Page 37 of His Secret Santa
Lincoln stared at her.
“It was just a quickie, for fuck’s sake, to take the edge off. I tried fucking you, but…” She shrugged and glanced critically at his crotch.
“I don’t give a shit if you fucked Troy—or even the entire fucking football team. We’re over and nothing is going to change my mind.”
McKenna approached the door, eyes cool. “We’ll see about that.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, your dad might have something to say about it.” She smiled deceptively. “He loves me. We both know he wants us together.”
“I don’t care,” Lincoln mumbled. “I’m an adult. I’ll date who I want.”
“We’ll see,” she reiterated as she sauntered out the door.
Lincoln groaned and closed the door behind her and rubbed his eyes.
Could things possibly get any more fucked up?
He raised his eyes. That was a rhetorical question, God—not a challenge.
• • •
Holden raced through the faceless hoard to his car and practically dove inside. His hands shook as he dug out his keys and struggled to get the right one into the ignition. Sobs clogged his throat and tears blurred his vision. He was in no condition to drive but no way in hell he was staying here. His heart pounded dangerously fast and hard as his mind propelled him back to that moment in Lincoln’s bedroom… standing naked before his crush… their eyes locked.
No… that didn’t just happen… none of it was real.
A hard sob broke loose, and he finally got the car started, but still, he couldn’t drive away because of the other cars jockeying for position on the narrow street.
Just go already! He screamed at them in his head. Get out of my fucking way!
When he saw an opening, he dove into it and sped off, racing away from his humiliation and pain. But he wasn’t fast enough, and it caught up to him, relentlessly tailgating his heart. The instant he slowed, it would overtake him and shred his heart and mind.
This is just a dream—a nightmare. You’ll see, in the morning. None of this happened.
Maybe it was just a dream, but tonight—it felt real as fuck. The pain inside was tiny razor blades, slicing his heart apart.
It wasn’t real—it isn’t true. You imagined it all.
Panic seized him and Holden pulled over and shoved open the car door, vomiting on the pavement. He coughed and spit, tears running down his face, dripping into the stinking puddle on the ground. His stomach lurched again but nothing else came up. Holden straightened in the driver’s seat and sagged against the backrest, breathing hard. He grabbed some leftover napkins from a fast-food order and wiped his face and blew his nose.
“Why did you go there?” he choked on another sob. “Why?” He smacked his palms on the steering wheel. “Why?!” Holden broke down and buried his face in his arms, sobs shaking him.
Just go—drive away from this fucking town tonight!
He almost did.
But there was one more thing left to do.
Holden pulled himself together and wiped his face again. The fantasy he’d indulged in for the last four years began to die away. In the long run, maybe what happened tonight was a good thing. What tiny strands he’d been grasping had snapped.
He could move on.
After.
With the ungodly pain still surging through him, this new awakening provided minimal comfort. Tonight, he would continue to suffer and cry himself to sleep. Come morning, it would feel like someone had beat the shit out of his heart the night before. And that would be accurate.
Someone had.