I reluctantly follow Holden, but I know that the likelihood of getting a cab at this hour in this part of New York is slim. My feet move slowly, ensuring that Holden stays at least five feet in front of me. He's tense; that much is obvious from the way his back muscles are visibly tightened underneath his shirt.
Holden stops at a fairly large car; a Range Rover. Though I know it's a nice car, it still surprises me. I had him pegged for a motorcycle type of guy. With his huge ego and fear of commitment, not to mention his flashy but dangerous career, he pretty much screams "bad boy." Which is the exact same thing a motorcycle screams.
I climb into the passenger seat and quickly give Holden my address along with basic directions. He nods before peeling out of the parking lot and entering the crazy traffic.
Everybody experiences two types of silence throughout their lifetime. The first: a comfortable silence. The kind that doesn't require random banter because the air isn't filled with any tension. And then there's the other kind of silence. The awkward silence. The kind that makes you want to fill it with unnecessary comments just to make it less uncomfortable.
The silence between Holden and I was unbearably awkward.
I glance at Holden out of the corner of my eye; his jaw is visibly tense and he looks like he's ready to fight someone. He makes absolutely no move to look at me, much less any move to speak to me.
There's only one thing we could get through talking about that wouldn't be worse than this silence.
Boxing.
"When do you want to start my training?" My voice starts quiet, but gains confidence with every word.
"Tomorrow."
"Do you think that's really a good idea?" Images of my cuts pass through my mind and my hand subconsciously moves to my throat. The makeup must be in tact because I have no doubt in my mind that Holden would flip shit if he saw the bruise underneath.
"You wanted serious training. I'm giving you serious training. I don't care what kind of injuries you have; if nothing is broken, we're training. Everyday."
I've never heard his voice like this. Granted, I've only known him for a couple days, but nothing he's said to me has ever been this stern. It reminds me vaguely of parents scolding their children.
"Holden, I don't want anybody else seeing the cuts."
We're stuck in a huge line of traffic and he finally looks at me, the green in his eyes piercing straight through me.
"Be there at five tomorrow morning. That gives us two hours before anybody shows up."
I nod back at him, releasing the pressure built up in my lungs.
We fall back into a lull of silence, but it's definitely not as bad as before. I relax my back against the seat cushion, staring at the other cars through the window. The traffic is crawling slowly, all of the roads backed up with people trying to get home from work.
"Come to my match on Saturday." Holden's voice is unsure, his vulnerability in asking the question surmountable.
I pause, not sure of how to answer. On one hand, I'd love to go to the match. It's important to know how my trainer fights; it's a hint at the techniques he'll teach me in training.
But on the other hand, there's Luke. We don't normally go out on Saturdays, but there's no telling when he'll call to check up on me. Especially if I've not given him a solid excuse of where I'll be during said match.
And it's not like I can tell him that I'm going to watch a professional boxing match. Luke already thinks I'm enrolled into some yoga class. He knows nothing of me training in boxing.
I have no doubt he'd kill me if he found out.
"I don't know, Holden."
The gears in his head are turning so hard that I can practically hear them. He's trying to think of reasons why I should go and watch him fight. Several things are passing through his mind, and I know if I let him open his mouth, he'll mention something about Josh for his first excuse.
"Holden, I want to go. I just don't know if I can."
"That suspiciously sounds like you're trying to make other plans so you have a reason not to go, Tatum."
I sigh, knowing there's no way for him to understand, "I have a boyfriend."
His nostrils flare as he exhales, obviously frustrated with my reasoning. To be fair, that excuse does sound pretty pathetic. Except for the fact that he's never met Luke before.
"It's not like I'm trying to take you out to some romantic dinner, get you drunk, and then have sex with you. Tatum, I'm asking you to come watch me beat the shit out another grown ass man. For all I care, your little boyfriend can come along, too."
Luke already loves to beat the shit out of people in his own way. Let's not give him more ideas on how to do it.
"He's not coming. Even if I do, he's not. No way."
I shake my head back and forth as I speak, not capable of fathoming how badly that would end up. As much as punching a large, heavy bag helps me release anger, I'm not in any position to become the punching bag. Especially not with specialty punches and kicks.
"Why not?"
"He's bad enough without mimicking boxing moves." My voice is barely more than a mumble, but I know Holden hears me. His teeth are gritted and his fists clench hard around the steering wheel. I wasn't planning on telling Holden anything; it just slipped out naturally.
I can't let that happen with anyone else.
"I just need to think of an excuse to tell him, Holden. Otherwise he'll search the city to find me, and nobody wants that."
"You say that like it's happened before, T."
