I want to pin her to the wall and kiss her senseless.
Make her come until she begs me to stop.
Hell, I want to rip open my chest, tear my heart out, and offer it to her.
I don’t know how to do that.
But I know this:
Family first.
I can take the hit from her brother. I can take him punching me in the face, never talking to me again, getting me fired.
I can’t take fucking up her most important relationship.
So when she looks at me with those big blue eyes, I nod of course we should clean up the scene.
I kiss her hard.
I kiss her like it’s goodbye.
Because it is. Whatever happens in California, this is the end of something.
I just hope it’s not the end of everything.
Chapter Forty
Daisy
The four of us spend the night together. Dinner at our favorite taco joint—we already have a favorite. Karaoke at a run-down dive of a karaoke joint. Drinks on the beach.
Walking in the sand.
In the water.
I want to kiss, touch, fuck Holden, but I manage to keep my hands to myself.
All night.
I head to bed the second we get home. I pack, shower, slip into my pajamas. Into my room.
I cross my fingers, hoping he’ll sneak in to kiss, touch, fuck me.
But he doesn’t.
Sixteen hours later, Holden and I hug goodbye. Then Luna and me.
Dad is waiting at baggage claim. He holds me tightly. Like he can’t believe I didn’t break.
Honestly, sometimes I can’t believe it either.
I let him have the moment. Let him gush about how tan I look, how much he missed me, how little he’ll be able to stand this year.
Then I wave one last goodbye to my friends, follow my family to the parking garage, slip into the passenger seat of Dad’s car—it’s my birthday trip, so I deserve it—and watch as we pull into the chaos that is LAX.
I wait until I’m home to check my texts.
Sure enough, there’s something from Holden. A picture from the beach. Me in the water, looking up at the sky like it’s a thing of beauty and wonder.
And three little words.
I’ll miss you.
Chapter Forty-One
Holden
I’m a wreck. At work, the gym, home, walks to the nearest coffee shop.
No matter what I do, I’m miserable.
Every so often, I pick up my phone. Stare at my text from Daisy.
I’ll miss you too.
The four words that say everything.
That turn my stomach to acid.
And turn my limbs to lead.
Somehow, those are the four worst words in the English language. And there’s no one else I want to tell.
Only her.
Who else would appreciate a comment about language?
Maybe Skye. She does have a BFA, even if it’s in Film History. Or Criticism.
I’m not sure how it applies to her current gig taking pictures of her massive tits for a bazillion Instagram followers (supposedly, she’s advertising clothes, but she certainly isn’t wearing a lot of them).
Hell, I try focusing on my brother’s girlfriend. I send him taunting texts. Tease him all day at work.
It doesn’t fill the empty spot in my gut.
It doesn’t soothe my soul.
It doesn’t quiet the voice in the back of my head.
The damn thing keeps screaming.
You’re never going to find someone else like her.
It’s right.
But that doesn’t change anything.
Chapter Forty-Two
Holden
The pastel pink notebook looks exactly like the one Daisy keeps in her bag.
It’s probably the same as the one she keeps in her bag. Same size, shape, shade of pink.
Not that it’s all that different than the five notebooks in my car. None of them are right. None of the dozen shops I’ve visited had the right notebook.
I need something better for her going away present.
Something that explains—
Fuck.
I place the notebook in the red basket. Reach into my pocket. Feel the weight of the tiny jewelry box.
It’s still there.
But is it enough?
Is it really going to say—
Fuck, I’m not sure what I want to say to her. Besides do you really want this to be the end? Because I sure as fuck don’t. And this sure as hell sucks. Tell me you want something else, that you’re as miserable as I am, that this is as impossible for you.
That’s not happening.
This is what she wants. I have to learn to live with it.
I check the shelf again. For a thinner notebook. A different color. Something with unlined pages.
For the art class she’s probably not going to take.
“Mr. Ballard,” a familiar voice interrupts. Daisy and Oliver’s dad.
I turn to the sound. To Mr. Flynn pushing a cart full of notebooks, pens, organizers. Shit I haven’t used since high school. Hell, I never used most of that stuff. “Mr. Flynn.”
“Gabe,” he reminds me.
Fluorescent lights bounce off the cart. Bring out the shades of light pink and purple. Daisy’s stuff.
And she—
“Dad, did you get the—” She steps into the aisle. Stops as her eyes fall on me. “Hey. Holden.” She pulls her arm over her chest. “You, uh—”