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“So,” she says, her tone going from fun to serious in a nanosecond. “I know you didn’t call to shoot the shit. What’s really up?”
Nodding to myself, I pull in a breath. “I need some advice, or an opinion . . . something from someone who might see a bit clearer—” possibly saner “—about Holden. And me.”
“Hmm.” A beat. “That boy loves you.”
Her words catch me off-guard, and my jaw falls open. I think I even stutter something.
“You know that, right?” she asks. “Like, loves you, loves you. He’s in deep. I think you could hock all his shit on EBay and he’d fall to his knees and give you head.”
A laugh escapes me. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Oh, I am. But anyway, what’s the deal?”
With another deep breath, I dive in. Tell her everything, as unbiasedly as I can (though I may call him a dickhead a couple of times). And I know I’m spilling my heart out all over the phone, and to someone who I only just met. But for whatever reason, I trust her. There’s an honesty about Melody, an easiness I envy, and I feel she might shed light where the darkness clouds my thoughts.
There’s a long pause after I finish. I wonder if I’ve lost connection, or after I admitted to seeing and talking to my dead boyfriend she hung up. Holding the phone away from me, I look at the screen. Still connected. “Mel?”
“I’m thinking,” she says. “All right. I’m going to lay this out pretty simply, so be prepared. I know you’ve had the worst kind of run lately, but I think you need to hear it. And by the way, I am sorry for your loss.”
A lump forms in my throat. I wasn’t expecting the sentiment from her. “Thanks.”
“Okay. No arguing. Just let me wax poetic.” She pauses, and I imagine her cracking her knuckles. Like she’s about to verbally dig into my ass. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, “What?”
“Emily Dickenson. The girl was brilliant, and she once wrote that to someone. I think it actually went like, ‘the heart wants what it wants.’ But whatever. It’s pretty fitting for your dilemma.”
I feel my face scrunch together in confusion. “But . . . that’s it? I don’t understand. How does that—”
“Look,” she interrupts. “I’m not going to debate whether you’re really seeing your boyfriend or not. Hell, I’ve seen tons of crazy shit on the road. So I choose to believe anything’s possible.” She pauses. “And personally, I’m not really sure dickhead was really such a dickhead back in the day. I think he probably had his reasons for being a douche. Doesn’t excuse it, but still. That aside, he obviously still cares about you, or he wouldn’t be there now.”
I open my mouth to argue, to tell her that he’s doing all this for Tyler, but snap it shut. Somewhere in the back of my mind, her words ring true. Plus, she said I couldn’t argue.
She continues. “It doesn’t boil down to whether or not you should be taking your meds. Though I don’t think it would hurt in your case, just to see what happens. Shit, could be a lot of fun. I hear some of that antipsychotic junk packs a freakin’ awesome buzz.”
“Mel, please,” I say, and she laughs.
“All right. Anyway, so yeah. Take ‘em, don’t take ‘em. But figure out what your heart wants, because when you do, you’ll have your answer.” She pauses again, and I think she’s done, but she quickly continues. “If Tyler is your one and only, no matter how many pills you pop, he’ll be there for you. But if Holden owned your heart before, and you think he can again, then the shit will work itself out. Like I said, the boy loves you. It’s just up to you to ask your heart what it wants. And then listen.”
“Huh.” That’s my brilliant response. “Are you one of those genius types that no one sees coming?”
My phone beeps, and I pull it away just as I hear her tell me to check my messages. Opening the text, I laugh as a pic of Melody winking at me pops up on the screen.
HOLDEN
I don’t know who Sam’s been talking to, but when the conversation ends and she drops her phone into her bag, she looks up with a lighter expression. Much lighter than when she stormed out of the hotel room threatening to mace me.
I breathe a little easier through the thick, hot air pressing on me.
I’m hanging back next to a crafts shop. Giving her space. Like she needs. But I wasn’t going to let her take off on her own in a city she doesn’t know. Stalker or not, she’s still my responsibility. Hell. I can keep telling myself that, keep trying to convince myself that it’s all about protecting her during this trip. But if that were true, last night never would’ve happened.
I’m far more dangerous to her than anything or anyone else.
The backup plan failed. Big time. Not that I thought it would go any smoother, but I was hoping that . . . I don’t really know. Maybe that after she nearly drowned, she’d see reason. It’s time for her to admit the truth. She’s sick, though. And forcing her to take her meds isn’t going to help. She has to first admit something’s wrong. I was hoping she was at that point.
Chalk it up to the twelve-step program, but that thing helped me get my shit together.
Only, what the hell happened back at the pool? Was she reliving a fight they had before? I don’t believe for a second my brother’s ghost is really here. But I heard their talk, and I’ve seen Tyler get rip-roaring pissed and lose his cool over a lot less. Especially when it came to Sam.
