The Darkest Part (36 page)

“Maybe we’ll figure out us,” I finally say.

She returns my smile, and my heart skips a beat. “Okay. Yeah, I think that is exactly what we need to do.”

And I’m unable to hold back. Trapping her wrist, I roll her onto her back and move between her legs, then grabbing her other wrist, I pin her to the bed. My lips catch hers, working her mouth into a desperate kiss. Someone’s going to have to drag me from this room. We might never actually make it back on the road—I’ll never be able to get enough of her.

Her hips arch into me, and I groan against her mouth, wishing like hell I’d never put on my stupid jeans.

Releasing her wrist, I run my hand along her arm, feeling her shiver under my touch. I move higher and tunnel my fingers into her hair, resting my thumb along her jaw, and tilt her head up to look into her yellow-green eyes that I swear, one day, I’ll find a color to match. Just so I can paint her likeness to perfection.

“I’ve never stopped. And I’ll never stop, Sam.” I swallow hard. “I’ll love you so hard it will make your head spin.”

Her breath catches. “I love you, Holden Marks.” She feathers her fingers through my hair, pulling me closer. “Now start making good on that promise.”

I kiss her. I kiss her hard. Damn straight I’m making good on it.

Holden

After signing the papers, I smile at the guy and push the key into my pocket. Then I’m leaving through the office door and heading down the sidewalk, anticipation speeding my steps over the pavement.

Obnoxious honking, engines revving, and the squeal of brakes. Voices climbing over the constant roar of wind tunneling around soaring buildings. This is the soundtrack of New York City.

I won’t lie. At first I was uncertain. Not sure if I could actually live here. But after I knew how badly Sam had always wanted to attend NYU, I sucked up my doubt and made it happen.

Zipping up my coat, I shut out the biting cold, the key burning a hole in my pocket. I couldn’t give Sam what I wanted for her birthday, but I can for Christmas. A huge, cheesy grin spreads across my face as I turn the corner toward the apartment building.

Once we made it to the final destination on my brother’s map, we decided that staying there wasn’t for us. After we’d spread the last of his ashes along the coast of Santa Rosa Beach, we picked another spot—just ours—to unwind from the road trip. Lounging on the beach, the sun shimmering off her dark hair, Sam admitted that she still harbored the dream of going to school in New York and eventually owning her own art studio.

I couldn’t deny her that dream.

She didn’t believe I was serious. That I’d pack up my stuff in Atlanta and move with her. And I was freaked. Not knowing if I could even find a job. But once she was able to transfer to NYU on late submission acceptance, I got my shit in gear and had my boss call in a favor.

He was born and raised here, and was able to pull a few strings to land me a job at an auto body shop not far from the university. It’s strange walking to work instead of driving. I still have my truck—because there was no way I was giving that up—but it’s not a necessity here. And parking it in a garage and only driving on weekends will be worth everything and more when I see the look on Sam’s face.

In about one minute.

I cross the lobby and hit the elevator button for my floor, bouncing on my toes. Like a total kid. I’m that excited. This, along with the news we’d gotten from Amber about Tyler’s case, is the perfect ending to the worst year of our lives. Everything now is in direct contrast to the beginning of this year.

But it’s far from over.

My brother’s murderer was found guilty and convicted last month. The legal system is painfully slow, and moving here with Sam was the best thing I could’ve done—since I didn’t want to go to prison for murdering
him
. James was out on probation when new evidence put him away until his court date.

The redhead, Sadie, surprisingly provided that evidence. Apparently James’ Civic needed a new headlight, and instead of taking it to a shop to have it replaced, he’d ordered one from an online dealership. He never got rid of the old one, though. And Sadie turned it into the police.

They found trace amounts of my brother’s blood in the cracked headlight. It had been cleaned, but they were able to get enough to match it to Tyler’s DNA. And with the journal pages, the lawyer was able to prove it was no accident. James had deliberately met with Tyler that night for one outcome. It was premeditated, and the judge sentenced him to life without parole.

I know how these things work, though. I know that in just a few short years, James could be up for parole on good behavior and all that bullshit. But we’ll face anything else that comes our way.

Shaking my heavy thoughts from my head, I push in the apartment key and open the door.

And my heart thumps my chest hard, a dumbass smile sliding across my face.

Sam’s on her tiptoes, paintbrush extended above her head, working on her painting of the last stop of our road trip. She’s in her paint-covered smock . . . and nothing else. My eyes drift over her bare shoulders to the tightly cinched belt, and then down to the too-short bottom that reveals her sexy thighs and a hint of her sexy ass.

Her head whips around, her high ponytail following. The tip of it is covered in paint, and it leaves a slash of green across her collarbone and tatted stars. “You’re home early.”

I love it. I still love hearing her say
home
. As in our home. “Yeah, I had some things to handle, and I took the rest of the day off.”

Stepping out of my boots, I kick them near the door, then toss my coat over the couch along the wall. Above, a collage of framed paintings showcase black wiry trees. Sam and my paintings from high school.

I coast across the hardwood floor, drawn to her like a magnet.

She drops the paintbrush to the tarp and holds up her hands. “Wait. I’m covered in paint. You’ll get all—”

I strip off my jeans and yank my shirt over my head by the back of the collar. In under five seconds, I’m in my boxers—which I could give a damn about—and I’m pulling her against me. The chilly paint on her skin and smock touches my skin, and it only heightens my need to feel her.

