The Darkest Part (21 page)

Red.

The dark club pulses red in my vision.

I’m off the stool and storming toward them. I knock into a few people, unaware if I’m pushing them out of the way. I don’t want to be
that
guy. But my jaw is clenched. Muscles corded tight. Hands fisted. And my heart knocks hard against my chest, the pounding muting the music as blood roars in my ears.

The guy must see me coming, because his hands move to Sam’s back as he puts a few inches between their bodies. Too late.

“Hey, man,” I shout, kicking my chin out. His eyes snap to my face. “She’s here with someone.”

He holds up his hands as Sam turns toward me. “Sorry, bro. Just dancing. She’s all yours.” He slides away from Sam and swivels toward another girl dancing with her hands above her head.

My body is still thrumming with the anticipation of a fight when I feel Sam’s hands on my face. She tilts it down so that my eyes meet her large, round ones.

“Relax, Holden,” she says. “He’s harmless.”

I huff out a strained laugh. If she only knew just how untrue her words are. There’s no such thing as a harmless dude in a club, getting wasted with only one thing on his mind. But as her hand slips into mine, the anger seizing my body dissipates. A fraction.

“You wanna go?” she asks.

I watch as her face falls. Fuck. She was having a good time, and I really don’t want to be the one to ruin that. Stuffing my absurd jealousy in a box, I force a smile. “Show me your juking moves.”

With a laugh, she looks down at her feet. “All right,” she shouts as she releases my hand and backs up a step. Then she bounces onto her toe and slides her foot in a smooth movement along the floor. Her hands do a similar, fluid motion before her body follows. She looks up and raises her eyebrows expectantly.

The tightness masking my facial muscles eases, allowing my lips to stretch into a grin. “Awesome.”

“I know!” She bounces, and my chest warms, her scent sending a buzz to my head.

The music changes to a slower beat and she looks around, I guess deciding if we’re going to stand here or go. I make the call. Probably the wrong one, but fuck it.

Winding an arm around her waist, I bring her body against mine. I grasp her chin between my thumb and finger and lift her face, meeting her eyes. And with a hard drop in my stomach, I say, “You’re dancing with me.”

The tiny knot in her throat bobs as she swallows, her eyes clear and knowing. I want her to know who she’s dancing with. I don’t want her to pretend, or to substitute me tonight. I want her to want to be in my arms. And God forgive me, I’m sorry, Tyler . . . but . . . I want
her
.

There’s no more almost. I’m not falling. Hell, I fell a long time ago.

I just hope the delayed impact doesn’t kill me.

Sam

The strobe lights swirl above the crowd, along the walls, the floor, us. As the music heightens with the change of beat, a blast of light-filled fog cocoons me and Holden, wrapping us in our own world.

A voice of reason is trying to break through the club haze wrapping my brain, shouting that this is
wrong
. That I shouldn’t be this close to him. I didn’t listen to that voice all those years ago, and I regretted it. But being in Holden’s arms is so easy. Effortless. Against all logic and that voice kicking the walls of my mind, for this one, short moment, I let myself get lost.

Shutting down pain, regret, guilt—I wrap my arms tighter around him, trying to bury all those conflicting emotions, and feel the music thrum through me as I allow him to lead.

Where his hands rove over my body, heat blazes, sending a mix of fire-hot and cold chills skittering along my skin. His pale blue eyes, backlit by the glowing lights, hungrily devour me. I’m concentrating on my breathing, trying to do so normally, as the hard, tight muscles of his chest press against me. His hand roams lower, grasping the back of my thigh, bringing me closer still.

I’m so close to him, pressed so tightly, I ache. Everywhere. Not close enough.

I can feel his hard need against the seam of my skirt. It sends a thrill coursing through me, knowing what my body is doing to him. And when he lowers his head, resting his mouth in the crook of my neck, flames ignite my chest, his lips scorching my skin where they lightly brush. Holy shit.
Holy hell
.

