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“Yeah, my ex.”

We both laughed, but I was the next to speak. “Seriously, though. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to see if things will die down over the weekend.”

We both knew they wouldn’t.

Cam grabbed me before I could get too far away. He pulled me into a headlock and kissed the top of my head while I tried squirming out of his grip. “I’m glad you’re going to give Mick a chance, Holl. He’s a pretty cool dude. And he likes you.” He released his hold on my neck, then gave me a soft push toward my room. “Of course, that could have changed in the three hours you’ve left him downstairs waiting for you.”

“Please! It’s only been, like, ten minutes.”

“Whatever. I’m just glad I was here to offer him some coffee. You’re a terrible hostess, sis.”

Oh geez.
I hadn’t offered him a drink! I’d been too preoccupied with my pajama debacle and hadn’t even thought of it.

“Thanks,
little
brother. I owe you.”

“You do. And if you call me little one more time,
I’ll owe you
.”

“Touché,” I said as I closed the door to my room.

“Oh, and Holland? P.S.”

I opened the door a hair and peeked back at him. “P.S. what, Cam?”

“P.S. Dad’s downstairs with your boyfriend now. Bon jour!” Cam said, mocking my occasional slip into my favorite language, complete with high-pitched tone.

My eyes widened as Cam laughed and closed the bathroom door.
Gah! I thought Dad left for work already!

I dressed in jeans and a light brown cowl-neck sweater, as quickly as humanly possible, and I avoided looking at my face in the mirrored closet doors. I didn’t want to see it lurking there, sucking the life out of my eyes, and I didn’t want to chance anymore hallucinations of statues, or lightning flashes of my reflection. I hoped no one else looked too closely at me today, and I guessed that ditching school and leaving my house were my best options for that. At least Mick didn’t really know what my eyes should look like normally, so I was safe in that regard.

I’d pretend I was normal for as long as I could. At least until ignoring it was no longer an option.

Mick

I’d shocked Holland by showing up at her house unexpectedly this morning, but she’d shocked me when she accepted my invitation to skip school and go out with me today. I figured she’d turn me down, seeing as she’d become so distant during our last not-date. Though my showing up at her made it slightly difficult for her to ignore me completely, I still expected her to say no.

Once inside, the home was even more amazing. Her parents were obviously well off. I shoved my hands in my pockets, feeling out of place around their extravagant furnishings and probably-priceless art.

When Cam came downstairs, I was examining what looked like a painting that should be hanging in the Louvre, not in someone’s house in Dove Canyon. The woman depicted in the painting had a striking resemblance to Holland, and was about the same age. My stomach turned slightly as I realized that this painting may be of a very distant relative, and most likely just months before she changed, lost in the memories of this family forever. They would never know the truth about what happened to her, or why she disappeared from their lives.

I wondered how the Briggs family coped with so many disappearances over the years, but I knew they’d concocted a story long ago, something to pass on from generation to generation. A story that pegged the women of the Briggs family with mental health issues, illnesses better left unspoken of…

Just like they’d say of Holland if I failed.

“Yo! Mick! What’s up?”

Cam high-fived me, then gave me a hug. The gesture was…unexpected. I’d expect him to be a bit wary of me after all Holland went through these past few months.

“Is your sister here?” He asked as he looked past me toward the front door.

Ah. He wasn’t wary of me because he wasn’t
focused
on me.

“Nah, man, Ro’s headed to school. I came to see how Holland is doing.”

“Oh. Yeah, not so good, bro.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead of trying to form words, I followed Cam’s movements around the kitchen.

“Have a seat. Coffee?” He held out a mug.

“Sounds good. Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Cam set the coffee down in front of me at the breakfast island, and pushed over a silver platter, complete with a carafe of heavy cream, a small bowl of sugar cubes, and two matching silver carafes with little lids. They looked like miniature teapots.

“Those are my mom’s weaknesses. Coffee-mate.” Cam curled his lip. “Hazelnut in one, and French Vanilla in the other. She mixes them together—she’s made her coffee the same way as long as I can remember. Don’t know how she uses that stuff. My sister’s the same way.”

Cam drank his coffee without adding anything, then turned to leave. “Gotta split. Be good to my sister today, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

With that, he was gone, and I was left alone. I added some Hazelnut creamer to my coffee.

A few minutes later, Cam and Holland’s father came in and sat down across from me at the island. He was all business; neatly tailored black suit, blue striped button-up shirt with cutaway white collar, and a navy and red polka dot tie. He could have stepped out of Forbes magazine, or even GQ.

