Never Let You Go (a modern fairytale) (17 page)

His throat suddenly ached from the lump lodged there. He tried to swallow it down, but it wouldn’t budge.

“How . . .,” she said. “You would’ve been . . . seventeen.” She drew back, her watery eyes searching his face, brows furrowing, confusion hijacking her expression. “Wait. Why—

Holden, were you still . . . with him?”

He let his hand fall from her hair as he rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The movement made his hip hurt. His chest too. Thank God his face didn’t hurt as much today. He placed his palm over his heart and felt his lungs inhale and exhale as he closed his eyes.

“Holden?” she said.

“Hmm?”

She shifted a little, and when he opened his eyes, she was leaning up on her elbow, her expression grave. “What were you—I mean, you were still with him? At seventeen?”

He turned to look at her, clenching his jaw, his fingers curling into the skin of his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice breathless in his own ears.

“You stayed with him?” she asked, her eyes and voice stunned.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him, her lips slightly parted, then dropped onto her back, but he quickly realized that no part of her body was touching his anymore. After several long moments of silence, she said softly, “I’m glad he’s dead.”

And Holden, who’d been holding his breath, replied, “M-me too.”

***

Griselda didn’t know why it shocked her so much to learn that Holden had stayed with Caleb Foster for four years after her escape, but it did. It shocked her. It upset her. It damn near leveled her. Because surely there would have been many, many opportunities for a seventeen-year-old to escape, and yet he hadn’t. He had remained with their captor and tormentor until Caleb Foster died. It was almost unfathomable. And she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know why. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to understand if he’d stayed of his free will, and if he was somehow coerced into staying, she didn’t know how she’d bear hearing the story. For years she’d wanted to know what had happened to Holden, but in her head, he’d most likely been killed, or, having escaped from Caleb Foster at some point, he’d re-created himself, like the heroes in the fairy tales she spun.

Turns out he
had
re-created himself. But not because he’d escaped and started a new life. No. After living with the Man for four additional years, he’d
chosen
to become someone named Seth West.

It suddenly struck Griselda how little she knew about the adult version of Holden. Her fingers felt cold, and her stomach jumped as she slid to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over the side. Had she somehow expected Holden to be an older version of the exact person he’d been at thirteen? She tugged her lip between her teeth, thinking. Yes, she had. But he wasn’t. He was someone else entirely, and it made the situation feel complex, confusing, disappointing, and perilous.

Did she believe he would hurt her? No. Though she knew he was capable of great violence, and she had no guarantee he wouldn’t turn it on her, in her gut, she knew she could trust him not to hurt her.

But she’d deeply loved the person Holden had been so long ago. The question that made her want to weep was, If she got to know him now, would she
still
love him? Because she wanted to. She desperately wanted to love Holden.

“G-Gris,” he said softly.

“Breathe,” she murmured without thinking.

He did. He took a deep breath, groaning slightly as he let it go.

“I n-need to start at the beginning. It’s the only way you’ll understand.”

Her whole body felt heavy and too tired for the journey ahead.

“W-will you look at me? F-finding out you’re alive is like a m-miracle to me, and—”

She didn’t turn around. “I just don’t know if—”

A loud knock on the door cut off her thoughts, and she stood up, glancing down at Holden, still lying on his back.

“Should I get that?”

“Who’s there?” he hollered, anger and frustration thick in his voice, loud enough that Griselda jumped.

“Seth?” The voice, traveling through the living room, down the hall, and into Holden’s bedroom was faint, but Griselda’s eyes hit the floor the second she heard the name Seth, and that unpleasant, nervous feeling in her stomach multiplied.

“Yeah?” he yelled.

“It’s Quint! Brought you some food.”

Holden groaned as he braced his palms on the comforter and sat up slowly, swinging his legs to let his bare feet fall to the floor.

“I’ll go,” said Griselda. “Take your time.”

