When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,131
down while part of me begged to let it out.
My phone rang. Violet. I sucked in a deep breath. Then another. When I trusted my voice, I answered.
“Hey, Violet.”
“Hey, you,” she answered. “You sound terrible. Chest cold?”
I cleared my throat. “No, I’m…fine.”
“Oh, good. I know it’s late, but it’s been too long since we spoke.”
“It’s been about a month. Not that I’m counting,” I added, forcing a smile over my words. “What are you up to? How’s Miller?”
“He’s great. Perfect, actually, now that he’s done with touring.”
“I’m happy for you, Vi.”
“Thanks, River.”
She quickly changed the subject, as if her happiness would chafe against my loneliness. She updated me on her medical school progress and how she and Miller were planning on moving back to California as soon as she graduated from Baylor.
“Having you here will not suck,” I said.
“I can’t wait. I miss it so much. I miss you and Shiloh…”
Her sentence tapered and I could hear the ache in her voice.
“Do you want to talk about her?” I asked slowly. “Or Ronan…?”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s too sad and I want to talk about you. What are you up to?”
“Guess,” I said bitterly.
“Reading Gods of Midnight.”
“You forgot to add, for the sixth time. Don’t sugarcoat my pathetic existence.”
“Stop. You’re not pathetic. First of all, the book is brilliant. I’ve read it twice myself. Second, it’s all him. Like…he ripped himself open and laid it all out there.”
I closed my eyes. “I know.”
“You still haven’t heard from him?”
“No. So I did something stupid and went on a date.”
“You did?” Violet practically shrieked. “That’s great… Not stupid at all. Why do you say that?”
“Because it was pointless. I wasted the guy’s time and it felt like I was cheating on Holden.”
“River,” Violet said quietly. “It’s been three years since you’ve been with anyone. Two years since you’ve seen him. You’re allowed to live your life.”
“I know but I told him I’d wait for him, no matter how long it takes. But Christ…sometimes I feel like I’m going to implode. Taking care of the family, the business…”
“Who’s taking care of you?” Violet asked gently.
“I’m fine—”
“Stop saying fine. I can hear the hurt in your voice. Makes me want to jump on a plane tonight. How are you, really?”
“Not great,” I admitted. “It’s why I went out, Vi. To make a connection or…I don’t know what. But it was a mistake.”
“Was he an asshole?”
“Just the opposite. He was a good guy. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything.” I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. “Maybe I’m not gay after all. Maybe I only want Holden.”
“Or maybe you’re just in love with him.”
“Yeah, well… It’s looking pretty one-sided. At what point do I give up?”
“You don’t. When it’s real, you can’t give up. I’ve loved Miller since we were thirteen years old. Fate and circumstance tried to keep us apart, but it didn’t work. Nothing will. You and Holden will find each other again. I know it.”
“Thanks, Vi,” I said, genuinely grateful for her love and support, but her theory only worked if Holden felt the same way about me.
All I had was his book, but if the answer was within its pages, I couldn’t find it.
Or maybe that was my answer—nothing.
Chapter Thirty-One
“I just got word,” Elliott said excitedly.
My agent rushed into the anteroom of the Frederick P. Rose auditorium. On the other side of the wall, two hundred people were waiting to hear me give a reading of my book, Gods of Midnight.
“You’ve been shortlisted for the National Book Award. The youngest author ever.” He started ticking off items on his fingers. “The youngest author nominated for the National Critics Circle, the PEN/Faulkner, the Lamba Literary… At this rate, the Pulitzer is just around the corner.”
“Okay, okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, smoothing my jacket in the mirror. “I’m also the youngest author to be banned by six library associations.”
Elliot laughed. “All press is good press, my friend. Chatter about being banned increases interest. And sells more books.”
“We’ve sold plenty of books, Elliott.”
“You won’t be saying that when your royalty checks start rolling in.”
I suppressed a laugh. I could wipe my ass with my royalty checks when compared to the investments I’ve been making with my inheritance.
But no need to be an asshole about it.
Mette Olsen joined us. Tall, with short blond hair and kind blue eyes, my publicist was more like a second therapist; steering my ship to calmer waters when things got choppy. Which was