Hold On To Me

by Taylor Holloway

  And somehow, some way, Rosie brought him back to life. I felt younger, better, and happier than I had in years. Even Ian noticed the change in me. We’d had lunch together on Tuesday, and he’d spent most of it teasing me about how I was smiling like an idiot.

  “You know,” he’d told me between bites of his vegan sandwich, “I don’t think I realized how much I missed the real Ryan.”

  “What are you talking about?” I’d asked. I was genuinely surprised.

  Ian pointed at my face, right between my eyes. “This. This version of you that isn’t all pessimistic and serious all the time. The version that actually laughs now and then.”

  “I’m not usually pessimistic all the time,” I’d replied.

  Was I pessimistic all the time? I didn’t think I was.

  “Ok, whatever.” Ian had merely looked at me with that frustratingly superior look he’d grown so fond of lately. “Whatever you say little brother.”

  It wasn’t until later that evening when I was just sitting alone and smiling like an idiot for no immediate reason that I realized he was right. I had built a shell around myself. Layer by layer, I’d insulated myself from feeling anything after Jen died. It probably explained why every other relationship I’d had since her death failed miserably. Slowly, Rosie was drawing me out of it.

  “This one,” Rosie told me, pointing down at the menu. I looked over.

  She was pointing at ‘A Star is Born’.

  “Perfect,” I replied.

  38

  Rosie

  “You know,” Ryan mentioned as we walked out of the theater, “the one thing that’s difficult about dating someone your age is the heartburn.”

  “Huh?” I replied. My blood ran cold. Was he going to dump me? “What do you mean?”

  Ryan rubbed his chest and shifted uncomfortably. “The literal heartburn,” he clarified. “I almost never eat pizza. My body can’t handle eating like a nineteen-year-old anymore. I’m old.”

  I laughed, feeling incredibly relieved. “You’re not old, Ryan, but we can get you some antacids.” I sighed, feeling silly that I’d panicked so quickly and thoroughly. “Honestly, I thought you were going to say something about the fact that I can’t order a legal drink.”

  Ryan shrugged at me and looked away. “You definitely don’t need to worry about that. I don’t drink.”

  I blinked at him. “Not ever?”

  He shook his head, still avoiding my gaze. “No. I’ve actually never ordered a legal drink, either. You and I are the same where that’s concerned.”

  “Why not?” By this point we were sitting in his car.

  He turned and looked at me over the console. I sensed he was debating something with himself. “When I was your age, my girlfriend was killed in a drunk driving accident. She went through the windshield.”

  I gasped. “That’s horrible.” I’d seen a wreck like that once. I’d been in LA with my dad, and the hills around the city are treacherous. The graphic image had given me nightmares. No wonder he didn’t drink. I wouldn’t either.

  “My brother Ian was the driver. I was in the back, passed out drunk. All three of us were at a party together, and we were heading toward another party. We never should have been in that car.”

  Ryan was in the car? Ian was driving? God, how awful.

  “Were you hurt?” I asked. I looked him up and down, as if expecting to see some indication of the accident.

  Ryan’s expression was the only thing I found. He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I had my seat belt on. They strapped me in.”

  That wasn’t exactly an answer to the question. I waited.

  “I was still very beat up,” he said eventually. “It could have been a lot worse, but I had a severed tendon in my foot, a compound fracture in my arm, three bruised ribs, and a minor cervical fracture.” He grimaced. “It’s probably why I get such bad heartburn now. Ever since having its vital functions performed by machines during my week-long coma, my body has been incredibly picky about what goes into it.”

  No. My heart pounded at the list of injuries. Ryan was lucky to be alive.

  I bit my lip, trying to wrap my mind around what he was telling me. “What’s a cervical fracture?”

  I knew what a cervix was, and I was pretty sure Ryan didn’t have one.

  “A broken neck.” He paused. “Specifically, the top of the neck, right under the brainstem.”

  Oh god. That’s so much worse.