Relieved to be walking away from Holden for a few minutes, she headed for the living room and unchained the door. Quint stood in the hallway, holding a brown sack in each arm.

“Morning, Griselda,” he said politely.

“Morning.”

He looked into her eyes, then swept his glance away, catching sight of something—or someone—over her shoulder. “Seth. How you doing?”

“Better’n yesterday, worse’n tomorrow,” he said gruffly. “Come on in, Quint.”

Being around Griselda this morning was like crossing a minefield.

Holden knew she was shocked that he’d stayed with Caleb for as long as he had. Hell, it wasn’t like he didn’t have mixed feelings about it too. But she needed to give him a chance to explain how it was—how it was to be thirteen years old and utterly alone in the world. No parents, no grandparents, no Gris.

It hadn’t mattered where he went or with whom. He didn’t care. His life had felt so bleak, so totally devoid of any possible goodness or happiness, he didn’t even give a shit that he was called Seth and more or less forced to pose as Caleb’s kid brother. He didn’t care that he slept with an arm chained over his head until he was almost fifteen. He didn’t care that he’d been called dummy by the other freshmen because he was sixteen when he enrolled in high school but had only a fourth-grade education. He didn’t care that Caleb would go off on benders for days on end. He didn’t care that he’d had no one and nothing to love since he was thirteen.

He didn’t care, because everyone he’d loved had died or been killed.

Carbon monoxide.

Heart attack.

Gunshot.

They were gone. They were all gone.

Caring about someone hurt. Caring about someone led to heartbreak. And since Holden didn’t care about Caleb, he was the perfect companion. The ones he’d loved were gone, and Holden was breathing, and life was worth nothing and about nothing. Life was just going through a series of motions until he joined those he’d lost. And all that those motions required was food, water, sleep, and air. So he’d stayed with Caleb, yes, because Caleb gave him food and water. Caleb didn’t molest him while he slept. He barely spoke to Holden, and when he did, what he said didn’t matter anyway.

Caleb had also murdered Griselda.

And Holden hated him with a black and desperate passion, even as Caleb kept him alive.

“You want that I put these away, Seth?” asked Quint, walking into the apartment and hefting the bags onto the kitchen counter.

“I’ll do it,” said Griselda. She looked up, catching Holden’s eyes, and he tried to soften his expression for her, but she looked away too quickly to appreciate his efforts.

“Uh . . . can I, uh . . . can I talk to you a minute?” asked Quint in a low whisper, gesturing to the hallway.

“Yeah.” Holden glanced at Griselda, who was unloading the groceries. “Thanks, Gris.”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered with her back to him.

“I’ll b-be back in a minute.”

“Mm-hm.”

He gave her back a last, longing look before turning toward the door, his hip and chest starting to ache again from all the sudden movement, his face throbbing like hell. He followed Quint to the hallway and pulled his apartment door shut, looking up at the man who’d been like a surrogate father to him since he’d arrived in Charles Town five years ago.

“I, uh . . .,” Quint took the grubby John Deere cap off his head and rubbed his straggly gray hair, looking up at Holden, then away. “I . . .”

“Spit it out, Quint.”

Quint looked up again, leveling his eyes with Holden’s. “I know who you are.”

Holden kept his face blank. “Oh yeah? Who am I?”

Awkwardly scrubbing the back of his neck, Quint grimaced. “You’re that kid went missin’. You and her.”

Holden took a step back and lifted a foot to the wall behind him. “W-what makes you think that?”

Quint shrugged. “Don’t forget a name like Griselda. Not when she’s kidnapped less’n ten miles from here. The
H
on your arm . . . that’s for Holden, right?”

He stared back at Quint, saying nothing.

“I remember because of the
H
and
G
. They said you two was like a modern-day Hansel and Gretel. Holden and Griselda.”

Holden licked his lips, then folded them between his teeth, making his mouth a thin, terse line.

