Page 92 of Forbidden Romeo
I curl into his arms, clinging to him, inhaling his familiar scent. “Yes,” I cry, relief washing over me in a dizzying wave. “I’m fine. I just didn’t want to read your final journal entry without you. I had no idea you were expelled from school. I thought you just took the gig in New Jersey, became famous, and never thought of me again.”
He shakes his head against me. “I thought of you every fucking day. Every fucking minute.” Holden pulls back to look at me, his hands framing my face. “McCay told me that if I contacted you again, she’d make sure you didn’t graduate.”
“She made my life hell for three and a half years. They all did. Everyone blamed me for Duncan. And you quitting the football team. Hell, I thought you blamed me for Duncan?—”
“I know,” Holden’s voice cracks. “I’m sorry. It was the only way I knew to make sure you never wanted to speak to me again.”
“Oh, please,” a deep, but playful voice says from next to the SUV. “No one blames you for that. Least of all me.”
“Duncan?” I whisper, feeling like I’m seeing a ghost.
“In the flesh.” A big goofy grin lights up his face.
“What… what are you doing here?” My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of him. He looks as handsome as ever with dark hair that’s cut clean around his ears. Bright blue eyes flash and impossibly, his smile widens even more. Impressive biceps bulge from beneath a t-shirt as he pushes his wheelchair forward. “I wanted to surprise you at the show tonight.” He pauses to spread his fingers in jazz hands. “Surprise!”
“He just got in on the red-eye from London. I was picking him up at the airport,” Holden says, holding open the door for both of us.
“London! What are you doing in London?”
“Consulting for a tech company,” he says casually. As if it’s nothing. “Nothing as cool as starring in a Broadway show with my first love,” he adds with a wink. “Would you come here and give me a fucking hug already?”
I launch forward and wrap my arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for not keeping in touch.”
He shakes his head as we pull apart from the hug, but he doesn’t release my hand as we enter the lobby of Holden’s apartment building and head for the elevators. “I was in a dark place for a couple of years… you trying to keep in touch wouldn’t have gone well.”
Holden presses the button for us and when the doors open, we all get on together. “The only person I couldn’t ignore was Holden,” Duncan adds. “Thank God for him. He never gave up on me.”
“Thank God for Holden,” I whisper and look at him beside me.
The elevator rises swiftly, its polished brass interior reflecting the three of us. I stare at Duncan and Holden, hardly believing they are both here with me after all these years. The elevator bell dings signaling our arrival on Holden's floor.
The doors slide open to reveal a short hallway leading to a single door. Holden unlocks it and gestures for us to enter grandly.
Holden ushers us into his penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. The floor-to-ceiling windows provide panoramic views of the cityscape bathed in the soft glow of dawn. Duncan wheels over to the windows, taking it all in.
“Coffee?” Holden offers both of us as he crosses to a Nespresso machine.
I nod as Duncan politely declines. “I’m actually pretty wiped. Wouldn’t mind getting a little sleep before we start the day. Besides,” Duncan’s eyes drop to the journal still clutched in my hands. “Looks like you two might need a little private time.”
In the craziness of Duncan’s arrival, it didn’t occur to me that he would recognize the journal. But of course he would. He lived with Holden all through college. He knew this journal even more than I probably did.
"Of course, let me show you the guest room," Holden says, starting the Nespresso for me. As he walks past me, he pauses to kiss my cheek tenderly before leading Duncan down the hall.
I circle slowly around the open concept kitchen while my coffee brews and run my hand over the glossy marble-topped island, taking in Holden’s apartment. All this time and I’ve still never been here. I choose not to read too much into that for the moment and instead take my steaming mug of coffee and lower onto the couch, resting the journal in my lap, placing my bag at my feet.
Holden returns after only a couple of minutes and sits beside me. “Did you finish?” he asks, gesturing to the journal.
“One entry left,” I answer, shaking my head. “And I couldn’t imagine reading it without you here.”
Anxiety and worry creeps across his face, etching lines of concern onto his brow. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I slide the journal into his lap. “Let’s finish this.”
He regards me cautiously for a moment. “I’m trying to begin this,” he whispers, his voice quivering slightly, betraying the depth of his emotions. “Not finish it.”
“We have to end one chapter before we can begin the next,” I whisper and reach over, flipping the journal open to the last entry. “Trust the process, right?”
The silence that follows is thick with unspoken words and unexpressed emotions, hanging heavily in the air like a dense fog.