“Did she?”
“Maybe. Or maybe she felt like that every night. She was weak for a while.”
“That’s hard.”
It was. Even though I was a kid. Even though I didn’t quite understand what was happening. “I… I couldn’t sleep that night. Then, when I woke up, Dad was sitting at the breakfast table, staring at the wood. He didn’t move for hours. All day even. Forest had to tell me.”
“How old was he?”
“Too young for that.” I turn to the sky. “I know what everyone says. That it’s better to have loved and lost. Dad would say that too. And it’s not like you get a choice about loving your family?”
“If only.” Her smile is sad.
“I always thought that was bullshit. Maybe I decided that day. Or maybe it came later, as I watched my dad fall apart, as I watched Forest lose himself picking up the pieces. It seemed easier to not get invested. To not care.”
“To take nothing seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you?” Her fingers brush my wrist. “Do you take nothing seriously?”
“Our secret?”
“Of course.” Her smile is soft. Loving.
“I’m serious about my work.”
“Your family?”
“I—”
“Your methods are strange, but you try. You were obsessed with getting Forest and Skye together.”
My laugh breaks up the tension in my chest. “They were idiots about it.”
“It took them awhile.”
“And you kept pushing.”
“Yeah, ’cause—”
“You did care.”
I nod. I did. I still do. I want my family to be happy. I want Daisy to be happy. Fuck, I want Daisy to soar.
“Just… you didn’t want to admit it.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She runs her fingers over my forearm. “I like that you’re so fun. That you value that so much. You always make me laugh. But this… you’re better at this than you think.”
“At?”
“Sharing. Real conversations. Slowing down and listening to that voice.”
“Maybe.”
“You are.” Her lips curl into a smile. “You don’t have to like it. But I do.”
Part of me does. It’s easier staying on the surface, but only for so long. Eventually, that voice in my head catches up with me.
Right now—
My chest is heavy, but it’s getting lighter. The weight is lifting. Maybe that’s possible.
Sometimes.
Fuck knows I only have so much sincerity in me.
With her, it’s not so bad. Nice even.
I wrap my arms around her. Pull her into a tight embrace. “I’ll consider that.”
“Good.” She looks up at me with those big, blue eyes. “You didn’t finish your story about how you got into tattoos.”
“We could do something more interesting than talking?”
“We could do that after the talking.”
“Is that a promise?”
Her nod is shy.
Which is so fucking sexy.
Is it really possible this is our last day together?
I hate it. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s certainly what’s best for her.
There aren’t many things that matter to me. Daisy’s well-being is top of the list.
Whatever it takes.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Daisy
Holden’s story is funny. And completely Holden. He got into art because it irritated his brother. He worked hard at it because it really irritated Forest that art came more naturally to Holden.
He almost dropped it. Almost dropped everything.
That was his senior year flame out.
He got caught with alcohol at school. Almost got expelled. Only his art teacher came to his defense.
She basically convinced him to try. To actually, sincerely try.
And the whole tattoo apprentice thing—
It was equal parts I want a cool career because I’m cool and fuck, this will really annoy Forest.
It did, at first. Then, Holden realized Forest appreciated having him around. They were both adults. Able to finally communicate like adults. Except that Holden was… well, Holden.
Always starting shit, refusing to take things seriously, helping in his way.
He really does help in his way.
It’s an awesome way.
And I’m totally not falling in love with him.
Totally.
It’s just.
Uh…
Yeah.
After he finishes the story, he makes good on his promise to satisfy. He rubs me to orgasm right there in the pool.
We linger in that perfect space forever.
Well, almost forever.
Eventually, we rinse in the shower, dress, move downstairs.
My stomach growls. I’m starving. But it’s not threatening to consume me. Or push my thoughts to dark places.
It’s just there.
I’m hungry.
I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so I’m hungry.
It’s time for lunch. Like what any normal person does.
“Do we have any food?” I move into the clean, white kitchen. Fill a glass with water. Swallow in three gulps.
Holden pulls open the fridge. He scans the shelves. Milk. Cheese. Bread. Salad. Mango. Avocado. Tomato.
No leftovers.
No normal ingredients. We ran out of chicken and rice last night.
This is, uh… God, I’m not really a great cook. I should probably learn. So I can feed myself in school.
It’s just a reasonable thing to do.
Only I can’t.
Before my time in inpatient treatment, Dad worked late most nights. I could skip dinner without notice. Or fill my stomach with salad, celery sticks, rice cakes, whatever.
A million years before that, before I could control what went into my body, before I realized it was the only thing that made me feel in control—