I slip my fingers into his thick hair and feel his groan reverberate through me as his hips guide mine in a slow, wanting rhythm. His cologne invades my senses. My head is fuzzy, unable to think rationally. That voice in my head is now screaming, trying to be heard over the pounding bass. Over the rushing blood, hitting my heart hard and fast. It feels like it’s about to burst.

His hand guides my leg up, wrapping it around him. Then it travels back down the sensitive stretch, his warm, calloused palms a pleasurable friction against my skin. His lips move higher, just below my ear, and my eyes flutter closed as his hand dips beneath my skirt. The tips of his fingers just graze the seam of my boy shorts . . . so close to the fiery ache building between my thighs . . . excruciating. But if he just touches me—

My eyes fly open. For my sanity (did I really just think that?) I plant my palms against his chest (he feels so good, shit) and press. With just my subtle pressure, he backs away. But his breathing is as labored as mine. I watch as my hand moves with his hurried intakes of air.

“I just need a minute,” I say, probably too low to be heard over the music.

But with a strained nod, Holden begins to lead us off the dance floor. We find our table, and my drink looks so inviting . . . but it’s been sitting out unattended. And alcohol is the last thing I need. “Can you get me a water?” I ask.

With another nod, he takes off. The tightness in my chest releases in a hot breath past my lips. Whatever was happening out there . . . it’s happening too fast. Just this morning, we were at each other’s throats. This whole trip has been one intense moment after the next. No time to equilibrate in-between. And I need . . .

I have no idea what I need.

Tyler made it a point of letting me know he was aware of my feelings for his brother. I didn’t get to finish that conversation with him, though. I can’t imagine he was giving me permission. For anything. And, I don’t get how he remembers all
that
but forgets other things.

I shake my head, my thoughts becoming muddled the more I try to sort them out.

Tyler also witnessed the devastation I went through the first time around where Holden was concerned. If Tyler wasn’t even a part of this equation, if my brain and heart weren’t so unbelievably fucked up—I still couldn’t entertain thoughts of me and Holden together. Granted he was only seventeen when he said those things, when he shattered me. But he hasn’t proven that he’s changed at all from that guy.

It’s hot and sexy and full of lust in this club. And Holden’s a guy. I’m sure banging me would be no big sacrifice on his part. Like he said all those years ago, he just wanted to know what I’d be like. I clamp my eyes closed, reliving that painful moment, and shut down the frenzied desire pulsing through me.

When I open my eyes, Holden’s setting a water bottle on the table. “You want to get out of here? Are you feeling okay?”

I don’t know which question to answer first. But this environment isn’t a good one for us. “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Once we’re outside, the cooler night air hits me, sobering my body and thoughts. I gulp down my water, diluting the alcohol further. My ears are muffled, the loud music from inside the club still ringing in my head. People are dancing right outside the building, and we’re being hurried to walk on the sidewalk as the crowd pushes in.

“I can get you something,” Holden says, keeping close to my side. “An aspirin. Stomach medicine. What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. It just got too hot in there.” Shit. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I glance up at him, and a sly smile curves his lips. “You know what I meant. God, Holden. Vain much?”

He chuckles. The rumble of his voice weakens my knees. I turn my sight ahead. “I know what you meant,” he says, laughter lingering in his deep voice. “Well”—he looks around—“we can find another bar. We still have to hit every one, right?” He examines my expression closely. I feel my brow furrow. “Okay. Agreed. We’re pushing it. It’s been a long couple of days. Maybe sleep is best.”

I exhale the tension from my chest. “Thanks. I think Tyler will let us off the hook on this one.” I bite my lip, definitely not meaning
that
the way it sounded.

He’s quiet for a minute as we take the corner toward the hotel. “Yeah,” he finally says. “He’ll probably forgive us.”