  “I thought people can’t heal from broken necks?” Ryan wasn’t in a wheel chair. He seemed entirely healthy now. Most of what I knew about broken necks came from poor Christopher Reeve. My mom had a huge crush on him, pre-accident. She’d cried when he finally passed away. It was one of the few times I’d ever seen her cry, so it made a lasting impression.

  Ryan nodded. “They can’t. It won’t heal if the spinal cord is all the way broken. I was very lucky. I had a minor compression fracture of the bone. The cord was, thankfully, completely fine. But a slightly different angle of impact would have probably had me paralyzed from the neck down. Or, you know, just dead.”

  I reached over to touch his shoulder. He felt warm, firm, and healthy. Definitely not dead. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. That sounds like a total nightmare. I’m glad you’re ok.”

  He smiled at me. “It was a very long time ago.” His eyes were faraway.

  Nine years. The same amount of time between our ages. We both insisted that nine years wasn’t a long time. By definition, that would mean that the accident wasn’t a long time ago.

  “Ian was driving that night?” I asked, feeling unexpectedly sick. I had a bad feeling I knew the next part.

  Ryan nodded. His eyes darted to mine and then instantly fled out the window. I could feel the tension radiating off him in little waves. Feeling like I already knew the answer, I still asked, “And he was drunk, too?” Ryan nodded again.

  “Ian wrapped the car around a tree going sixty miles an hour. As you can imagine, he was hurt pretty badly, too. He was in traction for months. He has huge scars down his arms from the glass and some burns on his torso. That’s why he always wears long-sleeved shirts.” He paused. “My girlfriend wasn’t wearing her seat belt. At least it was quick for her.” He shook his head, maybe to dispel an image.

  I was glad I had nothing so personally grisly in my memory. At least the person I’d seen had been a stranger. I couldn’t even tell if the person in the accident I witnessed had been a man or a woman. We all look more-or-less the same on the inside, and most of their insides had been on the outside. I swallowed hard.

  “What was your girlfriend’s name?” I wasn’t jealous, more curious, and I felt like I should know her name. This woman, who I’d never met, had buckled Ryan in. She’d probably saved his life. Although, if she had just refused to get in the car and stopped Ian from getting in the car… well, it wasn’t worthwhile to go down that road.

  “Jennifer Argento.”

  I blinked. “I feel like I know that name.” A quick run through my Jason Kane trivia banks retrieved the information in a flash. “Wait. The original bassist for Axial Tilt?”

  Ryan nodded again. My shock was now complete. I knew that he was friends with the members of the band through his brother, and that his profession granted him access, but I hadn’t realized. Jen Argento was widely regarded as a genius, lost before her time in a tragic accident. Her posthumous fame was legendary. Her writing had helped propel Axial Tilt to stardom. If Axial Tilt was Nirvana, Jen was Kurt Cobain. Jason Kane was more like Dave Grohl—infinitely more prolific and still extremely talented, but not the original genius behind his success.

  My heart hurt for Ryan. And Ian, who I now distantly remembered from my Jason Kane trivia as having been in a horrible accident. And everybody. Especially Jen.

  Ryan looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I never should have brought this up. It really kills the mood, huh? Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Ok,” I said, but we
lapsed into silence instead.

  My thoughts were all over the place. I could scarcely believe that Ryan had been through something so physically traumatic and ended up without any scars or lasting damage. His body looked perfect—strong, tall, muscular. I could only imagine it would have been terrifying to wake up broken in a hospital bed and learn that he was the one who’d had the least damage in the crash.

  “Ryan,” I said eventually, “I’m glad you told me about the accident.” I still needed time to think about and process the information. “I can’t imagine how scary that would have been.”

  “It’s really fine,” Ryan promised me. “I’m ok. Ian’s ok. I just don’t like to drink anymore.”

  It’s not ok that Jen died.

  “I don’t think I would drink either if I were you.”

