Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2)

by Alyson Santos

“Sorry, dude. You’re cute and all, but I’m practically engaged.”

  Toronto, Ontario

  September 29 - October 4

  Despite our late start, we make good time to the border at that time of the morning. Our driver has to rouse us for a quick inspection of our bus and review of our passports, but nothing like the stop two years ago when the border guard seemed to take pleasure in her power to make our lives miserable. Three hours we waited as they did whatever it is they do with our paperwork and forced us to crowd into the uncomfortable waiting room of the border offices. I was certain we’d be spending the rest of the tour coordinating Kenneth’s bail, but by some miracle we managed to keep our tour manager out of prison, even if it required miles of frenetic pacing through the maze of ugly chairs. We never did learn the reason for the hold up. They just handed our passports back and told us to enjoy our stay.

  Our delayed start also means we hit Toronto later than planned. Thankfully, it’s a Sunday so the legendary Toronto traffic is only a mild nuisance, not a complete 20-kilometer parking lot. You only need to sit through a Toronto rush hour once to learn it’s a vicious torture the likes of which we haven’t seen since medieval inquisitions. Kenneth probably would have kicked me off the tour himself for sending us into downtown mid-morning, but it turns out to be a pleasant drive on a Sunday. Callie is glued to the windows staring up in awe at the passing landmarks.

  “There it is. The ACC,” Casey announces, motioning straight ahead. “That’s where we’re playing Friday and Saturday.”

  “I can’t believe all the Canadian flags everywhere!”

  “It’s Canada, babe,” he points out with a grin.

  “I know, but…”

  “Wait until we get her some Timbits,” I joke. “You can’t get tea though, Cal. You’ve got to go with a mocha or cappuccino or something.”

  “Huh?”

  I point out the window.

  “Tim Horton’s? Oh, is that a coffee shop?”

  “No, it’s a way of life here,” Casey explains. “Kind of a religion, really.”

  “I’ve been known to accept a cappuccino in a crisis,” she teases. “We’ll make this work.” Then, turns to me. “Holland’s from this area, isn’t she?”

  “North York, I think.”

  “Are you going to meet her family while we’re here? We have plenty of time.”

  I quiet, not sure how to answer a question like that. I woke up dark today so I’m not convinced it’s safe to even try. I can’t imagine she’d want to bring me home. My own family wanted nothing to do with me. I know hers is close, sweetly dysfunctionally functional, and pretty much the opposite of what should be exposed to my divisive presence. Holland and I never discussed her plan to introduce me into her personal sphere, and to be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it since I don’t have one. I don’t know what I would do if my sweet, intelligent, accomplished, driven, beautiful little girl brought home Luke Craven, but two hundred years ago it probably would have involved a shotgun. Forget about the awkwardness of facing the shadow of Wes, the son-in-law they almost had and probably still mourn. How many frames does he occupy in the upstairs hall gallery? My picture is in the pile of bathroom smut by the toilet.

  “I’m guessing that hasn’t come up,” Callie observes, drawing me back, and I shake my head.

  “Not exactly, no.”

  Her sympathetic look isn’t helping right now, and I force my gaze back to the window. I’d been so wrapped up in Holland, in the magic she’s inserted into my life, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to what I’d do to hers. I hate that the old insecurities are suddenly creeping back, threatening the little shelter we’d begun to build, and do my best to control the rising chills of panic.

  Holland and I were just a story until this moment, until the realization that the story will have to become reality to last beyond the neat little bubble of this tour. Holland threw herself into my baggage; I will have to confront whatever comes with her, even if it’s the one thing I will never understand, the one thing that will never understand me.

  Family.

  I pull out my phone and stare at her name. Everything in me wants to send her a message. That I miss her, that I’m thinking about her, that I can’t wait until we park in ten minutes and can steal a touch or two. But my fingers won’t move, frozen by sudden images of smiling parents and adoring siblings. Laughter around a Christmas tree, birthday parties, graduations, church choirs, and cheesy beach photos in matching t-shirts. Suddenly, all there is is the world where I don’t belong, the world that couldn’t accept me even if it wanted to. I see Holland’s empty seat at the table because she chose me over them. Because she always chooses me. Because suddenly, it occurs to me that I might love her too much to let her make that choice.

  I close my eyes, my chest heavy, aching as the darkness starts to seep from the sewers of my head. The slow mist quickly builds into a suffocating fog, clouding out the light, disguising the recognizable markers I’d planted to maintain my bearings over the last few weeks. I draw in air, but it does nothing to soothe my lungs. Triggers. Triggers. Triggers. I clench my fists. Great, I can label them now. Big fucking deal.

  “Luke, hey, you ok?”

  Startled, I cast a quick glance at Callie. “Fine, yeah, why?”

  I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. Casey too.

  “Just tired. I’m gonna grab something from my bunk. We’re pulling in.”

  I feel their eyes in my back. They’re concerned and they should be. Because right now, all I want is to be alone with my darkness.

  ∞∞∞

  “Luke, you coming?”

