letting the towel drop to the floor, I fist my hands on my hips, unconcerned that I’m standing in front of him in only my bikini. “You talked to my mom about me . . . about us going on this trip? You went behind my back, to my own family, and what?” I cock my head. “Plotted nefariously to get me to take my stupid meds?”

“They’re worried about you.” Holden’s eyes never leave mine, deadlocked and ice blue. “And ‘plotted nefariously?’ Come on, Sam. You have to hear how paranoid you sound.”