  Poor Ryan was still carrying around guilt over the accident. It was obvious. I wanted to help, but I didn’t think that there was anything I could do. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed his hand and held it in mine. I knew it was inadequate, but it was all I had. He smiled at me.

  39

  Ryan

  I took Rosie back to her new apartment. She’d been excited for me to see the inside of it, and when I came to pick her up for our date, I could see why although we didn’t have time for a tour. The new apartment was a big improvement over the old one. Even the parking lot was a lot nicer. It had lights. And clearly marked parking spaces. Rosie was moving up in the world.

  In the nice building that actually looked as if it were regularly maintained, the apartment sat on the top floor. That meant six flights of stairs to climb, but it also meant no one could establish an illegal business on top of her. Smart thinking.

  “I see you’re taking no chances with a ground-level apartment,” I said as we climbed.

  Rosie giggled and pulled my hand to make me climb faster. “Nope. I insisted on a top floor unit.”

  “Is Trina home?” I asked, wondering if we were going to need to keep things down for her roommate. I liked Trina, but right now, I sincerely hoped she wasn’t around. I didn’t like to share Rosie, and I didn’t like to be quiet.

  Rosie shook her head her eyes glinted mischievously. She flashed her white teeth at me. “Nope.” She fished her keys out of her handbag and unlocked her door excitedly. “She’s staying with Chris tonight and won’t be back until after class tomorrow.”

  Good.

  Once we were inside, I submitted to the short tour of Rosie’s new place. We looked at the kitchen, the living room, and the hallway. Whatever. I wasn’t really seeing it beyond the fact that the apartment was safe, warm, and clean. I was happy for Rosie that she’d found a nice new place to live. I was happier that we were alone here.

  “So, where’s your bedroom?” I asked bluntly.

  Rosie didn’t so much as blush. “Don’t you want to see the coat closet?” She teased instead. I reached for her, and she danced out of my reach. “Or where the washer and dryer are?”

  They have their own laundry. Fancy. Still…

  She tried to make toward the kitchen, but I blocked her. “Don’t you want to see the dishwasher?” she said innocently.

  “Not particularly,” I replied, using my longer grip to snatch her close to me. I threw her up over my shoulder. “Which way to the bedroom.”

  Rosie squealed and giggled. “Hey!”

  Since she wasn’t sharing, I went hunting. The first door I opened had pictures of Trina and a bunch of her towheaded relatives. Wrong one. I headed across the hall.

  I dropped Rosie unceremoniously on the bed and she giggled and reached for me. I didn’t keep her waiting.

  “You know,” I told her between pulling off her little shirt-dress thingy and kisses, “when I first came to your apartment and I was going through the apartment and turning things off, I found your vibrator.”

  “You what?” That did make Rosie turn a delicate shade pink.

  I smirked. “I’ve been thinking you need another one,” I told her.

  She bit her lip. “Actually, Trina went back in and grabbed it for me.”

  That was true friendship, right there. It ranked right up there with having a buddy to delete the porn off your browser if you suddenly passed away.

  “Where is it?” I questioned. Rosie fished it out of a nearby box and set it on the bed between us.

  Something about the way she dropped in on the bed like it might bite her tipped me off. “You’ve never used this thing before, have you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?” I asked gently. I didn’t want to push her into something she didn’t want to do. Some people don’t like sex toys, and while I wasn’t one of them, if Rosie was, I wasn’t about to push her.

  “I don’t know how.” If anything, her expression looked frustrated and lost. “Trina bought it for me as a birthday gag gift.”

  Women buy each other vibrators? That was news to me, and fascinating. Men don’t buy one another sex toys. Ever. At least in my book, that would be a decisive friendship-ender. Too weird. Way too weird.

  I shook my head to focus back on Rosie and the conversation we were having. “Do you want to play with it tonight?” I asked. “They can be pretty fun.”

  Rosie shifted from side to side on the bed and nodded. Her smile became mischievous again. My heart rate leapt.