As he peered at me from across the table, I realized he must think I’m some punk kid. I sure didn’t dress the part of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and this guy definitely did. I pulled the beanie from my head, then stuffed it into a pocket in my jacket.

He cleared his throat and I immediately felt like I was back in school, a Professor glaring at me for one thing or another, and it took all I had in me to remember I was not in school, and this man had every right to analyze me.

“Sir. Good morning.” I stood and extended a hand across the table. “I’m Mick, Mick Stevenson.”

“Jonathan Briggs, Cameron and Holland’s father.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir. May I call you John?”

“No.”

I sat back down when he did, and awkward silence ensued.

“So…” I said, needing to fill the dead air.

“So. What are your intentions with my daughter, Mick?”

“Come again, sir?”

“My daughter. Your intentions. What do you intend to do with my daughter?”

Perspiration beaded on my forehead and underarms, and I hoped Mr. Briggs wouldn’t catch it. Under normal circumstances, I’d say this was way too early to meet Holland’s dad, and have this kind of conversation with him. Then again, this wasn’t a normal girl, and these were definitely not normal circumstances.

I intend to save your daughter’s life, sir. How can you be so blind to what’s happening to her?
But I couldn’t very well tell him any of that. He’d probably kick my ass.

“Well, Mr. Briggs, I think your daughter’s going through a lot right now, and I’d like to be the one—”

“What my daughter is going through right now is A) none of your business, and B) has been going on for months. I don’t expect you to pretend to understand if you’ve just met her, and I definitely don’t appreciate you waltzing in here, expecting to be the one to fix everything for her. It is presumptuous of you to even think that.”

“No, sir, I’m not saying I want to fix it for her—”

“Good. Then what do you want with my daughter?”

“I just want to get to know her, sir. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more, hmm?” He raised his eyebrows so high they were almost in his perfectly styled brown hair. He stared at me with eyes as blue as his daughter’s used to be, long and hard, as if trying to see if he could wait me out.

Holland raced into the room, a wide, clearly forced smile stretching her lips. My shoulders relaxed at the sight of her. Just minutes ago, she’d been a disheveled mess of bedhead and pajamas—
not
that I was complaining—and now, a mere ten minutes later, she was a complete knockout.

Holland

“Hi, Daddy! Why aren’t you at work?” I leaned over and kissed my dad’s scruffy cheek, then smiled at Mick and mouthed the words
I’m sorry
.

“Hi, Holly-berry. I was at work, but I had to run home for some papers I’d forgotten. And luckily I did. I was just getting to know your friend Mick here.”

Getting to know him, my ass.
I could tell by the set of Mick’s shoulders, and the glint in my dad’s eyes that he’d given Mick the old Briggs’ Third Degree. I’d only ever seen it once before—when Rod and I began seeing each other as more than just friends. My dad reamed him a new one, acting like he hadn’t also known Rod and his family for Rod’s entire life.

I knew without a doubt that Dad just gave Mick the same treatment.

My dad’s cell phone buzzed, and when he glanced up at me, then Mick, then back at his phone, I knew he was needed at the office, but torn because he wanted to interrogate Mick a little while longer.

“Well, we’ll leave you to your business, Dad! Have a good day!”

I grabbed Mick’s hand and pulled him from the table, not waiting for my dad to argue. When he didn’t say another word, I realized I’d been right about the phone call, and it’d been the perfect distraction. As we exited the front door, Dad answered his phone and told whomever it was—I’d bet my left boob, his secretary was on the line—that he was on his way back to the office.

Saved by Lucille.
I’d have to thank her next time I saw her.

Once we were outside, I let go of Mick’s hand and crossed my arms, rubbing them for warmth. The air was brisk even for February.

“Do you want to run back in and grab a jacket?” Mick raised one eyebrow.

“Nah, I’m okay. We’re not going anywhere outdoorsy, right?”

“Nope. I figured breakfast and a movie. Like dinner and a movie, only better.”

“Better, huh? Why’s that?”

“Pancakes.” He answered as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. He walked me to his truck with one hand on my lower back, then opened the door for me. After a few unsuccessful attempts at turning the key in the ignition, the old F-250 growled to life, bringing a smile to my face.

No wonder he didn’t hate Penny. His car was an old beast as well.

I patted the dashboard. “This could be Penny’s new boyfriend.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. What a lame thing to say!

Mick tilted his head sideways and glanced over at me, a smile pulling at his mouth.

I shook my head, my cheeks flush with embarrassment, and looked out the window.
Moron.

