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“Why did you come back?” I ask him, wishing he would pull me into his arms and never let me go. Todd was right. “I mean, really? Why did you come home?”
He looks at me and I know my answer.
“For you, Holly Saint Claire. Your father was wrong. It’s always been you.”HunterI wanted to have all my shit in order, be ready to take care of her for real — be in a place to offer her more than she’s ever had.
I’m not, but right now, that doesn’t seem to matter.
All that matters is that I’m here, with her. She looks at me with so much want that I crave to give her everything.
“I moved back to dad’s place. Well, it’s my place now. A few months ago,” she tells me as we stand at my mother’s grave.
She’d have liked this. Holly and me, here. My mom was sweet like Holly, but broken. She was a drunk and she died with a bottle in her hand. I was only eleven years old when I found her like that, and even though I should be angry — what I really am is sad.
At least now.
For a long time I took out my pain on everyone and everything. That’s the boy Holly knew.
I’ve changed. And God, how I want to show her that’s not the man I am anymore.
“Anyways,” Holly says, grounding me in the present. “I was clearing out some stuff, and came across your things. They were in your old room. Would you want to come over and look through them?”
The idea of going through my past, old photographs and letters — it seems like going backwards.
But it also means going home with her.
“It’s not even a question.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I know she has more to say but she doesn’t speak. We just turn from the graveyard and walk, our feet crunching in the deep snow, toward her house that holds so many memories. I itch to hold her hand or wrap an arm around her. Soon enough I will.
“It’s weird being back here,” she says as we stand in front of the old Victorian. “Remember how we used to go up to the roof, after my dad fell asleep?”
I run a hand over my beard. Of course I remember.
I wasn’t allowed in her bedroom. Now, there is no father figure keeping us from one another.
“I should call Truman, let him know I might be running late for the dance.”
Truman. Her father may be out of the picture, but apparently this boyfriend of hers is very much present.
I’ll have to change that. Hell, she’ll want to change that. I know she’s missed me, she’s told me as much. Now I need to discover if she’s been dreaming of me the way I’ve always dreamt of her.
She pulls out her phone and sends a text before we walk in the front door. When she finally pushes open the old oak door, my heart pounds in remembrance. What was. What could be.
“I decorated,” she says, flicking on the lights of the living room.
“I see that,” I chuckle, remembering how it was her favorite time of year, how she’d make her father and I traipse to the basement the day after Thanksgiving to grab the bins of decorations. I only lived here two years, but it feels like it was so much longer than that.
Now, here again, I wish I hadn’t let her father’s dying words penetrate my heart so deeply. I wish I could go back in time. Take back what I was too scared to take.
I’m not scared anymore.
I look around the room, taking in the Christmas tree that comes to life, glittering and gold, the evergreen branches laden with baubles and beads. A wreath hangs over the mantel, stockings are hung, thick wool throw blankets drape over the arms of leather chairs and poinsettias flank the fireplace. “It looks like home.”
She blinks slowly, her thick eyelashes taunting me with want. “Remember when it was our home?”
“I do.” I pause, still not knowing how to tell her that it was because of her father, the one she idolized, that I left in the first place. Why I didn’t feel like I could ever come back. I look back at the mantle. “Is that my stocking?”
She smiles stepping toward it. “Yeah. I found it when I was going through the house. I hung it up just the other day. And now … you’re here.” She bites her bottom lip. “It feels meant to be, doesn’t it?”
I want to pull her to me now, drag my hands over her curves, run my fingers through her hair. I want to kiss her, hard. Then I want to fuck her slow. So damn slow we both forget to breathe. So damn slow so it never ends.
