When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,52
time away on a new venture.” He reached over and took Mom’s hand. “I’m happy with how things are right now. Let’s not rock the boat.”
The light above our kitchen table was gold and warm. Mom’s smiling face had color to it and her hair was coming back. Amelia happily scrolled through her phone, her smile easy, like it had been.
“You’re right.” I forced my own smile. “Sorry I brought it up.”
“Yo, River.”
Chance, Dante, Mike Grimaldi and Isaiah Washington and a couple other guys surrounded me at my locker at school the next day, the last day before winter break.
“A bunch of us are skipping out for lunch,” Chance said. “You wanna come?”
“Nah, I was thinking about checking out the talent show.”
Donte made a face. “The talent show? Is he for real?”
I shrugged. “A guy from my Calculus class is going to play the violin. Last week I told him I’d watch.”
Chance gaped. “You told some math geek that you’d watch him play the violin?” He snorted a laugh. “That’s the gayest thing I ever heard.”
The back of my neck reddened. I slammed the locker. “I said I’d go, so I’m going.”
I gave Chance my best don’t-fuck-with-me glare. He and Donte exchanged looks and then shrugged.
“Whatever floats your boat, dude.”
Donte chucked me on the arm. “Catch you later?”
“Yep.”
I watch them go, wondering how they couldn’t see right through my alpha male bullshit.
Because you’ve been wearing that camouflage for years.
Except Holden had seen through it instantly.
I went to the darkened auditorium where the Winter Talent Show was already in progress. Every chair was taken, standing room only. I got stuck in the back, but at 6’2”, I had a clear view of the stage.
I’d just made it. Harris Reed was playing a classical piece on his violin and slaying it. The music was insanely complicated, and I watched in awe as his bow skidded up and down the strings.
When it was over, I clapped hard and whistled…then tasted smoky cloves and cedar cologne in the air. My pulse pounded as an icy-hot shiver danced down my left side as Holden moved to stand beside me.
“I didn’t realize you were a fan of the arts,” he said, his eyes on the stage. “Another layer to the enigmatic River Whitmore.”
“I came to see Harris, from our class. Is that why you’re here?”
“No, I’m stalking you.” My eyes widened and Holden smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for my friend.”
He jerked his chin toward the stage. Miller Stratton walked out carrying a stool, a guitar looped around his neck. He sat down and adjusted the mic stand while a lone spotlight fell on him, deepening the auditorium’s darkness.
“He was pretty amazing at Chance’s party,” I said.
“He’s fucking brilliant,” Holden said, and the back of his hand brushed the back of mine. A spark shot straight up my arm and made the hairs stand on end. I shifted casually and tucked both hands in the front pockets of my jeans.
On the stage, Miller spoke into the mic in a low, almost shy voice. “Hey, my name is Miller Stratton. I’m going to play a song by Coldplay. It’s called ‘Fix You.’”
I let my gaze slide to Holden, studying the contours of his profile—his chiseled jaw and cheekbones, strong nose, full lips. He swallowed, and I watched the movement of his Adam’s apple. Thoroughly masculine. Nothing feminine about it.
“Can I help you?” he whispered, eyes forward.
“It sucks not talking to you,” I said as Miller strummed the first chords of the song. “I don’t know why. You’re arrogant as fuck.”
“Fair. You’re a grilled cheese sandwich.”
I snorted. “A what?”
“Shh,” Holden said. “Listen. This is our song.”
Our song. Nothing was ours. There was no us. But Miller sang that if you never try, you’ll never know, and the words pierced me like arrows.
I took my hand out of my pocket and let it hang by my side again. Again, my skin brushed Holden’s, sending shards of heat dancing up my arm while Miller sang about lights that ignite your bones.
I looked at Holden and he looked at me.
Without letting myself think, I slipped my fingers around the side of his hand and slid my palm against his. He gasped slightly—a small intake of breath only I heard in the darkened auditorium. Then he let his hand settle into mine. Another heartbeat and our fingers laced together.
“And I will try,” Miller sang, his rich voice hovering in the air in that silent auditorium. “To fix you.”