“Can’t imagine what you . . .” Quint stopped, his bluish-gray eyes distressed. “Can’t imagine what you two went through. I’m, uh . . . I’m awful sorry for it.”

Clearing his throat first, Holden took a deep breath and let his leg fall back to the floor. “N-not much for reminiscing about it.”

“You ain’t seen her since then? Since she . . . got away?”

As much as he liked Quint, his business with Griselda bordered on sacred, and he wasn’t going to stand here with him gossiping about it like a couple of old ladies.

His eyes went flat, and he turned away. “I appreciate the groceries, but . . .”

“Dang, Seth, you’re always so short-tempered. Now, wait a second. I don’t want to get in your business.”

“Then . . .”

“Chick won a couple hundred last night. He saw the damage to your face, and the whole town knows about the—the damn
knife
Eli pulled. Told Clinton to tell you to take a couple of weeks off at half pay. You don’t need to go back to work for a little bit.”

Honestly, Holden hadn’t once turned his mind to his job. If Griselda was planning to stay for a month, he’d stay with her, and if that meant losing his job, so be it.

“Need a month,” said Holden.

“He didn’t offer a danged month.”

“Still need it.”

Quint shook his head. “I’ll tell him.”

“Okay then.” He gave Quint a look as if to ask, “We all done here?” then turned to open his door.

“Seth, that asshole boyfriend o’ hers musta called me ten times last night.”

Holden stiffened, then turned back to Quint, his eyes narrowing. “He still here?”

Quint shrugged. “Don’t know. My bet, he’s too much a pussy to come lookin’ for me, and definitely too much of a pussy to come lookin’ for you. But you can’t fight, neither, Seth. Not like you are. You’re weak right now.”

This was news. He didn’t realize he’d
need
to fight Jonah, but come to think of it, Gris had been a little cagey about her boyfriend, turning off his phone, asking him to delete messages. Did this guy hurt her? Give her a hard time? Goddamn, if anyone touched a hair on that woman’s head, Holden would kill him.

“Seth. Back it up.”

“He f-fuckin’ comes near her—”

“He won’t.” Quint reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a set of two keys on a simple keychain. “You know how to get to my cabin, right? Up by Berkeley Springs.”

Holden eyed the keys and nodded.

Quint shrugged again. “So? Head outta town for a few weeks. Spend some time with your . . . with her. Get better.”

Feeling grateful and overwhelmed, he reached for the keys. “Thanks, Quint. I don’t know how to—”

“Clinton would likely be dead if not for you,” said Quint, putting a hand on Holden’s shoulder. “You straightened him out. And you and that gal, what you been through . . . well, I’m glad to do it, son.”

Holden nodded at Quint, thankful but wondering, after this morning, if Gris was going to be interested in heading to a remote hunting cabin with him. It appealed to Holden—to have a quiet, safe place to get to know her again. No asshole boyfriends. No Gemma. Limited cell service. They could just take their time talking and walking, sleeping and eating. Learning about each other, remembering what they loved, letting go of what hurt them. If he could get her to go.

Quint squeezed his shoulder, then released it.

“Might add that Gemma’s plenty pissed at you. Was at the Poke and Duck last night spouting off about yer, uh, about yer visitor.”

Holden took a deep breath. He knew it wasn’t fair to leave town without speaking to Gemma, but he also knew it was highly unlikely that she’d be able to hear anything he had to say. Quint read his face like a book.

“She won’t find out where you are from me,” he said, chuckling to himself as he headed back down the stairs. “Take care, now, Seth.”

“Holden,” he called after his friend.

Quint stopped and turned around, nodding. “Holden.”

***

Putting away the groceries was just an excuse to stay busy and stay away from Holden. Last night, after his breathing had changed to a deep and even rhythm, she had stared at his face for hours, searching for the boy in the battered face of the grown man, and crying softly when she found him. In the star points of his eyelashes, in the freckles that were almost hidden by the discoloration from his broken nose, in the small brown mole over the left side of his lips. She stared at his face until her eyes were so heavy she couldn’t keep them open anymore, and then she flipped over, pressing her back to his front, and sighing with contentment when he reached for her and pulled her close in his sleep.

