Page 49 of Whispers of You
Wren stilled, tension grabbing hold of her muscles. My lungs had a stranglehold on the air inside them, refusing to let go until I got her answer. She worried the side of her lip, that familiar little tell taking root in my chest.
“Okay.”
16
WREN
What the hellwas I doing? This was the definition of a dumb-girl move. Like when the heroine of a slasher movie runs back into the house instead of going to her neighbor’s for help.
Yet here I was, sending myself into the killer’s den to get sliced and diced. And I couldn’t help but think that it would be worth it, just for a little more of that hopeful gleam in Holt’s eyes.
I lowered myself to the couch, putting as much distance between us as possible. It was a mistake. The second I entered his orbit, the scent of pine with a hint of spice swirled around me—part comforting hug, part brutal slash to my heart.
“What was wrong with this one?” I choked out. I had to focus on something else, anything but the memories warring to get free.
Holt’s gaze swept over my face, assessing. Even my best mask wasn’t enough because he would always read me like a book. No, it was more than that. He could sense what I was feeling, as if whispers of those same emotions radiated through him.
His eyes held mine for another beat, and then he turned back to the watch currently in pieces on the table. “This one has a sticky second hand.”
“So, it’s stuck in time?”
Holt nodded. “It ticks but doesn’t make any forward progress.”
“Like it’s living the same moment over and over again.” God, I knew how that felt. And it tended to be the worst one possible. The crushing blow of my eyes tracking over the words in Holt’s letter. The one that told me he was letting me go.
Holt shifted in his seat, his assessing gaze back to probe all my scars. “It happens more than you might think.”
There was a wealth of understanding in those words. And for the first time since Holt had returned, I felt a whisper of his emotions wash over me. He was trapped in the same prison, but his moment was different. Finding me on the bathroom floor. Not knowing if I was alive or dead.
I tried to put myself in his shoes and imagine what it would have been like to walk in on him like that. I’d seen the photos of the aftermath at the trial—the white tile floor smeared with so much blood it seemed impossible for anyone to have lived through it.
An image flashed in my mind. Holt crumpled on the floor, a gaping hole in his chest. I felt the panic coursing through me, the desperation to stop the blood. To help.
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the nightmare. Holt’s hand encircled mine. “Hey, what’s going on?”
The burn was back, lighting up my throat and encasing my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
His fingers lifted to my face, ghosting over my cheek and brushing the hair out of my eyes. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
“I’m sorry you found me like that.”
Holt’s hand stilled. “I just wish I had been earlier.”
“Don’t. Please, don’t wish that.” My gaze lifted to his, the pull undeniable. “They would’ve hurt you, too. Could’ve killed you.”
His fingers tightened in my hair. “I don’t care. We would’ve found a way out. A way through.”
“You did find that. You kept me breathing. Kept me alive. You think that’s nothing?”
A muscle fluttered in Holt’s jaw. “It’s not nearly enough. You shouldn’t have had to face it alone.”
My gaze locked on Holt’s. “I need you to do something for me.”
He didn’t say a word.
I looked at the watch. “I haven’t asked you for anything, not for almost ten years.” Not since he’d left me with only a goodbye scribbled on some notebook paper. “I need you to do just one thing for me.”
“What?” The single word was a hoarse whisper.
