Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (18 page)

“I’m not going to let you hurt her! I
warned you! She’s special and I’m not going to let you use her and throw her
away like another one of your groupie sluts!”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!
Get out of my face or this is going to end with us both in the hospital!”

His eyes narrow and his words come out
with so much venom I can barely even hear his next phrase.

“Laurel
Karns
,”
he spits, inches from my face.

I stare at him in shock. It’s the last
thing I’d expected to hear at that moment and throws me so off guard, I’m
afraid he can tell he’s just gained the upper hand.

“Excuse me?” I manage, suddenly unable
to draw in enough oxygen.

“You heard me, bitch. Stay away from
Holland. I told you, we know what you are!”

“How do you know Laurel?”

“Why does it matter? Laurel isn’t
important. It’s the fact that you’re a douchebag
who’s
about to wreck someone I care about that matters! You’re a fucking loser! Total
scum who doesn’t deserve…”

I see red. I’m not even sure what
happens next, I just know it’s bad. I know it makes my fist hurt, then my
cheek,
then
my fist again, then my stomach, my ribs. I
know it’s happening again. I know old wounds are ripping open, tearing chunks
of flesh out of my consciousness and littering them all over a grimy bathroom
floor that’s collected so much of my past over the years.

I catch a brief flurry of activity in
the mirror, two grown men flying at each other, fighting for, I don’t even know
what. What am I fighting for?
Certainly not my dignity.
I threw that away a long time ago. Holland? No. I’m smart enough to understand
that this insanity isn’t going to win me any points there, only push me further
from any chance of convincing her I’m not this kind of monster anymore. No, I’m
just fighting because that fucking fuse blew my head apart and let this idiot
derail everything I’ve been working to build. I’m fighting because sometimes no
matter how hard you fight it’s not enough and all it takes is the tiniest
trigger to explode the landmine.

It doesn’t last long. I sense neither
of us had a clear goal when we started, and at some point I find myself alone
again. There’s a sharp pain around my eye, blood dripping from my lip. My right
knuckles are swollen and throbbing. My ribs are on fire, but Wes is the one who
ran. He looked about how I feel, so I don’t even know who won. I’m pretty sure we’ve
both lost, considering the coming fallout.

I grip the edge of the sink and stare
at myself in the mirror. My fingers instinctively rise to the growing welt around
my left eye and I wince from the contact. My bottom lip is cracked and I don’t
even want to know what my chest looks like.
So stupid.
Completely ridiculous, and I’m furious about the entire encounter. I know I
should
be hating
that dick Wes right now, and I do, but
it’s my own battered reflection that’s haunting me.

Old Luke woke up bloody and sore on
bathroom floors. Old Luke fought over girls and trash-talked puny threats to
his manhood. Old Luke embarrassed himself with public displays of primal rage,
and here I am, staring into the troubled eyes of Old Luke. The Luke I just
fought to prove I wasn’t.

The door bursts open, startling me from
my critique, and I sigh as Casey rushes toward me.

“What the hell happened? Are you ok?
Oh, shit!”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, pushing away from
the sink and grabbing a paper towel. I wet it and hold it up to the burning
bruise on my eye.

Casey collects a couple more and hands
me the wad for my lip.

“So are you going to tell me what
happened or am I just supposed to guess,” Casey quips, leaning against another
sink to face me.

“I told you. I’m fine. Can we just let
this go?”

“Let it go? You and Wes just beat the
shit out of each other! We’re touring with them! It’s kind of a big deal!”

I sigh and shake my head. “Seriously,
Case, just let it go. We had a misunderstanding. It’s worked out now.”

He still looks concerned, and I know
this placating thing is not going to work on him, but there’s no way I’m
getting into the story now.

“Do you want me to call TJ? I’m sure we
can get them kicked off the tour.”

“No!” I blurt way too fast.
“I mean, it’s fine.
I had it coming. We both did. Just let
it go. We’ll work it out.”

We’re silenced by a knock on the door,
and Casey pulls it open with a wary peek.

“Is Luke in here?”

My stomach drops at Holland’s voice.

“Oh, hey, Holland. Yeah, he’s here.” He
lets her in and I brace myself, having no idea what to expect from her.

“Oh
my gosh
!”
she cries, rushing toward me. “Luke, I’m so sorry.”

I’m strangely touched by her unexpected
apology. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” I assure her, turning back to face my battered reflection,
mostly so I don’t have to face her. But she follows and meets my gaze in the
mirror.

“Case, do you mind making sure everyone
gets back to the buses? I’d rather not have to see anyone right now.”

Casey is clearly still concerned. “Are
you sure, man? I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I told you, I’m fine. I just need a
few minutes. Please, Case?”

“Go, Casey. I’ll stay with him and make
sure he gets back,” Holland chimes in, and we both glance at her in surprise.
She shrugs. “What? I think I can handle a few wet paper towels. I was pre-med
after all.”

I laugh despite the grave moment,
then
wince from the pain. “Seriously, I’m fine,” I direct
back to Casey who rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you look fine,” he mumbles. “You
sure you got him?” he confirms with Holland, and I grunt.

“Oh, so you’ll trust her, but not me?”

“Have you seen your face?” Casey
returns, his grin breaking as I curse at him.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving? Oh, and make
sure you take care of the tab!” I call after
him,
unable
to stop my own grin when the last thing I see is his middle finger disappearing
through the door.

Holland laughs before focusing back on
me, the mood settling again as she reaches up and gently examines my cheek. “I
can’t believe Wes did this.”

“It took two of us,” I respond quietly,
and she meets my gaze.

