25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Roman

W hen Holden walks in the door, I can tell something’s wrong. His eyes are a little puffy, the eyeliner he always wears smeared along his face. He crosses the room and sits down beside me. I know this look. Before he can even say a word, I’m opening my arms, and he’s falling into my embrace. There’s a sniffle, then another, and within seconds, he’s shaking against me, his tears soaking into my shirt.

This is not the first time that we’ve been in this position. Holden’s empathy is a gift, a big part of what makes him such an outstanding nurse. It’s also what leads to him sobbing in my arms after a hard shift. After a few minutes, he pulls back and wipes his eyes, smudging more black across his face.

“Sorry,” he says. He always apologizes. I get it—I used to apologize for being emotional about hard things too, for making someone else be responsible for what, I thought, was a me problem. But if therapy’s taught me anything, it’s that being vulnerable and open with the people you love and who love you, is not something you need to apologize for.

“No need to be sorry, Hold,” I say and he nods. “Wanna talk about it?” Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t. Talking it out helps him purge the bad feelings at times, but other times, he prefers to go quiet and just process on his own.

“We lost someone,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “My very first patient of the day, Ro. He was funny, and we laughed and joked, and I walked out of the room, and within minutes he was coding. I don’t know what happened. Well, I do. But I don’t understand why. ”

I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head. “I don’t really need any words of wisdom right now. I kinda need to wallow in it a little. It was my first day. I just wanted it to be a good one.” His voice cracks, and I sit back on the couch, patting my thigh. He sighs, but adjusts until he’s lying on his back, his head resting on my thigh, eyes closed. I reach up and play with the tips of his wavy hair.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before he asks, “Did you see your dad today?”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No. I stood outside his door for almost an hour right after Lianna left earlier, but I couldn’t make myself go in there. I feel bad about it.”

His eyes pop open, and he looks up at me. “You shouldn’t. He put you through hell, Ro. You deserve to feel however you feel about it.”

“I know. It’s just… I came here to take care of him, and I’m not doing that.”

Holden sighs heavily. “Ro, we’ve only been here a day. Give yourself some grace. I’ll go check in on him now and make sure he’s okay.”

I don’t particularly like the idea of Holden taking care of my shitty dad, but I know someone has to, and right now, I don’t think it can be me. “Thank you.”

“Don’t even mention it, Ro. This is what I came for. To help you.”

He lifts himself off my lap and stands, shaking out his arms before turning to look back at me. “You gonna be okay?” I ask when he just stares at me for a few long moments.

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Not a surprise. Holden has always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, especially with his patients. “Yeah,” he says. “I will be. I’m gonna check in on Richard and then probably crash. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m about to head to bed too. The move exhausted me. The only reason I’m not already in bed is that I wanted to wait up and see if you had a good first day.”

His smile lights up his eyes a little this time, more genuine. “No,” he chuckles. “But it can only get better from here.”

“Hey, Rome,” Dad says with a smile.

“Hey, Dad. How are you?” I ask, anxiety already churning in my stomach.

“How’d you get that scar above your eye?” he asks, his face twisting.

I hesitate. Does he want a genuine answer, or is this going to get me in trouble? “You did it. Remember?”

His face falls, and he drops his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Rome. I don’t know why I always do this to you. I want to be better.”

“That’s what you said before, Dad. When you went to rehab. I don’t know if I can believe it anymore.”

“Please, Rome. Just give me another chance. I promise I’ll do right by you this time.”

I don’t believe him. We’ve done this song and dance so many times now that I can’t trust him. “I don’t think I can, Dad.”

He looks back up at me and narrows his eyes. My stomach drops, and I suck in a sharp breath. “I apologize and try to do better by you, and you won’t even hear it?”

I freeze. There’s really no good way to answer that. I guess I could always pretend. Placate him. “I—”

“No. I’m doing my best here, kid. You don’t even appreciate it. And then you wonder why I get so mad at you? It’s because of this. This attitude. You want to blame everything on me, but you don’t want to take responsibility for your actions.”

I sit in silence. I know how this goes. It doesn’t matter what I say. Once he gets going, that’s it. “I was never like this with you until you asked me why your mom left. So, is that it? I’m not good enough for you? You want your mom? She’s not here, Roman. And I am. And you don’t even appreciate it.”

He stands and strides toward me, and I force myself to be still. I should have just accepted his apology. This is all my fault. He’s right. Everything is my fault.