She laughs, linking her arms around my neck. “I could get used to you coming home early.” Her eyes sparkle as they meet my gaze.

I sigh, mock heaviness in my tone. “And I’m really going to miss coming home to you in nothing but a smock.” I press my lips together. Since she’s nearly destroyed all her clothes with paint, she’s taken up painting in the nude. Which you will never hear a complaint from me about. Ever.

Her eyebrows pull together. “What do you mean?”

Bringing my hand between us, I open it, the key resting in my palm. “It’s early,” I say, my nerves strung tight. “But I couldn’t wait. Here’s your present, Sam.”

“Holy shit,” she says, and I chuckle. I couldn’t have asked for a better reaction from her, until she jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around me. “Are you serious? How?”

I shrug. “It’s not much . . . yet. It needs a lot of work. But I figure that just means we can turn it into our own studio.” Her eyes brighten with every word. She doesn’t hear
work
, or any other word, just
studio
. That’s my girl. “And it’s all yours. Leased for one year.”

“Ours,” she stresses. “It’s all ours. And now, as I’m officially your boss, I demand for you to take at least two days off from the shop and put time in with your
real
work.” She narrows her eyes, trying like hell to intimidate me.

I feel a smile curve my lips. “And if I don’t?”

She bites her bottom lip. On fucking purpose. I groan and trap her lip between my teeth, and then inhale her sweet scent as I cover her mouth with mine. She pulls away and shakes her head. “No. You don’t get to do that or anything else until you promise you’ll at least spend two days there working on your art.” Now she’s serious.

I’d already planned to take time off and work there with her, but I just like seeing her fired up. “I promise,” I say. “And you have to promise to wear this”—I drop my gaze, taking in her cleavage popping over the top of the smock—“at least . . . hell. Fuck that agreement. I want you in nothing at all every day. And right now”—I lower us to the floor—“I want to peel this smock off your hot ass.”

I guide her back to the tarp and run my hand over the material, finding the belt tie, and pull.

Sam

“Wait.” I trap Holden’s hand over my smock belt. “I have to tell you something.”

His face pulls together and he pins me with his blue eyes. “Nope. I’ve been dying to get you out of this—”

“For all of five minutes?” I laugh. “You can wait five more.”

He groans and falls beside me on the tarp, resting his hand on my stomach. “You have no idea how painful those five minutes were.”

I roll my eyes and turn on my side to face him. Then, with a determined breath, “Dr. Hartman cleared me to come off my meds.”

His face doesn’t change. Holding its playful expression for a moment longer until my words sink in. Then his facial muscles reveal the hesitance creeping over him. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yes. You know how hard it is for me to focus on my art and school at the same time while taking them. They just make me so tired.” His brow furrows. He’s seen me battling the side effects for months. “And I haven’t relapsed, Holden. I’ve been cleared. She said she thinks it’s time.”

This gets a smile from him, and I know he’s relieved. I hate being on the pills. I never felt I needed the antidepressants, but I stuck with the antipsychotics. Even though I accepted my condition, and through therapy was able to understand why it happened, sometimes I’d still see glimpses of Tyler out of the corner of my vision. Just a quick flicker. Him there, and then gone. I’d hear someone laugh, and it would sound just like Tyler’s laugh. I’d see a movie we watched before, and it’d trigger a memory. I’d feel his presence, if only for a moment.

Dr. Hartman continued to work with me via Skype, and said that it was expected. That the mind takes time to heal, and the heart takes even longer. Beneath all that stuff I’d thought of as psychobabble, she’s actually a romantic. And she said when my mind and heart were ready, they’d release me from the psychosis. The meds helped, but I want to have my life back now. I want to be able to do everything I want with the energy I need.

“How long has it been?” Holden asks. His hand roams over my hip, comforting.

“Three months.” I eye him seriously. “I haven’t had any episodes in over three months. So I should be able to come off the meds safely now.”

He pulls me to him, anchoring his strong arm around me. My chest presses against his, to the dark ink of the dead tree tattoo covering his warm skin. “Then yes,” he says. “It’s time. You know what you need.”

I drive my fingers through his hair. It’s longer now, and I love the way it falls against his pale eyes. “I do. Come here.” He doesn’t hesitate, crushing his lips to mine.

He moves on top of me, his hand working to unrobe me from the smock in hurried, impatient movements. “Did you double knot this thing?” He grunts and yanks the tie loose. Pushing it off my shoulders, his eyes flick over me, hungrily taking me in.

Linking my arms around his neck, I bring his face to mine and kiss him deeply. Then I say against his lips, “Thank you for getting the studio. It’s the best present ever, Holden.”

He palms my cheek, and his thumb sweeps my skin, his intense gaze holding mine. Warmth pools in my stomach. “Just say you’ll be with me always, and we’ll call it even.”

I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Done. Always it is.

He buries his lips in my neck, and I lock my legs around him, pulling him as close as I can get him.

We still have a ways to go before we’re both completely mended. But we’re working at it, every day. And with Holden and me both in sessions twice a month, he’s finally getting the help he needs, too.

Now that his father has married Amber, I try to keep close to her through email. Just letting her know that we’re here, even if Mr. Marks has forbidden her to talk to me now that I’m with his disowned son. She’s an adult, and it’s her choice who she’s with, and who her friends are. But Holden and I hope that if she ever suffers any of the abuse he and Tyler went through, that their mother went through, then she will either ask for our help, or seek it herself.