Page 122 of Undone

Standing up, I flush and head to the sink, taking the time to wash out my mouth and clean up. The door opens, and I’m ready to bite someone’s head off—until I spot golden flippy waves and a tanned complexion tucked into a crisp rented tux.

“You look like you’re going to be sick.” I already was, I want to say. Holden smirks, before handing me a bottle of champagne. “Nicked it off the cart on my way over.”

I grimace as he takes a pull from it before offering it to me.

“No, thank you,” I say, gripping the sink and popping my neck, tilting my head this way and that. “You couldn’t have grabbed something dark? No whiskey? Bourbon?”

Holden laughs and shakes his head at me, wagging his finger for good measure. “C’mon, Tor, you don’t drink—and this is Lily’s favorite, right? Bottoms up. Then, she can taste it on your tongue all night.”

Just the mention of her name is a hot poker to an already open wound. If he was anyone else, I think I’d hit him. But it’s Holden and he’s teasing, his voice half smoky, half warm humor. Testing the waters with me.

Peering up into the pristine mirror, I meet his gaze and see no heat. Instead, it’s . . . worry. Concern.

Jaw clenching, I wave him off. “Give it to her fiancé, then, if that’s what you’re after.”

The flirtatious jokester disappears, the bottle of champagne now resting atop the counter as Holden sinks his hands into his pockets and shifts from hovering just behind me, to leaning against the wall at my side while I continue to stare at myself in the mirror.

“Talk to me.”

My jaw clenches. “I can’t.”

“Tor—”

“I said I can’t,” I snap, spinning toward him. My fists find their way into his lapels.

Wrong. Wrong.

Holden doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t back down from me. I’ve been here before—more often than not, always finding a way to channel my rage in the way LaBlanc taught me. I’d never rid myself of him, not even when I thought that I did. He created this rage-filled person that I never wanted to be.

And still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

Holden raises his arms like he’s going to hug me, and I spin us so his back slams into one of the stall doors.

What the fuck am I doing?

I don’t know.

Stop it. Holden is your friend. Stupid asshole. Stop. Stop.

My head is spinning. Nothing is making sense. I don’t want a hug or his comfort. There’s a deep selfish part of me that wants to back him into a wall and take his mouth, wash out the taste of Lily from my goddamn senses.

But Holden is my friend. Possibly my best friend.

It’s not weak to take comfort in that. It’s okay to let my guard down.

I just don’t know how.

Holden tilts his chin up at me. “You want to fight me or kiss me? The whole creepy bright-eyes thing is sometimes too intense to tell.”

The words are playful and mocking enough to cool me off, somehow, hands releasing his jacket and arms dropping to my sides.

“I don’t need this right now. I came in here to be alone.”

Holden shakes his head. “No, I know. But I just . . . I don’t think you should be alone. I think—I am trying to be here for you—”

“Alone, Holden. Or do you not know what that means? Go be with your real friends and stop hanging around me. I’m a lost fucking cause.”

My voice is too loud, which only seems to emphasize the quiet in the aftermath.