He raises his hand, and I can’t move. I want to run, but I can’t. Why is my body frozen? Why can’t I move? Panic grips my lungs tightly, and I try to scream. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Move. Run.

I jolt awake, sitting straight up with a pained gasp. My heart pounds loudly in my ears as I struggle to catch my breath. I’m drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs. There’s a loud bang on my door, and I jump out of my skin with a yelp. Nausea crawls up my stomach as I scramble from the bed and try to get away from the door.

“Roman, let me in!” Holden yells from the hallway. Holden. It’s Holden. It was a dream. I’m okay. I’m safe.

I force myself to stand on shaky legs and make my way to the door. The adrenaline crashes, and my body starts to tremble uncontrollably. Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I take a deep breath and unlock the deadbolt before opening the door.

Holden has his fist raised, presumably to knock again, but my panicked mind doesn’t register it that way. I throw my hands up to protect my head and flinch. After a few seconds, I realize how fucking stupid that was, and drop my hands and lean against the door. Maybe if I play it off like nothing happened, Holden will let it go. “Everything okay?

Holden gapes at me, wide-eyed. “Is everything okay? Are you fucking kidding me? You were screaming , and then I come to check on you, and there’s a fucking deadbolt on the door. And when you open it, you cover your head like I’m about to hit you. So you tell me, Roman—is everything okay?”

Fuck. I shake my head, tears rapidly falling from my eyes. Holden steps into the room and wraps himself around me, squeezing me tightly. He’s so much smaller than me that it shouldn’t be comforting—it shouldn’t make me feel safe—but it does. “For fuck’s sake, Ro. You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, his voice muffled against my chest. I lay my head on top of his and try to steady myself. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nightmare,” I croak out.

He rubs slow circles on my back as I work to match my breathing to his. “It’s been a long time since you’ve had a nightmare.”

He’s not wrong. “I think being here triggered it.”

“Yeah,” he says with a loud sigh. “I’d imagine it probably did. Get back in bed. I’ll be right there.”

I nod and step back from him, wiping my eyes before heading back to the bed. The blankets are an absolute fucking mess, twisted and tangled from my thrashing. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” I whisper.

“Ro, be serious,” he says, and then I hear the door shut.

I turn back to him, and he’s walking toward me. Looking around his body, I can see the deadbolt is in the unlocked position. My stomach drops out. I can’t have that. “The deadbolt.”

He pauses, then turns back to lock the door. The second I hear the click of the deadbolt, my body relaxes just a little. Hold walks back toward me and climbs into my bed, patting the spot beside him. With a sigh, I crawl in next to him.

Almost immediately, his hand slips into mine. I squeeze it tightly, trying to regain my equilibrium. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“No. Not really. Thanks for staying with me, though,” I whisper.

“So,” Holden says. “The deadbolt.”

“Yeah, it was… it was one of the first things I ever bought for myself when I started working. It made me feel safe.”

“Oh, Ro, I’m sorry.” Holden is no stranger to my issues with my dad. We’ve kept almost nothing from each other over the years. It may have taken us a while to build trust, but once we did, that was it. I’ve never told him about the deadbolt, though. Between the two of us, we have enough issues to keep any therapist in business.

He rolls toward me and lays his head on my shoulder. I close my eyes, trying to calm my body down.

“I want to go to the bakery soon.”

Holden hums. “That’ll be nice. Are you sure they’re still open?”

“Yeah, I looked it up earlier. I’m nervous, but I need to get it over with. I owe them the truth, considering I left them high and dry. They deserve an explanation.”

“I don’t think you owe anyone anything, but if you want to go by, I say do it. Getting out of the house will be good for you, I think.”

He’s not wrong. I’m starting to see why Alexis insisted on weekly appointments. I focus on the comforting weight of Holden’s head, the sounds of his steady breathing, and try to will my body to fall asleep.

When I wake up, Holden is still in bed with me, his mouth hanging open and his morning breath wafting over my face. The alarm on his phone is blaring on the other side of his head, so I scoot away from his disgusting breath and nudge him. It’s all good and well that he came in here last night to sleep with me—at the time I even appreciated it—but waking me up with his alarm and his morning breath is too much.

He lets out a whiny little protest, and I kick at his leg, groaning at how hard it is to wake him up. “Get up Hold,” I grumble. “Your alarm is driving me insane.”

He rolls over with a huff, but otherwise doesn’t stir. I kick at his leg again. “Get up, Holden. Shut your alarm off. Jesus!”