  I opened my arms to her and she leaned up against me, pushing us both down against the mattress. Her eagerness was back with a rush. I went to work on stripping her out of her clothes immediately. Her outfit was adorable, but it was time for it to go. Getting it off of her didn’t take long.

  Beneath her pretty, fashionable date-night outfit, Rosie had also stepped up her lingerie game. She had on a pink, lacey bra and panty set covered in little sparkly rhinestones. It looked phenomenal on her and even more phenomenal on the ground. I’d always been the type to rip straight through wrapping paper to get to my presents. I took the same approach to Rosie’s fancy underthings.

  She certainly didn’t seem to mind. Rosie curved up against me, wrapping her arms around me and seeking the contact and friction that we were both burning for. I lavished attention on her chest, taking one perfect nipple before the next between my lips, and watching her arch her back and sigh. She liked that. I could tell. It took serious restraint on my part to grab the vibrator instead of a condom. Rosie jumped when she heard the toy turn on.

  “What are you going to do with it?” she asked. Her voice had turned nervous.

  “I’m not going to do anything with it,” I told her, pressing the handle into her palm. “You are.”

  I propped myself up on my left side and smiled at her.

  “You mean you just want to… watch?” She sounded confused as to how that could be the case.

  I grinned at her. “I want to watch.”

  Well, maybe not just watch. I unzipped my pants and took myself in hand. Her pupils widened and dilated when she saw that I was dead serious.

  Shyly, she angled the toy between her thighs, jerking when she felt the vibration. Moments passed as she fiddled with the setting, delicately shifting and wiggling against it until she found something that felt good. She met my eyes, holding it against herself with open lips. Every now and then she’d whimper, gasp, and then continue. It was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.

  Good girl, I thought to myself as I fucked my own fist. Make yourself come with your little toy.

  “It’s almost too much,” she whispered. There was a high, desperate tone to her voice. If she’d never used a vibrator before, that was hardly a surprise. Her skin was flushed pink and her green eyes were heavy-lidded.

  “Do you want me to do it instead?” I asked her.

  Rosie shook her head. “No. No, I want to…” she replied. Her voice had gone breathy. Her eyes slipped nearly closed, but they were now fixed firmly on my cock. She was getting close.

  Rosie spread her legs wide, giving me an even better view as she reached around her
hardened nipples to pleasure herself. She arched her back, gasping hard as her orgasm shook her, dropping the vibrator and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

  Once her body stopped shaking, I couldn’t wait any longer. I rolled a condom on and pulled her close to me, hitching her leg up over my hip. She was dripping wet and ready, and she pushed her hips forward, smiling. She took my cock with the same focused excitement with which she’d used the vibrator. Her body was soft, giving, and perfect.

  I rolled her fully on top of me, maneuvering her easily, and watching her ride. I was hypnotized by her bouncing, round tits. She was getting very proficient at being on top, and that suited me just fine. The view was better from the bottom. I grabbed for the vibrator, angling it between us to put pressure on her clit. She came almost instantly when it was applied to her, squeezing so tight around my cock that I was pulled right with her into orgasm. I came undone beneath her, gripping her slim hips and moaning her name between clenched teeth.

  We held another for a long moment afterwards, reveling in the feeling of skin-on-skin. If Rosie knew what I felt for her, it might scare her. She was young and carefree. I considered telling her that I was falling for her, but out of fear that she’d run away from the sort of commitment a thirty-year-old man might want from a woman, I held back.

  It would be wrong to tell her, I told myself. She would swiftly outgrow me anyway. It was better to enjoy this time now, while we could still pretend our relationship wasn’t founded on shaky foundations. That way when the earthquake finally came and I couldn’t hold onto her any longer, at least I’d have happy memories of her.

  40

  Rosie

  Ryan hadn’t planned to stay over on Wednesday night. He couldn’t. I knew he had to get to work the next day, and I needed to go to class, but it sucked when he pulled away from me. My bed felt instantly colder.