Page 25 of Fault Line

We continue discussing our plans for the lit review, and I notice how well Holden’s presenting himself. He’s thoughtful and articulate, and it certainly appears like he dedicated some actual effort to this meeting.

As our appointment comes to a close, Holden and I thank Dr. Khatri for her time and make our way out of her office. His gaze lingers on me as we leave, so I turn to him, half expecting another jab at my expense. Instead, he surprises me with a compliment.

“Good job in there,” he says, shooting me a small, sincere smile.

“Thank you?”

He clears his throat, studying my face. “Look, I’m sorry about overstepping last week. I should’ve just let you have your moment. I know this shit stresses you out.”

I hesitate for a few more seconds, unsure how to react to his words. It’s unusual for Holden to acknowledge his role in our disagreements, let alone apologize for them. “It does,” I say. “And, yeah, I suppose I went a little far myself.”

“And?” he presses, raising a brow.

“And what?”

“And you’re also sorry?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Did I not just say that?”

“Don’t know if I heard those exact words, no.”

“Fine, yes.” I roll my eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement thumping in my chest. “I’msorry. Does that make you happy?”

A smug grin spreads across his face. “If you wanted to get down on your knees and beg for my forgiveness, I would also accept that.”

“You’re such a pig.”

“Oh, and here I thought I was ababy.”

“You’re a lot of things, Becker,” I say, shaking my head. “All of them particularly annoying.”

His expression turns serious again, and my heart stutters as he says, “You know, I missed you last week.”

“What?”

“I missed talking to you,” he admits, his gaze intense. “This ignoring shit you’ve been doing? Yeah, it doesn’t really work for me.”

I’m momentarily speechless. Honestly, I assumed that he didn’t care either way if we talked. “Holden,” I murmur softly, uncertain of what else to say.

“Kaia.” He parrots my tone. “Look, if you’re pissed at me, then just tell me. Fight with me. Yell at me. But don’t shut me out. I don’t like seeing you everywhere, knowing that you’re just gonna look the other way.”

I stand there for a moment, gazing at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise. Other than last Friday night, I’ve never heard him talk this way before. He’s usually so closed off and sarcastic, and his sincerity’s throwing me for a loop.

“Are you being serious?”

“Dead serious. I’m just laying it out there,” he says with a shrug. “Take it or leave it.”

I pause for a moment, contemplating his words. I have to admit, this side of him is nice—the one that’s not afraid to express genuine human emotion. But at the same time, I’m still not sure if I’m ready to open up to him myself.

“Okay,” I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper.

His face lights up. “Okay?”

“Yes, okay.” I give him a shaky nod, a bit dazed. “I’ll take it. If I’m pissed at you again, which I will be, then I won’t ignore you.”

“Good,” he says softly, sincerely. But then, in true Holden Becker fashion, he ruins the moment. “And you missed me, too, right?”

“Don’t push your luck, Beck.”

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