I sigh, a headache beginning to form. There's no way for him to understand any of this, and there's no way for me to say things without crying, "A lot can happen in two years."
The silence comes back, falling over us like a thick veil of fog. I accidentally admitted something to Holden that nobody else in my life knows. By looking at him, I can tell he isn't handling it very well. All of the muscles in his body are tense, his face flushed a slight shade of red.
His car pulls up in front of my apartment complex and he turns the ignition off. I click open the seatbelt, removing it from my body as I crack open the car door.
"Thanks for the ride, Samuels. You're not...always so narcissistic, I guess."
Instead of the lovely laugh I was expecting, only a bitter chuckle escapes from his mouth. His hands are running through his hair, pushing the long curls away from his face. He tugs on the longer strands, almost as if it helps him think.
"Holden."
He won't look at me and somehow I know it's because he's not calm right now.
"Holden."
As opposed to just glancing at me as some sort of acknowledgement, he unbuckles his seat belt and swings his car door open, pacing back and forth in the complex parking lot. I follow him out, trying to capture his attention, but he's lost in some realm of anger that I can't reach. I bend down and pick up his car keys; they fell out of his hand at some point, landing on the dark asphalt.
After making sure both doors are completely shut, I lock his car, leaning against the hood as he continues to pace with his hands in his hair. He's mumbling, but it's not loud enough for me to be able to make out anything he's saying.
His strides become wider, his long legs pushing him faster and closer to my building. I know he needs to hit something; he needs some type of anger release and he gets that from boxing just like I get it from training.
Only there's nothing for him to hit here. Not anything safe, anyway.
I try getting his attention once more; he needs to snap out of it.
"Holden."
He only keeps pacing.
"Holden Samuels!"
My voice raises as I scream his name. There's no doubt in my mind that several people in the building were able to hear me. I see a few blinds pop open, small little eyes peering out to view the scene in the parking lot.
But Holden only keeps pacing. Only now it's faster and more determined. There's absolutely no way that I can break him out of this.
He begins to throw punches to the air. Not hitting anything, but focusing on his form. I watch as he jabs the air, lightly bouncing around on his feet like it's effortless. He starts to throw hooks, bending his elbow at just the perfect angle to execute beautiful punches.
Punching the air isn't enough.
Before I know it, he's sprinting over to the building, bouncing around again to keep himself warm. It's still hot and the little beads of sweat are causing his curls to stick to his forehead. I slowly walk behind him, not wanting to startle him by coming up too quickly.
Until I see him punch the brick wall, and then I'm running.
He throws several punches into the brick and the blood is pouring immediately. By the time I get to him, he's hit the wall about seven times, but his body looks much more calm than it did in the car. I lightly rest my hand on his shoulder, capturing his attention enough to make him stopping punching. Holden looks down at his hands, flexing them and wincing when the pain registers.
"Come on."
"What?" He looks dazed, almost as if he wasn't in control of his own body. To be honest, it didn't seem like he was. The punches just came from him; the form was completely natural. Suddenly I know that punching things is the only way he's ever dealt with his anger.
"We need to clean your hands to see how badly your cut. You may need stitches. Come on, Holden."
I wrap my small hand around his wrist, dragging him behind me. The sooner we get into my apartment, the less suspicious this will be. The people from my complex don't exactly like Luke, but if Luke runs into just the right resident, I could be ratted out for having another guy with me.
As if Luke needed another reason to "handle" me.
Holden and I quickly enter the building, practically racing our way to the elevator. Once we're in the elevator, I punch three and wait for the slow moving machine to get us to where we need to be. I hear the ding and instinctively step forward, dragging Holden fast behind me. He's dripping blood everywhere, but he's not arguing with me about going to my apartment to get him cleaned up.
I reach my door, scrambling around in my purse for my large key ring. Though I released Holden's wrist, he moves his body behind me, protecting me from anyone who may enter the thin hallway. Finally, I find my keys and shove the right one into the hole, turning it as fast as I can to let us in.
The door easily opens and I'm grateful that I did all the necessary cleaning last night before I went to bed. We both enter, our shoes making low thuds against the wood floor.
"Go wait in the kitchen."
Holden doesn't argue and proceeds to walk in the direction I point. I rush to my bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Before I even think to check that all of the necessities are in it, I'm rushing back to the kitchen.
Instead of flinching or crying or whining, Holden is sitting calmly at my kitchen table, absentmindedly inspecting his knuckles. I place the kit down, pulling Holden up from the chair and over to my sink. The warm water is ready to be flipped on; we only have to wait for it to heat up.
I look up, meeting Holden's eyes, "The warm water shouldn't sting too bad. I just have to clear all the blood off, okay?"
