I opened the door and got out, then leaned back in. He was still sitting there, hands on the wheel, engine idling, not moving. “You coming inside?”
He shook his head. His mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. “Nah. Heading home. Indira wants to make a baby.”
I stared at him. He didn’t blink. “Get some sleep, Holden.”
He pulled out of the lot. I stood there for a minute in the cold, Dutch’s baby comment still landing, then went inside.
Chapter 38
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— Bea —
Igrabbed my keys and went. I didn’t remember deciding to. I drove to the clubhouse on autopilot. No plan. No script. No carefully constructed therapeutic framework for what I was about to do. Just Lilac’s voice, weeks old and still running in the back of my head —or go get him yourself— and the knowledge that if I didn’t do this tonight, I’d find another reason not to.
The compound was quiet when I pulled in. A few bikes in the lot, lights on in the common room, the low sound of music from somewhere inside. I parked and got out and stood there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
Then the front door opened.
Holden walked out.
He stopped when he saw me. Dead stop, one boot on the step, one on the gravel. He was wearing clean jeans and a fresh shirt — not his usual garage clothes, not the worn-in look of a man who’d been working on his bike all afternoon. He’d cleaned up. His hair was damp.
And he was holding lavender.
A small bunch, wrapped in brown paper, the stems still wet. The same lavender he used to buy me. Before everything fell apart.
He was on his way to me.
It hit me all at once. He wasn’t hiding in the garage anymore. He’d showered, changed, bought flowers, and was walking out the door to come find me. Like he’d promised. Like he’d said he would when he was ready.
He was ready.
We stood there — me by my car, him on the steps, ten feet of gravel between us — and neither of us moved for what felt like a long time.
“I was coming for you,” he said. His voice was low and steady. No hesitation.
“I got tired of waiting.” My voice cracked.
He came down the steps and crossed the gravel in three strides. He stopped in front of me. Close. Close enough that I could smell the soap on his skin and the lavender in his hand. “These are for you,” he said, holding them out.
I took them. My hands were still shaking. The paper crinkled.
“Holden—”
“I know what I did.” He cut me off, but gently. His eyes were on mine and they didn’t waver. “I know what it cost you. I know I can’t undo it. I wasn’t coming to ask you to forget.” He paused. “I was coming because I said I’d come when I was ready, and I’m ready.” He paused. “I got back from a run. First one like that since Danny. Everybody came home. After, I realised — I’m done waiting.”
I took a deep breath.He was ready.
“How do I know that?”
“Because I’m standing here with flowers instead of sitting in my room with a bottle. Because I’ve spent over a year in a chair across from Pete twice a week learning how to be the man you deserved the first time.” His jaw tightened. “Because I know exactly what I lost, Bea. And I know I’m the one who threw it away.”
I looked at him. This man who’d held a dying boy in his arms, had fallen apart and put himself back together piece by piece in front of the whole club.
“I can’t promise I won’t make mistakes,” he said. “I’d be lying if I said that. But I can promise you they won’t be those mistakes. Not the drinking. Not the shutting you out. Not the running.” He stepped closer. “I know who I am now. I didn’t before.”
“Fool me once,” I said quietly.