  “Be out in a minute,” I lie from the back. I close my eyes and lean against the backrest of the couch, fighting to hold my head together. I hate this sudden meltdown. I hate that the fact that I understand it does nothing to help me stop it. I hate that I’m too weak to control my own thoughts. God, I just hate right now.

  I’m not surprised by the backslide, but there’s no rejoicing over the few extra seconds you get to study the cliff before you slam into it. These last few weeks have been brutal, and last night’s flashback with Jesse wrecked me way more than I’d anticipated. I was rock solid in the moment, but paid dearly the rest of the night as a captive audience to the silent movie replay behind my eyelids. Every dark tunnel and hippie flower graffiti wall that had ever imprisoned me in my protective substance-induced stupor seemed to flash in an endless stream of reminders about why I have no right to be here. I have no right to be here. I have no right to be here. I have no right to…

  “Hey, can I come in?”

  I force my eyes open at her voice.

  Her voice.

  “Yeah, sure, sorry. Just taking a break.”

  She’s studying me. I’m sure she knows it’s the kind of break that doesn’t make sense to most people. The break from life.

  She moves beside me and takes my hand, and I fight the urge to pull away. My head knows it would hurt her, not protect her, but the cloud is fighting hard to undermine my head. Empty place settings. Two Christmases alone before the weight of her massive mistake settles in.

  “What are we doing, Holland? What are you doing?” I blurt suddenly. It comes out like a cobra strike. She recoils just as strongly.

  “What do you mean?”

  I face her, I have to, and brace myself even as the pain nearly crushes me. “You know what I mean. This. You and me. We have a connection, great, but what happens when the tour is over? What happens when your family calls you home for dinner? Then what? What happens when you realize that your give is astronomically bigger than your take? That I need you way more than you need me?”

  She stares at me, her eyes. I can’t look at her eyes and lean forward instead, covering my face with my hands.

  “No, Luke. No way.”

  I still can’t look.

  “Hey! Look at me! Face me!” she cries, jerking my arm. I do, but wish with all my soul I didn’t have to. “I do
n’t know what this is, but it’s not happening, ok?”

  She gets up and moves toward the partition.

  “Where are you going?” I call after her.

  Her glare slices into me “You’re not breaking this off, Luke Craven. Got it? You’re having one of your dark days. Fine. Have a dark day, but I care about you and I’m not letting your bad day ruin the rest of our lives. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She stops. “Oh, and be ready at five tonight because we’re having dinner with my parents.”

  With that she’s gone. And it’s just me again. Just me and the thick air that never seems quite right for my lungs. Just me and my failed insecurities. Those damn insecurities didn’t stand a chance against Holland Drake.

  ∞∞∞

  “You look amazing,” I breathe when she meets me at the cab several hours later. She looks more than amazing. She looks like my second biggest regret if I had succeeded in my quest that morning.

  “So do you,” she returns with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” Holland had been right. I’d needed time alone to clear my head, not a broken heart.

  She gives the driver the address to her parents’ house, and the car jumps into motion.

  “Holland, about what I said this morning…”

  “You don’t believe you’re good enough for me. Blah blah blah. Yeah, we’ve been over this,” she finishes for me, and I can’t stop the slow grin.

  “Ok, but your parents…”

  “Can’t wait to meet you. Anything else?” The clear challenge in her eyes shuts me up, and I shake my head with a shy smile.

  “I guess not.”

  “Good. Because you know what I did this afternoon?”

  “What?”

  She fishes through her purse and pulls out a piece of folded notebook paper. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “A list.”

  “A list?”

  She nods.

  “A list of what?”

  “Of all the pros and cons of dating you.”

  I almost choke. “And you want me to read this?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, actually I do. It surprised me, so I think it will surprise you.”

  I accept the frightening document and unfold it with more than a little apprehension. My heart is beating wildly, thudding against my chest as I glance down at the neat, meticulous strokes. There are actually pros. Shock number one.

  Pros:

  He’s deep, intelligent – a lifetime of layers to unravel

  Disgustingly talented – we can grow from each other

  He understands our world, the struggle of the spotlight

  Sexy as hell - duh.

  He fights so hard without knowing it – he fights for me

  He touches people without trying

  Jesse! How he looks out for him and turns his scars into someone else’s lifeline

  He has no idea how amazing he is, even though everyone else can see it

  He makes me feel like I’m the most important person in his universe

  He needs me and I want to be needed

  Cons:

  He doesn’t believe in himself. Maybe he never will. Can I believe enough for both of us? Do I have a choice when the thought of living without him causes physical pain?

  I stare at the note. Reading, re-reading. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know what words could possibly come next. The fact that she has any pros leaves me speechless. The fact that this is her heart leaves me breathless.

  “Keep it,” she whispers as I start to fold it back up to return to her. “Let it replace the other one.”

  I can feel the hot prick of tears in my eyes as I nod and grip the priceless treasure in my hand. I still don’t know what to say, and do the only thing that makes sense at that moment: take her hand and determine to never let go.

  ∞∞∞

  “That’s it there. Second house on the left,” Holland directs to the driver, and I follow her instructions as well. Sure enough, an adorable brick two-story is packed narrowly among a line of similar structures on the well-kept street. A middle-aged couple rises from their porch chairs at the approach of our cab and Holland is already out of her seat.

