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“I remember,” he said, his voice low.
More silence. I wished he’d yell at me. Scream. Tell me I was being an asshole and fucking up this perfect night. But River dressed and then stood for a minute, jaw set, his gaze on the ground.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said finally.
He was calm and still, while I was the storm. I wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep tangled up in him, but the cold had found me. I crossed my arms tighter to keep the trembling from showing.
“What am I doing?” I asked. “I’m not doing anything. It’s late—”
“Holden.”
My mouth fell shut.
“It’s okay,” River said, his blue eyes soft. “I get it. Or…I think I do.”
He didn’t, I thought, tears threatening. River had no idea how good he was, or how his goodness bashed up against everything broken in me.
I’ll just ruin him too…
“But I don’t regret tonight,” he said. “I hope you don’t either.”
“I don’t,” I said, defiant against the cold. “I never will.”
River nodded in the dimness, then turned to go. He stopped at the bedroom door. “You going to be around later?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Call me if…” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Just call me. Or I’ll call you. That’s allowed, right? It’s Christmas.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. I’ll call you later.”
He hesitated, at war with himself. And then he left. Rain smattered the windows and I let River go. I sent him out into the storm.
It’s better, whispered a cold voice from Alaska. Better for him.
I practically ran to the kitchen. In the freezer was a new bottle of Ducasse—an early Christmas present to myself. I poured a shot, then took the bottle and glass to my desk. I wrote until my hand cramped and drank until the words blurred. Letting my racing thoughts out onto the paper and then drowning them in vodka.
Some hours later, the world tilted me out of my chair. I lay with the hardwood floor digging into my shoulder blades and stared at the spinning ceiling. The rain came down and River’s face floated across my bleary vision.
“What a glorious feeling…” I whispered and then sank into the dark.
The following day, Christmas Eve, Aunt Mags and Uncle Reg had an early flight to Seattle. They knocked on the door to the guesthouse, waking me from my cozy spot in the middle of the floor where I lay shivering and naked in my underwear.
“Holden, my boy,” Uncle Reg called. “We’re setting off now.”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright by yourself?” Mags chirped.
“Just peachy,” I called
and winced as a vicious headache pounded behind my eyes.
“Can you open up?” Reg asked. “Let us give you a proper goodbye?”
“I’d love to Uncle Reg, but I’m super busy right now.”
I crawled on hands and knees to my robe that lay on the floor where River had stripped it off me.
