When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,87

okay, my boy. Couldn’t sleep. Your mom…” He swallowed hard. “I guess I’m just thinking too hard tonight.”

I nodded and sat down with him.

“What have you been up to?” he asked with a forced smile. “Not too much trouble, I hope.”

My heart cracked a little. For his pain and for me that I couldn’t talk to him, father and son, about the milestones in my life.

I lost my virginity tonight, I wanted to say. With a guy. And it was fucking perfect.

“Not much.” I glanced at the letters. “What’s all this?”

“You haven’t answered any of them,” he said.

I blinked. “I haven’t? Yes, I have. Alabama…?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. The deadline has passed.”

The earth seemed to tilt on its axis and a great gust of relief swept through me, then died the next second.

“The gal from Admissions called today, asking for you. I told her we just lost track of the deadline and she said she’d make an exception.” His smile widened slightly. “That’s how much they want you, son. I’m so proud.”

I swallowed. “So what happens next?”

“You accept and then in a few short weeks, we pack you up. Training camp starts the first week in July—”

“Dad,” I said, my hand on his. “How can I leave her?”

He shook his head slowly. “River…she’s going to leave us first.”

“Maybe not,” I said, trying to make myself believe it.

“She will, son,” Dad said, tears shining in his eyes. “And if not…we take everything one day at a time. That’s all we can do. That’s all anyone can do, right?”

His voice broke and he covered his eyes with one hand, shoulders shaking. Wood scraped linoleum as I pushed out of my chair and stood over him. I put my arm around him, giving him whatever I had to give.

And even as I held my sobbing father, part of me wondered if he could smell Holden on me or if his scent had already faded away.

Chapter Nineteen

I peeked into my English class. Ms. Watkins was grading papers at her desk, a half-eaten macaroni salad in a plastic to-go container beside her. I sucked in a breath and knocked.

She smiled brightly as she waved me in. I slid into a desk in the front row directly in front of her and slouched over, resting my chin on my fist on the wood. Someone had scratched Martin Blasely sux cock onto the surface.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Ms. Watkins was watching me. “Something on your mind, Holden?”

River Whitmore was on my mind. I could still feel him everywhere on me. Inside me. Christ, I’d considered myself somewhat experienced on the sexual front, but River had obliterated everyone that came before him and probably everyone who’d come after.

I was already ruined, and he ruined me all over again. In the best way.

Ms. Watkins delicately cleared her throat.

“Right, yes, the business at hand.” I leaned back, all casual laziness. “So let’s say—hypothetically, mind you—that someone was curious about the application process for UCSC’s MFA writing program?”

She set down the Red Pen of Death she used for grading papers and folded her hands on her desk. “This person is interested in skipping the BA program altogether?”

“Indeed. The boredom would kill him if he had to attend classes like Commas and Margins 101.” I examined my nails. “This person is something of a prodigy in the brains department.”

“I see.” Ms. Watkins looked like she was holding back her smile.

“Not that it’s relevant,” I added, my throat suddenly thick, “but this person has also not had a drop of booze in months. Except for beer, but we all know that doesn’t count.”

“That’s debatable, but…” Ms. Watkins touched a hand to her heart. “That’s wonderful, Holden.”

“So…what do you think?”

“I think if this person were serious, some meetings could be arranged with the English Department at the university. Is he serious?”

I drummed my fingers on the desk, thinking, cautioning myself like I had been all weekend not to let post-sex glow go straight to my head. And heart.

Just because River fucks as if he loves me…

I hauled myself out of the desk and toward the door. “He’ll get back to you.”

Ms. Watkins smiled into her work as she picked up her Red Pen of Death. “I sincerely hope he does.”

Outside, I lounged against the brick wall and lit a clove cigarette to calm my nerves. It was reckless and stupid to let one night change things. Except it wasn’t one night. It’d been months of nights with River, each kiss and