“So, um, your dad seems nice.” Mick navigated the truck toward the end of my street.

“Ha!” I turned to face him. “What did he say to you—the old
intentions
talk?”

“Exactly. How’d you know?” He paused and waited for me to answer, looking at me as we waited for the gate to open and let us out of my neighborhood. Mick held my gaze intently.

I shook myself out of his stare, then pulled down the visor to look in the mirror. Had the gray spread further? I looked the same as I had in the bathroom, so I pushed the visor back up and pointed in front of us. The gate sat open, waiting for us to exit. “I just know my dad,” I said.

Mick pulled out of Dove Canyon and turned left, heading toward Foothill Ranch.

“So?” I asked.

“So, what?”

“
So
, what are your intentions with me?” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips when Mick blushed. I’d totally shocked him with my question.

“Oh, um, I—”

“Oh my gosh, Mick, relax. I’m totally kidding.”

After breakfast, where Mick happily indulged in the biggest stack of pancakes I’d ever seen—he wasn’t kidding about having a thing for that fluffy goodness—we pulled up to the movie theater around eleven forty-five, perfect time for the noon showing of the latest Nicholas Cage movie. We opted for the blood and guts B-movie over the token romantic chick flick, an anti-Valentine’s day comedy, and the kid’s glittering fairy movie because, well, none of those sounded quite as cheesetastic as Nicolas Cage.

With everything going on, I was in the mood for heavy cheese.

“I wonder if Nic Cage will be Nic Cage in this.”

“What?” Mick turned to me with that one eyebrow raised again. “As opposed to whom, exactly?”

“Well, you know what I mean. He’s always so Nicholas Cage.” I shrugged. “It’s like, even when he’s acting he’s still
Nicholas Cage
, you know?”

“Okay, examples?”

I grabbed the popcorn Mick handed me and headed for the butter station. “Well, let’s see. Name a Nicholas Cage movie where he wasn’t just completely Nicholas Cage.”

“Hmm,” Mick said as he doused his popcorn in cheddar-flavored powder.

Eeew. Cheddar powder?
What was I even doing out with someone who ruined popcorn like that?

“Okay, I’ve got one,” he said as he turned to me. “
Face Off
. That was a good role for him, and a classic movie.”

“That was a good role for him because he didn’t have to stray too far from being Nicholas Cage.”

“Okay, how about
Con Air
?”

“Same character. Same everything. Different story.”

“But he was a good guy in
Con Air
, and a bad guy in
Face Off
. So how do you explain that they’re the same character?”

“You’re missing the point,” I said around a mouthful of greasy, buttery goodness. “It doesn’t matter what movie it is, what role it is, good or bad, Nicholas Cage will still be Nicholas Cage.”

“
Matchstick Men
.”

“Nicholas Cage.”

“
Wicker Man
.”

“Ugh, a terrible movie, but no less Nicholas Cage being Nicholas Cage.”

“
Captain Corelli
.”

“Oh, come on! That’s just Nicholas Cage with a bad accent.”

“Hmm,” Mick said as we took our seats in the empty theater. “Oh! I’ve got it. A chick flick this time…
City of Angels
.”

“Ooh, a good one yes, but still just Nicholas Cage being Nicholas Cage.”

Mick shook his head and laughed. “You’re not going to waver on this, are you?”

“No, so you might as well just agree with me. And don’t even get me started on Will Smith.”

“Oh?” Mick’s eyebrows shot up into his scalp. “You don’t like Will Smith?”

“No! I mean, yes, I do like Will Smith! But he’s always just Will Smith, you know? I think he’s great, but he’s never not Will Smith, regardless of the movie or the role.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll have to just take your word for it, Holland.”

“That’s probably a good idea, Mick.”

I looked over at him, catching him staring at me. My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered what he was thinking. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but move my focus to his mouth. His lips were full and slightly heart-shaped, with the bottom lip sticking out ever so slightly—the softness a sexy contradiction to his defined chin and cheekbones.

I wanted to kiss him.

Gah!

I shook my head slightly and inhaled a breath, forcing my attention back to Mick’s eyes as I swallowed the gigantic lump in my throat. His eyebrows were drawn over squinted eyelids—his eyes flicking back and forth between mine. His mouth pulled down slowly into a frown.

I quickly turned my head to avoid further scrutiny. Could he see the grayness that slowly seeped into my eyes?