“Yeah, but I know he started it.” She
draws in a deep breath. “Luke, I’m sorry. It’s partly my fault too. He saw us
together on the floor, and I told him to stay out of it and mind his own
business. He didn’t like that I basically defended our relationship, defended
you. He was out for blood. I could have handled it differently, but I just...”

“He’s obviously in love with you,
Holland,” I interrupt. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear that, but look
at my face.”

She bites her lip and I wonder if I’m
finally getting through to her. After a long pause, she sighs and takes my
hand. “Can we go find a place to talk that’s not the men’s bathroom?”

“Please,” I agree, eager to escape, and
she grabs a few more strips of paper towels.

“For the road,” she explains with a
smile.

∞∞∞

I’m not overly excited about re-entering the club, but we
manage to sneak through the crowds into the cool evening air without any more drama.
Holland still hasn’t let go of my hand and leads me to a bench about half a
block from the entrance.

She settles against me and we’re silent
for a moment, doing our best to absorb the rollercoaster we’ve just endured.
“There’s something you should know,” she begins quietly, and I instinctively
brace myself. “Wes and I were briefly engaged at one point. The thing is, we realized
pretty quickly that we were great friends but terrible lovers. We were young
and had grown up together, so the engagement was more of a formality that
everyone else expected. Once we had the courage to swear off the expectations,
we decided we’d be much better off as buddies and band-mates than spouses. It’s
been almost six years and he’s now one of my best friends. He cares about me
like a sister and I know he’d do anything for me.”

“Including punch me in the face,” I
mutter.

“Especially, punch you in the face,”
she laughs, and I love the way her eyes shine when she glances up at me. She
sighs and grows serious again. “He’s not in love with me, Luke, he’s just
protecting me. He believes all the lies about you. He doesn’t have the same
faith in people and doesn’t believe you can possibly be the person I’m
defending. He thinks I’m falling into the same trap you’ve been trying to
protect me from. Ironically, in a twisted way, you and he have been on the same
side.”

I almost smirk. “Careful. You might
actually make me not hate the guy.”

She chuckles and squeezes my arm. “He’s
not a bad guy. He’s way off base on this one, and
believe
me, I’m beyond pissed about what just happened, but his intentions are good.
He’s just worried about me and doesn’t trust you. Or, more specifically, my
ability to resist you and your legendary charms.”

I want to argue, but I’m not sure how. She’s
right. It is kind of ironic that we’ve both spent the entire tour fighting me
for the same reason. “Well, he’s been pretty open about his hatred. He’s been
making my life hell since the day we met.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about
that, but there’s more to it.”

I don’t like anything about that
sentence. Especially when she draws in a deep breath and I know she’s
conflicted about whatever is coming next. “He’s friends with Laurel
Karns
, Luke,” she explains quietly, and I immediately
stiffen.

“What?” I don’t even know what to do
with that statement.

I pull away from her and suddenly don’t
feel the pain of my injuries anymore, not when the pain of my transgressions is
suddenly assaulting my conscience like I’d just committed the heinous crime
yesterday, not well over a year and a half ago.

“We were at that after party, too. Geez,
everyone was, remember? She sent us messages when you two left together. She
was boasting about how she was hooking up with you. When the news broke about
Elena the next day…we knew where you were when it happened, what you were
doing.” She quiets, and I can’t look at her. I can’t look at anything. I lean
on my knees and stare at the sidewalk, completely numb. I don’t want to deal
with this right now. I can’t.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have said
something sooner. I started to, a couple times, but then I saw how you’d
changed. How much your past already haunts you, and I just couldn’t. I didn’t
want you to think I still held it against you. But I should have warned you
about Wes.” I can hear her sigh before she takes my hands and forces me to face
her again. “I’m the one who broke our agreement, not him. Going on tour with
you was huge for us, so we couldn’t pass it up, but Wes made me swear to him that
I wouldn’t get sucked in if we agreed to go. I promised I wouldn’t fall for
you.”

Tears burn my eyes and I’m still not
sure how to speak. There’s so much I want to say, but the words aren’t forming
together in any useful combination. I want to explain Laurel, but there is no
explanation, none except the one they already have. There’s no softer truth, no
defense, just the cold, hard reality exposing the depths of the monster that
created the worst night of my life. The ache mixes with nausea at the fact that
this entire time she’s known. She knew the worst of what I was, my darkest
secret, and yet she still chose to have faith in me, still fought to bring us
to this moment.

I can’t possibly accept that.

“Not a second goes by when I don’t
regret that night,” I manage, finally. I can hear the pain in my voice, but
it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough for what I deserve. I search her eyes,
willing her to understand. Begging her to forgive me for a crime that had
nothing to do with her then, but might be critical now. “I would give my life
to take it back and meet Elena that night instead of going to that hotel room.
I replay that moment, that horrifying mistake, every single day, Holland. Every
day!”

“Yes, but in a way, it did take your
life, didn’t it,” she responds, and I almost choke.

I can’t even begin to respond so I
focus back on the concrete again. The ugly, pockmarked, stained sidewalk that
lives out its days in functional anonymity as a landing place for the soles of
shoes. Sentenced to a destiny of being kicked, stomped, spit upon, and covered
with vomit.
The fate of a sidewalk.

I’m startled from my reverie by a hand
on my thigh, and glance over to meet Holland’s compassionate gaze. We don’t
speak, we don’t have to, and I capture her fingers in mine. I don’t want to let
go. I’m tired of fighting her, this, myself. I’m tired of the past weighing
down my present, dictating my future. There’s something breaking through, hope,
maybe. Something that’s making this constant effort at punishing myself even
more exhausting than usual.