Page 13 of Pieces Of You

“You know how to get to Parkway?”

He thinks about this a moment as he eyes the ceiling of the cab. “Yeah, but there’s nothing there besides—” He stops himself there.

“The trailer park,” I finish for him.

He’s quiet as he reverses out of the driveway and stays that way for minutes that feel like suffocating hours. I don’t need to overanalyze what he could be thinking. Living in a trailer park comes with a cliché stigma that isn’t fair to anyone. People do what they can to survive, to put a roof over their heads and food on the table, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. And, the possible judgment, coming from him, a boy whose—I’m willing to bet—parents areactuallyparents and do what they can to shield him from the bottom of the barrel, is… expected. And I don’t have the energy to be mad about it. Agitated, maybe. But mad? No.

People don’t know what they don’t know, and Holden? He knows nothing about me. “I’m not ashamed of where I live,” I murmur over the humming of the truck.

His gaze flicks to mine. “Who said you were?”

“You went all quiet after I told you where to go,” I tell him. “You’re being weird, and it’s making me uncomfortable. Just tell me you’re going toboneme again.”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Nah, I’m just trying to think of an old lady name to go with trailer. I keep coming up with Trailer Tammy, but that’s my mom’s name, so…”

“Sounds like a stripper name.”

He gasps in mock horror. “You take that back!”

I giggle—such a contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that had taken over my mind, my heart—only minutes earlier. “Are you a mama’s boy, Holden?”

His shoulders square, no hint of embarrassment when he says, “So what if I am?”

Well,shit. “Trudy,” I say.

“What?”

“Trailer Trudy.”

He grins over at me. “I like it,” he tells me. “But it doesn’t have the same impact when you self-deprecate. I insult you. You insult me. That’s the way it works, Trailer Trudy.”

“Noted.” I nod. And before I can retort, his phone goes off through the car speakers. The nameMia Macappears on the stereo, and Holden veers off the road and brakes so fast, I have to catch myself on the dash.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I gotta take this.”

Taking his phone from its holder, he answers, opening his door as he does, “Mia. When I call, you answer. That was the deal.” I don’t hear anything else he says because he walks behind his parked truck, starts pacing back and forth with the phone held to his ear.

Mia.It’s the same name mentioned when I first saw Holden outside the principal’s office the day before school started. The same name that had my interest piqued.

He’s not on the call for long, a few minutes at most, but when he returns, I can feel the shift in his mood, the change in his demeanor. Jaw tense, he waits for cars to pass before getting back on the road. I say, because silence makes me stupid, “That’s kind of a sucky way to talk to your girlfriend.”

“Mia’s not my girlfriend,” he deadpans.

Interesting. From what he’s said, he’s an only child, so she’s not his sister, which would make her…?

“So, what is she? Your fuck buddy?”

Holden doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he white knuckles the steering wheel. “Is that what Dean was to you?”

Touché.I clamp my mouth shut.

“Just leave it alone, okay?” he bites out.

We spend the rest of the ride in silence, my chest aching—a multitude of emotions swirling, coursing through my veins. I’ve pissed him off somehow, pressed the wrong button, and I don’t know how to fix it.

That’s been my life’s biggest downfall: wanting to fix the unfixable.

When we get to the trailer park, Holden slows to a near stop and asks, “Which one’s yours?”

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