Page 54 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
“Is everything okay?”
With a curt nod, he continues appraising me coolly, but he offers nothing else. A wealth of emotions are hidden in his gaze, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what he’s feeling. Mostly there’s a vacant look that makes my stomach tighten.
“Because I feel like something’s wrong,” I say.
He gives his head a cursory shake. “It’s fine.”
I don’t feel fine. I feel like I could cry, and I don’t even know why. If everything’s going to fall apart around me, I’d at least want to know the reason why. I deserve that much.
But he won’t even look at me, and a shiver creeps over my skin. I wrap my arms around myself, preparing for the worst. Holt stays silent, though, so I have no clue where his head is at.
Beyond him, I peer out at the balcony, with two inviting lounge chairs, complete with plush cushions and sherpa-lined flannel blankets. Flickering candles and a string of white twinkle lights complete the look. It’s romantic as all get-out, but the effort of it doesn’t match with the stony-faced man I see standing before me.
“Well, I . . .” I pause, clearing my throat. “If something’s come up, or now is a bad time, I can just—”
“It’s fine,” he mutters again, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.
It stings more than I care to admit. Tears blur my eyes, but I refuse to cry.
Where is the man who swept me into his arms and kissed me senseless the moment I entered his hotel room? Where is the man I cuddled with after our steamy session in that hotel bed? I sensed he didn’t want to let me go that night, and now it’s the complete opposite . . . it’s like he doesn’t want me here. I have no idea what could have possibly changed since he invited me over last night.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know if you’ve changed your mind, or . . .” I take a step back, and he doesn’t try to stop me. “I think I’ll just go,” I manage to say, my voice a little shaky.
Even as I say the words, he looks detached, his eyes looking anywhere but directly at me.
A hot flood of anger and rejection rage inside me. What a dick. Why couldn’t he just be honest and tell me he isn’t interested?
I suddenly feel so foolish for my wide-eyed optimism about how tonight would unfold. I blow-dried my hair. Wore my best lingerie. But fuck this. I’m not going to beg for any man’s attention. I have more self-respect than that.
With purposeful strides, I head for the door, but three steps in and Holt catches me around the waist.
“Eden.”
My name on his lips is rough, almost broken. It guts me.
I turn to face him. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” He exhales slowly, looking pained. “Let me explain.”
“What happened?” I hate the broken sound of my voice, but I’m near tears and barely holding it together.
“My mom called. Just before you came.”
I hear his words, but they make no sense. I don’t understand what one thing has to do with the other. “Okay.” When he doesn’t say anything else, I begin to soften. “Is everything okay?”
He runs one hand over the day-old stubble on his jaw. “Yes and no. Do you want to sit down?”
I hesitate, and then decide I’m being a terrible guest. Clearly, something is wrong to make Holt react this way. Deciding to show him compassion, even when I feel the need to guard my heart, I gesture to the sofa. “Let’s sit.”
He follows me to the couch and takes the seat beside me. With a heavy exhale, Holt looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry I ruined our date.”
He looks like a man who has a lot on his mind, and my heart goes out to him. “Will you tell me the reason a therapist gave you that book?”
He looks somewhat surprised by my question, but he turns to me and meets my eyes. “We’re similar in that we take on too much. I don’t own a hockey franchise, but at that time, when I went to the therapist, I had the weight of the world on my shoulders in other ways. Decided it might help if I talked to someone.”
I take his big rough hand and squeeze. “You can tell me, Holt.”
He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. “My mom is an addict. She’s been addicted to pain pills for as long as I can remember.”
It’s the last thing in the world I expected him to say. I recall him telling me about his shaky family connections, but he never mentioned drug use. I sensed that they just weren’t all that close. I never suspected trauma, and it makes me ache for him. It also makes me understand him a bit more, why he’s so guarded. He’s no doubt been through some hard times.
