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“Thanks for the heads-up.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “I didn’t knowyou’dbe there.”
“It might have come up, if we’d talked in the past two months.”
He steps forward. “Listen, Cassia, I—”
“I’m working, Holden. I can’t do this right now. Here. I’m done at four if you want to talk then.”
He exhales, then glances away. “I won’t be here. I’m leaving for Haryock in an hour.”
I laugh with absolutely no amusement. “Wow. In an hour. You really budgeted a lot of time for this conversation, huh?”
If I hadn’t seen him at the court last night, would he even be here? Or would he have just left again, without bothering to talk to me at all?
“When did you want to talk last night? While you were hanging out with that guy or when you took off as soon as you saw me?”
My molars grind. “You know, the more you talk, the less I feel like there’s anything left to say.”
“So…I budgetedtoo littletime, ortoo much?”
I look away, at the photo wall of smiling faces who’ve adopted animals from here.Idon’t know what to say. If he had approached me last night, I don’t know where we would’ve begun. That and the attention from everyone else is why I didn’t go over to him.
The best moments in my life have all involved Holden.
So have the worst.
He’s the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
He also has the ability to irritate me like no one else.
When I look back, he’s still staring at me.
“I haven’t heard from you in months.” I try to keep my voice even, but some hurt manages to sneak in.
“Phones work both ways,” he shoots back. “And the break wasyouridea, remember?”
“Because we were a mess, Holden! You can’t fix something until you acknowledge there’s a problem. And what did you do? You were gone all summer. You haven’t even been back twenty-four hours, and you’re leaving again.”
“It’s a camping trip with my best friends. I haven’t seen them all summer.”
“I’m notsurprisedthat you’re going, Holden. That’s the worst fucking part. You get back, you go to the court to see your friends. Next day, you’re off to the woods. I’msurprisedyou even bothered to come here at all. Clearly, you have other priorities.”
All the ease leaves his posture as his jaw clenches tightly. His hands are still stuffed in his pockets, but his shoulders are rigid and tensed beneath the cotton material of his t-shirt.
“You’re a priority.”
I wait, but that’s all he says.
I’m sick of him giving me inches and pretending they’re miles.
“I should get back to work,” I say, waiting for him to leave.
The softclickof paws on linoleum sounds. Milo appears, slinking around the corner and taking a seat by my feet. I rub the top of his head gently.
“New dog?”
That would apply to any canine we’ve received in the year it’s been since he was last here, technically. But I know he’s minutes—if not seconds—from walking out the door, and I simply don’t have the energy to make that point.
