“I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I respect that. Really, I do. We can figure this out later, and you know I won’t judge you at all if this is the way you want to play this. But just let me say this and it will be the end of it until you’re ready, okay?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She knows what I would say if she did. “Here. He gave me this last night and . . . Well, even though I’m not going to push, I think you should have this.” She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a small white card, sliding it over in front of my seat. She stands, giving me a small hug, and whispers in my ear, “I won’t push, Iz, but I think you need to do something with that.” A small smile later, and she walks out of the room, leaving me scooting back from the small card like it holds the plague.
After a nice inner smackdown, I finally reach out and flip the card over. It shouldn’t come as a shock, I knew what I would probably find when I did, but nevertheless I still spit out a rapid burst of air.
Holt Reid
Corps Security
770.555.6839
If anyone were watching me, they would think I have completely lost it. Every screw is loose and I am not only off my damn rocker, but I am running far from it. Hysterical laughter bubbles up before I can suppress it. Wiping the tears from my eyes, trying to calm down, I finally focus back on that stupid, stupid card.
Holt. He will never be Holt to me. I sit there for I don’t know how long . . . hours, minutes—hell, it could have been seconds—just looking at his name in the elegant script, trying to figure out exactly who Holt Axel Reid is today. Is he married? My heart skips a beat at the next thought that filters through my mind . . . Does he have children? It’s a logical question; we aren’t those blind-by-love teenagers anymore. It makes sense that he might have moved on. I did . . . even if it was a laughable move I made. Why does he even want to talk to me? He obviously decided a long time ago that he was done with me. Fate is being a huge fucking bitch by throwing us back in each other’s paths.
I stuff the card into the front pocket of my hoodie and pull my work out for the second time today. What can I say? Denial and I are going to become best of buds.
Dee comes back a few hours later and asks if I want to order some takeout for dinner. I couldn’t really care less, but I tell her sure and to order whatever looks good. I know if I don’t at least act normal—or as normal as possible—she would start fretting and force me to talk. I am not ready.
Four hours and two bottles of wine consumed between the two of us later, I find myself sitting back in my girly room, looking down at that small white card again. Holt. Holt Reid. I’m sure the giggle that comes out this time sounds just as wonky as it did earlier, but I just can’t help it. How fucked up is this whole thing? Holt . . .
It may be the stupidest decision that I have made in a long time, but I pick my phone up off the nightstand and slide my finger across the unlock screen. I add his stupid new name to my contacts and store his information. Opening up a new text screen and thinking, What the hell? Might as well. At least this way I don’t have to look into those brilliant green eyes.
Me: So we go by Holt now, huh?
Axel ‘Holt’: Izzy?
Me: Ah, bingo . . . anyone else out there not know you as ‘Holt’?
Axel ‘Holt’: Plenty, Princess.
Me: No, I am not your Princess.
Axel ‘Holt’: Okay, so we are going to act like we’re still fucking kids? You texted me, IZZY, so you tell me what’s going?
Me: I am not acting like a child. I just don’t understand why you even bothered to ask me to contact you. I think we can both agree the past needs to just stay there . . . in the past.
Axel ‘Holt’: No, I don’t agree with that. Not at all. Where are you? I’ll come to you. We are not doing this over a fucking text.
Me: No, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea. If you’re dead set on dredging this back up, then fine, but we do this on my terms. I need to process this. I can’t just sift through all this in less than a day. You want to talk, fine . . . but not now.
Axel ‘Holt’: Process? What the hell is there to process? Where are you, Izzy? Not asking you again, and I am not fucking doing this text message shit like a goddamn prepubescent little shit.
I really should have known better. Sighing, I set my phone down. There really is no point in continuing to argue with him. I did what I wanted to do and I asked him to let me have my time. If he can’t respect that, then fuck him and closure be damned.
Ten minutes later, my phones chimes. Then a minute after that, I hear the reminder beep, followed shortly by another chime.