The lights dimmed as the previews began, and not a moment too soon. I welcomed the blackness. If the theater was dim, I could forget about the darkness looming just beneath my weakening façade. How much time did I have before some unknown switch flipped, and the grayness in my eyes revealed something terrible inside me? How much longer could I ignore the change, the feeling of wrongness in my body? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Not with how
off
I felt.

Mick’s leg rested closely to mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if we touched, if the energy running through me would shock either of us. I couldn’t fathom focusing on the movie, not with that kind of acute awareness of every move he made and every centimeter of empty space between us.

A thrill shot through me every time our elbows bumped.

I hadn’t felt this jittery in a long time, and for some stupid reason, I kind of welcomed the feeling. That excited swirling in the pit of my stomach had been too long dormant.

By the end of the movie, I was sure Mick would agree with me on the whole Nicholas Cage thing. He’d be crazy not to, seeing how this was just one more example of Nic Cage being Nic Cage.

When the credits began rolling up and off the screen, I started clapping. It only took a few claps to realize that once again, I was the only one. The Lone Clapper.

“You know that was a movie, right? Not a live show with a cast who can actually hear your applause?”

I rolled my eyes. Like I hadn’t heard that one before.

“Humor me, okay? My mom says everyone always used to clap at the end of shows—live plays, regular movies—it didn’t matter. I guess she just raised me this way. I clap at the end of a movie. I know they can’t hear me.”

“Even at home? When you’re in your living room? Do you clap then?”

“No.”
Sometimes?

Mick shook his head and laughed, then stood to leave.

I grabbed his arm. “Wait! I like to see if there’s any bonus material,” I said, somewhat sheepishly. First the Lone Clapper, and now the Bonus Material Girl. He was going to run away from me soon for sure.

Mick smiled and sat down. I released my grip on his arm, but as my hand fell away, his hand found mine, and he wove our fingers together, sending my heart to pounding away in my ears. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over mine. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. I leaned back and watched the credits roll up and off the screen, thinking of nothing else but the way his hand felt in mine. Warm, strong, safe…I didn’t want him to ever let go of me.

The lights were on. Huh. I didn’t remember them coming on. I’d been too focused on the way my body reacted to touching Mick. In fact, I couldn’t even recall if there’d been bonus material.

Crap.

“So, I guess I’m starting to get the whole Nic Cage thing.”

I turned to look at him, a smile pulling at my lips. “I knew it—”

The closeness of his face stopped the words from coming out of my mouth. He released my hand and placed his fingers on my cheek. A hint of numbness surfaced across my cheek as every nerve-ending reacted to the slight trail of his fingertips as he ran them over my jaw. Then, he slowly cupped his hand to cradle my face. My eyes widened as he brought his face closer to mine.

He licked his lips, and within seconds—before I could form any rational argument—his mouth was on mine…warm, soft, gentle. He kissed me lightly, gently sucking my bottom lip in between his lips, then letting go before doing it again. The way Mick kissed me was the most thrilling sensation I’d ever had, and so unlike the way Rod used to kiss me.

Ugh.
This was no time to allow
him
to pop into my head.

Taking his time, Mick kissed me slowly and deliberately, causing my body to break out in excited goose bumps. I didn’t feel anything outside the places our mouths connected. I closed my eyes and, against my better judgment, permitted myself to relax into his kiss. I didn’t want to be with Mick—or any guy, for that matter—but something about the way he was so tender with me, so kind, caused all my muscles to relax.

I leaned further into him, allowing myself to let go, to give in.

Mick moved his hand from cupping my cheek to settling at the base of my neck. His thumb rested gently near my collar bone, while he moved his other hand to the soft spot above my knee, and all coherent thought went out the window. Every nerve in my body crackled and rushed to the places where our bodies connected—the light pressure of his fingertips pressed into my leg, the movement of his mouth on mine—and I didn’t want to ever
not
kiss him.

The lightness of his lips on my lips sent tingles through my cheeks, as if he woke up parts of me that had long been dormant. I nearly sighed into his mouth, the feeling of relaxation almost too much to take. He gently nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth, and I thought I’d melt right into him, right there in that movie theater.

Here lies Holland Briggs.

Completely undone by the best kisser she’d ever met.

At least she died happy.

Well, I could think of worse fates. I wondered at the idea that just a few months ago I’d thought my depression would be the death of me. Convinced myself that maybe I’d wanted that. Had I succeeded then, I wouldn’t have been here today, kissing Mick for the first time. As his fingers moved up into my hair, I realized how very wrong I’d been, and for the first time in a long time, I felt thankful. Really, truly
thankful
. I’d tried to die that day, and I’d failed.

The best failure of my life.