Page 84 of Back to December
“We had a pillow wall,” I whisper. “You promised to stay on your side.”
But there’s no hint it even existed. An oversized chair sits next to the tree, filled to the brim with throw pillows.
He raises an eyebrow. “A pillow wall?”
“When we got here,” I blurt. “Your brothers played a prank or something. There was only one bed, so?—”
Holden chuckles. “We’ve only had one bed for years, honey.”
No,we haven’t!I want to scream it.
I hiccup, anxiety bubbling up in my chest.
“Come back to bed for a few minutes.” He waves in acome heremotion.
Nothing makes sense, and it’ll be worse if I get back in that bed with him.
He sighs, like he knows I’m not moving, and tosses back the covers. He pauses to slip his feet into slippers that look like the ones I had on last night, little gingerbread men, and pads across the floor. Our pajamas match. Of course, in this weird, melatonin-induced dream, we match.
This is just a by-product of our conversation last night. It has to be.
But when he slips a hand behind my head, curling his fingers against my skin, it feels too real. Too much like something Holden would do when I’m spiraling. And to be clear, that’s not something I do often in front of him.
“This feels like more than a rough night’s sleep. You wanna tell me about it?”
“I don’t think you’ll believe me if I do,” I murmur.
“Whatever it is,” he says quietly, “I’ll listen. I’m here and you’re safe.”
The wordsafemakes my chest ache. I’ve always confused safety with control, and neither has ever lasted long. His words from last night echo again in my heart.
My body believes him before my brain, as usual. Holden is the embodiment of warmth and steadiness. But sometimes—like right now—there’s an icy whisper of:you’ll ruin it. You always do.
This life terrifies me.
I look back down at my rings and blink back the sting of tears. Of all the choices I’ve made along the way, this onecarried through to whatever life I’m standing in now. And suddenly, that’s the only thing I can fixate on.
“What is this?”
He reaches for my rings with his free hand and adjusts them so they’re all aligned, then lets his hand linger.
“It’s our life,” he says simply, like it’s just a fact I’m supposed to accept.
But it’s too golden, too still. I used to think love should burn red-hot. This—whatever this is—glows instead. It’s soft and scary, all tangled up together. It feels real.
Except it’snot.
Not my life anyway. I want to know how this life came to be.
“Can you please just humor me?”
With a familiar press of his fingers, he brings me closer so he can press his lips to my forehead. It’s all so confusing, to be so familiar with someone, yet I don’t know how we gothere.
“If you want to watch the engagement video again, all you have to do is ask. Or is it the wedding video?”
“We have both on video?” I whisper.
It’s such a small something, but it knits together the hurt in my heart. My desire to capture everything on video was something Holden wrestled with, and it’s the only thing we’ve ever really fought about. If you can even count it as fighting.
