When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)
“Go to wherever he is, and you just say it.”
“Because it’s that easy.”
“No, it’s scary as shit,” Silas said. “But damn, Holden. Think of what could be waiting for you on the other side.”
The waiter came by and dropped the check. I reached for it, but Silas was faster. He tried to pull it toward him, but I held on and a mini tug-of-war ensued.
“Look at us,” I said. “Two idiot billionaires fighting over who gets to pick up a thirty-dollar tab. When the revolution comes, they’re going to hang us first.”
Silas threw back his head and laughed, and I snagged the bill.
Outside, the night air was warm and thick—summer in New York City, and I wore only a lightweight jacket. A major achievement, even if no one knew it.
River would know it. He’d notice instantly.
“I have to get home to Seattle,” Silas said. “But let’s keep in touch, okay?”
“We’d better. When I get back to the book tour, I have a date in Seattle. Bring your Max.”
“When you get back to the tour? Does this mean you’re pausing to go to your River?”
I heaved a breath. “I have to take a shot. I love him too much.”
Silas’s eyes filled. “You know that’s a victory over Alaska, right? Being able to love someone without the self-hate, shame, and guilt getting in the way. We gotta grab our victories wherever and whenever we can and hold on.”
I nodded, my own eyes stinging. I pulled Silas in for a hug. “Thank you for coming. And for what you did for me in Alaska. You saved me that night and they punished you for it—”
“I’d do it a hundred times over,” Silas said fiercely, his voice gruff. “But you saved me too, Holden. You kept me sane. I wouldn’t have made it out if it weren’t for you.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I said. “But I’m trying.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I stopped by Amelia’s favorite Thai food restaurant on the way to my twice-weekly dinner at home. A peace offering. She was hardly speaking to me anymore and Dad said she was getting home late most nights. Lots of noise, loud music, shouting, and people he didn’t know coming in and out of his house.
It hurt my heart because I knew my sister, and this wasn’t her. She was on a downhill slide, from ditching classes years ago, to hanging with assholes. Something worse was coming if things didn’t change.
I pulled up to the house and found a ’92 Dodge Challenger idling in the driveway, white but dirty and scratched. It rattled and spat plumes of exhaust. Two figures were in the front seat arguing; I heard muffled shouting—one voice low and harsh, one belonging to my sister.
Something worse…
I got out of my truck with the bag of takeout just as the guy made a fast move, and Amelia’s head jerked back and struck the passenger window. The sound of her head connecting with the glass dropped the food from my fingers. I froze for a split second and then rage coursed through me like jet fuel. I took long strides for the Dodge, my breath rasping in and out of my nose.
Amelia pushed out of the passenger door and slammed it shut, crying and holding her face. The guy—Kyle—wore ripped jeans, Chucks, and a stained T-shirt. He came around the front of his car, charging after her.
“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you,” he bellowed, whipping his dirty blond hair out of his eyes.
“Leave me alone!” Amelia screamed, backing away. The right side of her cheek was swollen, and a bruise was forming on her temple.
Kyle strode toward her, fist raised. “I told you, never—”
The rest of his words cut off with a whuff as I tackled him around the waist. My face scraped pavement as we both went down hard.
“River!” Amelia screamed from somewhere distant.
I could hardly see or hear for the red haze that had dropped over my vision and the blood thrashing in my ears. I rolled the guy over onto his back, straddling him, and smashed my fist across his face. His head whipped to the side, blood splattering.
“Fuck you, asshole!” he spat.