Something To Believe In

Dina

I ask him to stay in a totally platonic way, but I can tell by the widening of his eyes, he doesn’t take it that way.

“I have a guest room. It’s just a twin bed, but I can sleep in there. Totally fine if you need to get home,” I rattle out clarification before he thinks I’m asking something I’m not. My concern is if Nacho needs to go out or if I wake up and my foot has fallen off. Maybe a little that I’m not ready for him to leave.

He leans down to give me a sweet kiss. It feels like a goodbye kiss. My stomach sinks, feeling the sting of rejection.

“You stay here. I’ll go in the other room. Do you need anything before you sleep?”

I can’t stop the smile from overtaking my tingling lips. “No, I’ve got everything.”

The smile he returns replays in my mind long after he leaves the room. Finally, I drift off to sleep.

I’m awoken by a full bladder and the smell of frying eggs. I shift my legs under the blanket and also discover the ice melted in my bed, so my sheets are wet. Awesome.

With considerable pain, I hobble to the bathroom. Turns out, it’s really difficult to stand from the toilet with an injured ankle. Plenty of noises echo through the bathroom as I “ow” and “ah” my way to the sink. I quickly brush my teeth, not wanting to confront Holden with offensive morning breath, then hop my way to the kitchen.

“Morning. How are you feeling?” Holden chirps, focusing on whatever is on the stove.

“Fine. Sore, but I’ll live.”

“I refilled the ice last night before I went to sleep. If you want to go put your feet up, I’ll bring it in a minute. Just making eggs and toast. You didn’t have much.”

Yeah, that’s the broke student life. I never have much, but I have enough. “Thank you. Did you sleep okay?”

“I can sleep standing up when I’m tired enough. Nacho woke me up early, so I took him outside. Then he conned me into giving him some kibble. I couldn’t risk telling him no and end up back where we started.”

“That’s smart. You never know what he’s planning in that nefarious little brain of his. Thanks for taking care of him.”

Holden clicks off the stove, slides the beat-up old frying pan—that stopped being non-stick two years ago—to the back, then walks toward me with a determined gleam in his eye. “Last night, things didn’t go how I imagined, but I do love you.”

I gulp a loud swallow. There’s no doubt in my mind that I love him too. I knew that before he admitted it, but was too scared to admit it. To him or myself.

But something about the reciprocity of ‘you say it first, then I’ll say it’ makes it feel like a transaction. An exchange out of obligation, and I don’t want it to lessen the meaning of the words. That, and the fact I’m afraid to admit my own feelings because that moves us to another level of serious I wasn’t sure I’d ever find.

Instead of saying the words he deserves to hear, I reply, “Thank you.” As if his declaration is no different than taking my dog out or making breakfast. I hate myself for not replying how I should as soon as his shoulders sink along with the corners of his mouth.

If I can’t get the words out, the least I can do is show him he means something to me. I wrap my arms around his neck, still trying to keep my balance on one leg, and as soon as my hands are clasped behind him, I feel steady. Unmoveable. Like it’s okay if I only have one leg, because he’ll give me the support of his. It’s an overwhelming emotion, and I pour every bit of it into a kiss.

He melts into me in response. Relief floods through me as I realize he’s not holding back—unlike me, who is holding back those four words on the tip of my tongue. I love you too. My tongue is otherwise occupied as he explores my mouth with his, grips my hip with his gentle hands, and lifts me so my legs wrap around him. He walks us over to the couch, where he backs into the seat, placing me in his lap. I wince as my ankle folds underneath me, making Holden pull his head back.

“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

“Shh. Just kiss me, Dickens.”

Having Holden here should feel suffocating. Two people and a dog inside 600 square feet should feel like he’s cramping my style. But after thirty-six hours, I’m convinced we could live in a tiny home, and it would still be comfortable.

The only problem is, I haven’t gotten any work done for my thesis, and I’ve got a strict schedule to keep. Losing two days to play domestic bliss shouldn’t have happened. My ankle is still sore, but I can walk. There’s no reason for me to ask him to stay. I can’t find a good enough reason to ask him to leave, either.