She could see it in the softness of his eyes and hear it in the tenderness of his voice: she still meant a great deal to him. And part of her was relieved to know it. But part of her was afraid. Because Griselda was sorely out of practice with loving anyone.

Aside from Maya, about whom Griselda cared deeply, and Prudence, whom she loved in the easy way that adults are able to love children, she hadn’t allowed anyone remotely near her heart. She had no other friends. She liked and respected Sabrina McClellan but kept their relationship professional. And Jonah? She despised him.

And now here she was with Holden, and love was back on the table, except she didn’t know how to find it, how to allow it, how to nurture it, how to hold on to it. It frightened her because everyone she’d ever loved—her mother, her grandma, Holden—had left her alone in the end. And Holden wasn’t who he used to be. He had changed. And that frightened her too.

It made her wonder again if the best play, the safest play, was to just go home. She could slip downstairs, call Jonah collect, and he’d come get her. He’d rough her up a little, but then he’d get turned on, and he’d treat her sweet for a while. She’d go back to work tomorrow morning with a long-sleeved shirt on, and Maya would be sassy, asking questions about Zelda’s weekend in West Virginia. Her empty, meaningless life would just keep moving forward.

Or she could take a risk.

She could take a risk and stay, find out who Holden had become, settle their past, figure out their future.

Her hands, which had been flattening and folding the empty grocery sacks on the counter, stilled.

Their . . .
future
.

She blinked several times, trying not to panic, but panic was already setting in. Griselda didn’t think about her future, didn’t trust it, didn’t plan for it. She didn’t read the college brochures Mrs. McClellan had given her; she didn’t think in terms of marriage or children. The future was a luxury for people who had goals and support and love. Griselda lived. She ate, she drank, she breathed, she worked, she slept. She didn’t plan for the future.

And yet the word had entered her brain so effortlessly, as if something in her head—or her heart—had given way, had somehow given her permission to entertain that word, to think about it, to consider it for the first time in her adult life.

“Gris?”

She jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. She didn’t even realize Holden had walked back into the apartment.

“Yeah?” she said, putting her palm over her racing heart.

His perfect lips quirked up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m not scared of you,” she answered, and felt her own lips tilt up in response to his as she realized that she was telling the truth. Love? Change? The future? Those things scared her. But Holden? No. She could never be truly scared of Holden, no matter what choices he’d made after their life in the cellar. Even in the handful of hours they’d spent together, there was enough about him that she recognized, that she remembered, that she
knew
. Once upon a time, he had held her heart in the palm of his hands, shielded her body with his over and over again, soothed her battered soul when there was no other comfort. And those same arms that had protected her as a child had held her as she slept last night. She’d woken up with them wrapped around her this morning. No matter what, she knew in every cell of her being that she wasn’t scared of Holden Croft.

“Well, that’s good,” he said, that little smile still lingering on his lips, making her heart race and sing.

“Everything okay with Quint?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. He, uh, he gave me this.” Holden opened his fist to show her a set of keys.

“Keys?”

“To his cabin. It’s out of town an hour or so.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and something deep inside Griselda coiled with heat. “Said we could use it for a few weeks. Get away from here.”

“Just you and me?”

“Gris,” he said, “I know I look, uh, different. R-rough. And I know you’re bothered that I go by Seth and stayed with Caleb. But I want the chance to know you, and I need the chance for you to know me. And, w-well, if you d-don’t like me, I w-won’t try to keep you by me. I’ll let you go.”

Oh God, Holden,
never
let me go.

“But I’d like to introduce myself to you.” He stood up a little straighter. “I’d like that ch-chance.”

He swallowed, still staring at her, and she found herself lost in his eyes. They were still swollen and scabbed, but they were gray and soft too.