  “That’s them,” Holland explains with a grin I know will stay with me for a long time.

  “You go. I’ll take care of the cab,” I offer, and she sheds twenty years as she claps her hands and launches from the car toward her parents.

  I pay the fare, barely able to count out the correct change with my eyes constantly wandering toward the reunion on the small porch. I finally complete my assignment and venture from the protective shelter of the car. Holland glances back, and I know the topic has turned to me. She must notice my hesitant approach and bounds toward me with nearly the same enthusiasm.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Luke. Luke, this is Annie and James.”

  I force my best smile. It’s not hard when faced with the sincere examples that greet me. “Mr. and Mrs. Drake,” I acknowledge, shaking their hands.

  “I’m pretty sure she said Annie and James,” her father corrects, and my forced smile turns genuine.

  “Sorry. Annie and James.”

  Annie studies me, and I don’t miss the look she exchanges with her daughter. Her eyebrows rise in approval, and it’s everything I can do to keep a straight face.

  “So cute,” I hear her whisper as her father waves me inside.

  I’m assaulted by the smell of home-cooked food and potpourri as we duck into the foyer, my eyes adjusting to the clean and humble surroundings. Not at all what I was expecting, but then again, I didn’t really have expectations.

  “You can leave your shoes there by the door,” James instructs, and I slide them off to add to the row. Holland does the same and takes my arm, still glowing.

  “Are Sylvie and Hannah here yet?” she asks.

  “Unfortunately, Hannah couldn’t get off work, but she will find another time to see you while you’re here. Sylvie’s in the basement with Emma. Go tell them you’re here.”

  Holland gives me a conspiratorial look. “Ok, so I should have told you this before, but I know how you get.”

  I brace myself. “Oh no. What?”

  She gives me a sheepish look and leans close. “My sister Sylvie is kind of a huge NSB fan. Like, ridiculously obsessed. Way more than I am,” she teases, and I shake my head with a grin.

  “Oh, I see. So now you tell me.”

  “I’m warning you now, right? Can you please do me a favor and just show up in our basement?”

  I stare at her in disbelief. “Wait, what? Does she not know I’m coming?”

  Holland bites her lip and shakes her head with a mischievous glint. “No. I made my parents swear not to tell her. She thinks she’s meeting you after Friday’s show.”

  My eyes widen. “Seriously? Does she know we’re…together?”

  She shakes her head again and holds her finger to her lips. “No. None of them do. I wanted to talk to them about it in person. I told them we’d become close. They don’t know how close.”

  I sigh. “Ok. Well, hang on then, I have a better idea. Do you have a guitar here?”

  She squints at me for a second before nodding. “Yes…”

  “Just trust me.”

  “Ok, be right back.”

  I wait as she disappears down the hall, and her mother peeks in from the kitchen.

  “Did she just leave you there?”

  “She’s getting something for me,” I assure her with a smile.

  “Did she tell Sylvie and Emma you’re here?”

  “We’re about to.”

  Annie nods. “Do you like lasagna?”

  “I love it.”

  “That’s a relief because she made way too much like usual,” James’ voice calls from somewhere behind the wall.

  “Oh shush. You like to take it for your lunches.”

  “For a few days, not a few weeks.”

  Annie rolls
her eyes toward me, and I return a grin. “He loves it,” she mouths, then disappears back into the kitchen.

  Holland returns with the guitar, a mid-range Martin that’s in surprisingly poor condition.

  “What happened to this?” I laugh as she hands it to me.

  “You have Percy. This is Sam,” she explains, beaming. “I just prefer to leave Sam at home for Emma who’s starting to get into it.”

  A sense of reverence washes over me as I take the precious instrument. “Thanks, Holland. It’s gorgeous.”

  She nods. “It was my first real guitar. I had another one before it, but this was from when I first got serious about music.” She rubs her hands. “Ok, so what’s the plan?”

  I clear my head and focus back on the door to the basement. “Well, I don’t know. How far down in the basement would they be?”

  “There’s a small finished section right at the base of the stairs. They’re probably watching TV.”

  “Ok, perfect.”

  I open the door quietly and work my way down a few steps, careful to make as little sound as possible. Once I find a good spot I lower myself to the carpet and adjust the guitar in my arms. I glance up at Holland and give her a quick smile, loving the look on her face as she begins to comprehend my plan. Then, without warning, I launch into my favorite acoustic rendition of “Greetings from the Inside.”

  The volume of the TV drops instantly, followed by literal screams as a young woman who must be Sylvie turns the corner and spots me on her steps. Emma races up behind her big sister and starts grinning as well, although with the shy cool of a self-conscious teenager. The commotion draws Holland’s parents, and before I know it, I’m trapped on the stairwell by an adoring Drake family. I cast another glance at Holland and nearly fumble at the glisten in her eyes. I can hear the smile in my own voice as I look away again and finish the song.

  “Oh. My. Gosh. No. Freakin’. Way.” Sylvie cries, rushing up the stairs. I stay rooted in my place so she can reach me and hold out my hand.

  “Hi, I’m Luke,” I say, and she nods, eyes wide with shock.