Page 41 of Pieces of Me

I finally find my voice—or what little of it I can use through the unbearable pain in my chest. “Holden, I did lo—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, his entire body vibrating with his withheld animosity. “I don’t want to hear you say those words. Not now. Not after all those confusing days and lonely nights where all I fucking wanted was to hear you say it.”

I take in his words. One by one. Accept his emotions. Piece by piece. “Okay.”

Silence stretches between us, and all I can do is watch him watching me. “I don’tlikethe way I’ve treated you. And regardless of what you think, I don’twantto hurt you, Jamie,” he croaks. “But I can’t control the way it makes me feel to seeyou, here.”

I nod, my words a whisper when I say, “I understand.”

He’s the first to break our stare. “You can stay as long as you need, walk the gardens, smell the flowers, draw whatever you want.”

I don’t draw anymore, I don’t tell him.

Because it doesn’t matter.

None of it does.

20

Jamie

I’ve never felt the need to knock on the main house door. Everything I need is locked away in my RV, where I’ve spent the majority of the past two nights working. I spent all of yesterday and most of this morning at the diner also working. And by “working,” I mean: avoiding Holden at all costs.

The call came through just after lunch, and I’ve needed to talk to Maggie ever since. But the mere thought of running into Holden made me want to dump my head in a bucket of water and never come up for air.

I’m being dramatic.Obviously.

Checking the time on my phone, I note that it’s just after seven. Maggie usually brings our dinner between six and six-thirty. But the food’s irrelevant because it’s not why I’m here.

I knock on the door.

Wait.

After a full minute of no answer, I knock again.

Still nothing.

I look around, confused. Her car is here, but the company truck isn’t. Shoulders deflating, I huff out a breath and look toward the old barn, noticing that the door’s partially open and the lights are on. Soft music plays, floats through the evening air and directly into my ears. I smile when I recognize “Two Princes” by the Spin Doctors, and, almost as if I’m drawn to the sound, my feet take me toward it.

My mom used to play this song. Only when Beaker wasn’t home. And only when she could remain upright long enough to dance with me. One time, when I was around eight or nine, she took the sheer curtains off their rods, and we held them over our heads and spun circles around each other. I can still picture her in my mind, can see her smile clear as day, can still hear the echoes of our laughter fade in and out. If I had a video camera, I would’ve filmed her at that moment. It would’ve made the perfect addition to the video montage that played at the funeral she never had.

I’m quick to shove those thoughts away as I push the barn door open and peek inside. Big H turns to me, a large potted Monstera in each of his hands.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, the same time he says, his smile as big and prominent as he is, “Hey, Miss Jamie!”

He lowers the plants and moves to the stereo, turning the volume down. “I hope my music didn’t disturb you.”

“Not at all,” I say. “I was just looking for Maggie.”

His smile fades just a tad. “She’s out on a delivery. Got caught up in traffic.” Then his eyes shift to the side as he sucks in air through his teeth. “I was supposed to pass on that message to you… and tell you that she’ll bring dinner, so don’t eat without her.” He removes his gloves so that he can rub the back of his neck—a mannerism clearly passed on to his son. “Is that why you’re here? Are you hungry? I can probably—”

“No!” I cut in. “I’m good. I was just after some advice, that’s all.”

He leans against a large workbench and dumps his gloves beside him before crossing his arms, motioning for me to actually step foot in the barn. “Can I help at all?”

I take a few steps closer, saying, “I got a call from Henry today. You know, the mechanic?”

“I know who Henry is,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

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