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“I’ve, uh, I’ve actually gotta go.”
“What?” Brooks takes a step closer, his expression creasing.
I step back so quickly I almost fall over. And instead of answering Brooks, I glance over at Holden again, the realization he’s now looking this way jolting me like an electric paddle to the heart.
Seconds stretch as we stare at each other.
Holden’s expression is entirely unreadable.
No surprise.
No jealousy.
Just a blank face.
And it’s sofamiliar. Not only his physical features, but the apathy.
It’s always been small gestures instead of big moments with him. He opens up when we’re alone, never when we’re surrounded.
I know Holden grew up differently than I did. That love and affection weren’t on display during his childhood in the same way they were in my family. And it used to make me feel special, knowing I saw a side of him no one else did.
Right now? It makes me feel sad. Empty.
That he’s standing there and I’m standing here and I know, even as we hold eye contact, that neither of us are going to take a step to close the distance.
“Bye, Brooks,” I say, then spin and start walking toward the line of cars behind the bleachers.
Silently pray no one blocked my car in, because I’d rather walk all the way home than have to go back over there and ask someone to move their vehicle.
I think Brooks might call my name, but I don’t look back. I’m worriedhemight still be looking.
And even more scared that he won’t be.
CHAPTER TWO
HOLDEN
“So…you wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
Finn sighs but says nothing else. He glances at Mark, who’s slouched on the bleachers with Jordan. Everyone else left a while ago.
I toss another can into the air, the crunch of aluminum connecting with the wooden bat not nearly as satisfying as I was hoping it would be.
The crumpled can flies about thirty feet in the air, landing right in the dumpster. I’m too pissed off to feel any satisfaction about my perfect aim. I chug the remnants of the beer in my hand and then that can goes flying too.
Three more.
Five.
I’m close to running out of projectiles when I finally ask. “Who the hell is he?”
“Thought we weren’t talking about it?” is Finn’s response.
I scowl as I pick up another can from the shrinking pile and send it flying into the field, making my lack of appreciation about his sarcasm known.
Finn sighs again. “His name is Brooks. We’re in the same frat. He came back to campus early for some teacher’s assistant training thing, so I invited him to come and hang out tonight.”
