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He didn’t seem to feel it, his face ashen as he swayed. His mother looked triumphant when a man muscled his way to the front.
I gasped. Mr. Dixon reached for the bar for support. Andrew balled his fists at his sides. Marlow’s face twisted in horror.
The striking resemblance was too much to ignore. A tall, muscular build. Caramel hair. Even their olive skin tone was the same.
Holt trembled in my hold as he stared at the man. Everything over the last few days melted away to nothing. Only this bombshell remained, and I felt Holt’s pain as if it were my own.
He said nothing. His face blank, devoid of the emotion percolating under the surface.
The man stepped forward and extended his hand. Holt recoiled and looked at that hand as though it were that of the devil himself.
“We probably should have done this before.” He refused to drop his hand.
“You’re not my father.”
Holt lifted his chin and didn’t make a move to shake hands.
“Are you that unhappy with your life that you have to screw with ours? You gave this up,” Andrew shouted.
His mother appeared pleased with the chaos she’d unleashed.
“I thought I wanted to know you," Holt said, leveling her with his sharp gaze. “But I was wrong. I can’t stand the sight of you any longer.”
Holt moved with determined steps toward the bar exit, and I followed. Once we were outside next to an old pickup truck, he doubled over and braced his arms on his knees as he struggled for breath.
I rubbed his back as he heaved, at a total loss for words. Based on looks alone, I’d say his mother was telling the truth. I could barely process it myself, let alone begin to imagine what was going through Holt’s mind.
It wasn’t long before he stood, a vacancy in his eyes. He stabbed a key into the passenger side door lock and yanked the door open. I climbed inside the cab. He jogged around the front and slammed the door behind him.
He dropped the keys twice as he tried to put them in the ignition. I scooted closer and touched his thigh. He stared at my hand a moment before he made another attempt, this time successful.
We peeled out and barreled away from town into the darkness. Tremors wracked his body as he gripped the steering wheel. Helpless, I ran circles over his jeans with my thumb. His knuckles grew whiter the longer we drove.
He turnedoff the main road down a dirt drive flanked with evergreens. A cabin with a single porch light on came into view.
Without a word, he parked and jumped out of the truck, leaving the door open behind him. I exited on his side and shut it as he unlocked the front door of the house and disappeared inside.
I followed. A spot near the fireplace illuminated by the moon was the only light. The click of the lock echoed in the silence. I wrapped my arms around my middle and shivered. Holt stood in the center of the room, shoulders hunched, keys at his feet.
I moved until I was in front of him. I slid my arms around his waist and rested my head against his chest. His heart thudded in my ear, an erratic pounding.
We stood like that for what felt like an eternity, yet not long enough.
He lifted his arms and enveloped me so tight in them I could barely breathe. He dropped his cheek to the top of my head. Eventually, his rapid breathing slowed.
A phone rang from his front pocket, but neither of us moved. Mine started from across the room where I’d dropped my purse. There was only a beat of silence before they began to ring in tandem.
“We should let them know we’re safe,” I whispered.
He made no move, so I fished his phone from his pocket and answered.
“Where are you?” Andrew’s desperate voice boomed in my ear.
“He’s safe,” I said.
“Baker?”
“Now isn’t a good time.”