His phone rings from its spot on the end table beside the sofa. Since I’m closer, I reach to grab it and hand it to him, without looking at the screen. As soon as I hand it to him, the content expression he was wearing disappears. He turns two shades lighter in an instant.

“Hello?” He hums and nods along with whatever the other person is saying, then thanks them and hangs up. He taps his phone screen a few times, scrolling and waiting. Without looking up, he says, “That was my TA. The… uh… exam results are up.”

My own heart starts racing because I know how anxiety inducing those moments are. “Are you ready?”

“Now or never.” He sinks into the cushion beside me and holds the phone so we can both see as the student portal loads.

It’s painful watching as the information pops up, one thing at a time, with his name, student number, major, underwear size, takeout preference—I swear, everything except his grades. The information he’s anticipating slowly appears on the screen. We both look at it, at each other, then back at the screen.

“This can’t be right.” Now he’s staring at the screen, not blinking.

I grab his arm and squeeze, trying to contain my excitement. “It is right. You rocked those exams, Dickens.”

He’s silent for several seconds, then repeats, “This can’t be right.”

I turn his head to face me. “You deserve this. You put in the work, and beyond that, you’re brilliant.”

“Wow.” He slouches back against the couch with his forehead creases reaching new depths. “I’m pretty sure I would have passed on my own, but this—passing with distinction—this is because of you.”

“That’s not true, but I won’t argue.” My smile is so wide I can feel the bulge of my cheeks. “Safe to say the AQ5R system is a resounding success.”

“You rock my world, Dina Blake.” Holden practically dives on top of me, making me squeal and lean back to accommodate him. His smile is as bright as I’ve ever seen it.

“Time to implement the AQ7R system.”

We laugh together as Holden props himself up above me.

Here, in this moment, my heart is so content—so happy—I can’t stop myself from saying, “I love you too. Just so you know.” The words tumble out and it doesn’t feel transactional. It doesn’t feel like a tit-for-tat moment, like I’m saying it just because he did. It feels true. Like the real reward.

We don’t need any other words. It’s so easy to get lost in him and how fulfilled his presence makes me feel. Every time I’ve read a romance novel where a woman gave up who she was or her goals because a man came into her life, I’ve rolled my eyes so hard and grumbled at what I perceived as stupidity. But now I understand. I can see how easy it would be to get caught up in these all-consuming emotions and abandon everything that once felt important.

I could see it happening, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let it.

We spend thirty minutes cuddling on the sofa, peppering each other with kisses, getting lost in one another’s gaze, until I finally work up the nerve to say, “I’ve got so much work to catch up on.”

Though my words come out little louder than a whisper, they seem to spur Holden into action. He pops up from the couch like a spider crawled in his pants. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking. Let me take Nacho out one last time, then I’ll leave you to it… Unless you need my help with anything.”

“Dickens, wait.” I sit myself up and reach for his hand. “I’m not trying to kick you out. There’s just a long list of things I’ve put off for two days, and I need to get caught up. It’s all things I have to do myself.”

“I don’t feel like you’re kicking me out. Your studies are important to me too, and I want you to focus on them. What kind of terrible boyfriend would I be if I took up all your time with super hot make-out sessions?” He smirks and winks as he turns toward the door.

The rattle of Nacho’s leash wakes him from his slumber, and he trots over to the door after a big stretch. Seeing him take to Holden makes me almost as happy as being loved by them both does. My boys. I pause for a second, realizing Holden called himself my boyfriend. It felt so natural, it didn’t stand out to me at the moment.

I love being Angel’s little sister, Nacho’s mom, and Hollis’ best friend. Those are all important titles to me. But the one that’s defined me the most is ‘orphan’. Being Holden Edwards’ girlfriend doesn’t remove that title, but having his love makes it more bearable.

If only I could tamp down this dreadful feeling that his love is temporary. The fear that he’ll leave me, too.

“Be right back.” Holden beams at me before walking out the door.

I can’t help but think that is foreshadowing for what the future holds. An excellent literary device, but a sickening feeling when it comes to your own life.