I can’t tell if he’s insinuating anything, or if he’s just going along with my crazy. I decide to let it drop. And once again regret not taking my shrink up on her offer of anxiety meds. Just the thought of trying to sleep in the same room as Holden has my heart racing. My stomach clenching. I doubt I’ll be able to fall asleep for a long time, if at all.

I’m tempted to stop at a drug store and grab some sleeping pills, but push the thought aside. I’ve never depended on anything to get me through shit, not even Tyler’s death. I’m strong enough to deal with Holden, too.

Keeping the reminder that he’s an asshole fresh on my mind should help.

We ride the elevator up in silence. The weight of things unsaid heavy between us. And when we enter the room, the stillness is deafening. I can hear my heart beating, and the pressure building beneath my skin makes me want to claw at my arms. Wanting to unleash whatever fire is trying to consume me.

Plopping onto the bed, I kick off my shoes, grateful I at least wore my Converse tonight, and won’t suffer from sore feet tomorrow. Holden flicks on the TV, and the sound settles my nerves. Some. The quiet between us is still too thick.

Holden rummages through his bag, pulls out a white T-shirt. I think he’s about to change, and my stomach knots all over again, until he tosses his bag on the floor and heads to the bathroom.

My forehead creases. Not that I’m not thankful for his decency not to change in front of me . . . but I’m starting to think he’s purposely hiding his tattoo. Most guys, especially in the residence hall, walk around shirtless all the time. It’s like, they want every girl to see them half naked. I don’t know whether Holden’s just being chivalrous, or what. But my curiosity over his tattoo is becoming morbid.

He steps out in his tee and blue and black checkered boxers. My heart skips a beat. I guess he has no qualms about walking around in front of me wearing those, however. “It’s all yours,” he says, jerking his head toward the bathroom.

“Thanks.”

The uncomfortable tension between us is palpable. I could reach out and carve my hand through it. Pushing down the anxiety roiling in my stomach, I yank out my sleeping clothes from my pack and go to the bathroom.

Locking the door behind me, I flip on the vent. Then brace my hands on the sink counter. “Shit,” I breathe. The mirror reflects the emotions tormenting me clearly on my face. I look ill. Terrified. Turned on.

“Tyler,” I whisper. And wait. I just need to see his face. Feel his presence. Be reassured that he’s still with me. When he doesn’t materialize, “Tyler. I need you.” Silence.

With shaking hands, I strip off my clothes. I’m just pushing my sleeping shirt over my head when a knock sounds at the door.

“Sam.” Holden’s voice is gruff and questioning. Worried. “Open up.”

I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but the last thing I want to do is open that door. Look into his pale eyes and see the same desire in them I saw back at the club. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not strong enough. I know that for a fact now. I’m battling too much, too soon, and I’ll sleep in the damn tub if I have to.

The knock comes again. “Look. You’re scaring me.” A beat. “I’ll bust down this door if I have to.”

I have no doubt that he will. Filling my lungs, I suck in a steadying breath, and yank the door open. “I’m fine. I’m a girl, ya know. We need more maintenance.” I hike my eyebrows, hoping my joke and forced, cool demeanor throws him.

It doesn’t. He’s braced against the doorway, his hands gripping each side of the doorframe, like it’s all that’s holding him back. Stopping him from getting to me.

As his gaze drifts down my body, lingeringly, I realize I hadn’t yet put on my sleeping bottoms. Holden’s biceps flex as he strains against the doorway. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on one of the studs. A shudder wracks my body.

Please, go away
.
Now
. “I’m fine.” My voice is small, shaky. And not convincing in the least. But I just need him to give me five minutes to pull myself together. If he keeps looking at me like that, my legs are going to buckle. And if he touches me . . .

He blows out a heavy breath and pushes away from the doorway. I can see the physical and mental fight it takes for him to do that one action. With a backward step, he says, “All right. Goodnight, Sam.” And then he turns and leaves. The audible
click
of him turning off the table light and then the darkening of the room sends my nerves back on high.