He sits up with a half-snore, his sleepy eyes darting around the room. “Time is it?” he mumbles.

“Time to get up and shut your damn alarm off.”

He doesn’t shut it off. He just keeps looking around like he’s confused about what the words mean, yawning wide enough to crack his jaw. “Jesus Christ!” I lean over him, grab his phone, and finally shut off the godforsaken noise. “It’s 6:15. Shift starts at 7?” I ask.

He nods, then flings the blanket off himself, smacking me in the face with it before heading out of the room. I love him, but goddamn, he’s a nightmare in the mornings.

With a sigh, I flip the blankets off and stand. I may as well get up. I’m really craving stuffed peppers, so I’ll need to go to the store and get stuff today. It’s Hold’s favorite, and if I time it right, I can have them ready when he gets home from work.

I haven’t really unpacked anything yet—unlike Holden, who spent most of the first night here making his room his— so I grab some clothes out of one of my suitcases, get dressed, and head to the bathroom. Holden’s already at the sink, wearing scrubs covered in cows, bleary-eyed as he stares at himself in the mirror, a toothbrush dangling from his mouth. “Thank God you’re brushing your teeth. Your breath smells like ass.”

He glares at me, a bit of toothpaste clinging to the corner of his lips. I can’t help but laugh at his expression—if looks could kill, I’d be dead. He turns his eyes slowly back to his reflection, spits, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, because your mouth smells so minty fresh in the mornings.”

I shrug, grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste. He reaches across me for his liner and a tube of lip gloss, turning back to the mirror to expertly apply both. The smokey liner is a bit of a signature look for him. I used to think he wore it as a bit of armor, but now I’m pretty sure it’s more habit than anything. It does make his green eyes pop, though.

After I’m done brushing, I turn to him. “You good with stuffed peppers for dinner?”

“Oh, hell yes!”

“I knew you’d say that.” I chuckle. “I’ve gotta run to the store, but I’ll have them ready when you get home.”

“Sweet,” he says, patting my arm as he rushes out of the bathroom. “See you later!”

I’m standing in the kitchen prepping peppers. I had to buy a cutting board and a decent knife, because of course, there wasn’t anything like that here. Lianna left a bit ago, and I talked to her for quite a while today. Once she was gone, I finally convinced myself to open Dad’s door and peek in at him. He was asleep, but it was easy to see that he’s not the same man he used to be. Even without the yellow tint to his skin, it’s obvious. The muscle mass he built from years of physical labor is almost gone. The dark circles under his eyes, and the way his cheeks are sunken in, show how bad his health has gotten. I know I need to get my shit together and actually go inside the room, but… one step at a time.

I set the knife down and check the rice on the stove. It still needs a couple more minutes, so I go back to slicing. I can’t believe that this is my life. I can’t believe I’m standing in the kitchen of my dad’s house, cooking a meal I’ve made easily a hundred times.

Like they always do, my thoughts wander back to Beck. I wonder if he would want to see me. I wouldn’t even know where to look for him. Surely he’s not living with his parents anymore. He was always destined for great things. Maybe I could swing by and see if he’s still in town. Riley was leaving, way back when. Maybe he did too. I wouldn’t blame him.

A sharp pain shoots through my hand. “Fuck!” Glancing down, I see blood pouring from my hand onto the peppers and the cutting board. My eyes widen and my hand throbs. Holy shit. I drop the knife and cup my injured hand before turning to the sink. I flip on the cold water and run it over the wound, hissing as the pain sharpens. Fuck me, that hurts. I reach over and grab a handful of paper towels, dropping the roll on the ground when I try to rip a few off.

Pressing them tightly against the wound, I try to stop the flow of blood, but it quickly soaks through. Unbelievable. I pull the paper towel back, and my head gets a little woozy at the sight of the cut. It’s deep. Goddammit. I grab more paper towels off the floor and wrap a bunch of them around my hand, then turn off the stove. No peppers tonight, Hold. Sorry.

I take off down the hallway and peek in on Dad again. I’m not really sure what to do about him, but he’s asleep, and he can get up and go to the bathroom on his own. At least for now. I’m sure he’ll be okay. If being best friends with a nurse has taught me anything, it’s that you don’t want to screw around with a cut like this. I need to go to the hospital.

I glance down at my hand, and crimson is already seeping through the thick layer of paper towels. What a freaking day.