He nods, not giving away any expression on his face. I can tell he's much more calm than earlier, but his anger hasn't completely disappeared. It's only subdued for now.
I hold out my hand, asking for permission to clean his. He places both of his hands in mine and I guide them underneath the warm water, lightly using my thumbs to scrub away the blood that had started to dry already. I can feel his eyes on me as I concentrate on his hands. Holden shows no sign that any of this stings even though I'm well aware that it does.
Especially because I was washing blood off of my own cuts last night.
Once I'm sure that most of the blood is gone, I turn the water off. I lightly dab at his damp skin, trying to be sensitive to the deep cuts across his knuckles. Suspecting something and knowing something for sure are different. I had suspected he would need stitches, but now I'm sure of it.
I sigh, biting my bottom lip as I stare at his cuts. His eyes are still on me, watching my expression carefully.
"You need stitches."
It's his turn to sigh, "I figured."
"Luckily for you, I can just give you the stitches. No hospital needed."
He nods, flexing his hand to see its level of mobility.
"It'll hurt being to close to the bone. I'll be gentle, though. Promise." I give him a small smile before leading him back to the kitchen table, pulling my kit closer to me.
"I believe you." There's a hint of a smile on his face and something lurking behind his eyes. I choose to ignore it and set out to work, focused on fixing him instead of the look he keeps giving me.
I grab the black thread and needle from the kit, going through the motion mechanically. Threading the needle has become a common occurrence. Stitching up somebody else is different, however.
Before I start stitching him up, I grab the Neosporin spray, "This is gonna sting a little, Samuels."
His breath hitches as I spray the cold disinfectant onto his cuts, but the pain subsides quickly. The table keeps his hands balanced as I carefully create each stitch. The room is silent, but it's nothing at all like it was earlier. It's a comfortable silence, even with Holden keeping his gaze trained on my face.
"It doesn't make sense for you to stay with him, T."
My body tenses and I keep my eyes trained on his hands. I've already got one hand completely stitched and am now working on the other.
"It's not something I want to talk about."
"I know. I just thought I should say something."
I nod and continue my work. My pinky rests on the back of his palm to keep my hand balanced as I finish the last stitch. All I have left is to bandage him all up. The gauze and the tape are easily found and I begin wounding the gauze around his left hand, taping it when I feel the padding is enough. I repeat the same action on his left hand, biting my bottom lip in concentration. Once I tape everything, I feel Holden's hand graze my chin.
He uses his thumb to pull my bottom lip from in between my teeth, "Don't do that."
"Don't do what?"
Holden softly smiles at me, his dimple popping out, "Don't bite your lip."
I start to place all of the materials I used back in my kit, organizing everything back into its original position, "Why not?"
"Unless you want me to kiss you, I suggest you stop biting your lip."
My face flames at his words, butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. I can't remember the last time I got butterflies; twenty year olds don't typically get them, do they?
"I'll keep that in mind, Samuels."
After putting everything into the kit, I glance back up at Holden again, noticing all the blood staining his white shirt. I'm sure I have t-shirts big enough to fit him.
"Take your shirt off."
At this his smirk comes back, but it's a different kind of smirk. This smirk is more playful as opposed to egotistical. "You're so demanding, Tatum. Good thing I like my women bossy."
He's ridiculous, but there's something about Holden that's just so enticing. Even when I've had the worst day, he gets me laughing or smiling. "Yes, you maniac. Take your shirt off for me."
I wink at him, causing his adorable laugh to resonate throughout my apartment. Josh was right; Holden really isn't so bad. At least, he's not bad when he's like this. I'm still not sure about handling his ego.
My feet carry me to my bedroom, scrounging for a large t-shirt Holden can exchange for his bloody one. I find a large Pink Floyd shirt, settling on that for him. Carrying the shirt with me, I skip back into the kitchen to find Holden shirtless in the middle of it.
I knew he had muscles and I knew he had tattoos, but I was not prepared for this. My face blushes a deep red as I try to subtly check him out, his muscles defining even the smallest of tattoos.
And oh, the tattoos. They're everywhere. They absolutely cover his body.
I never knew art could look so beautiful.
Quickly, I toss the t-shirt at him, instructing him to put it on as I take the blood stained one from him. I head into my laundry room, drenching the white with bleach before starting it in a laundry load by itself. Allowing myself a minute to breathe, I compose myself and my blush before walking out to meet him in the kitchen.
Pink Floyd may not be for everybody, but Pink Floyd is definitely for him.
I open my mouth to comment on how the shirt looks at him only to be stopped by a rowdy banging on my apartment door. Both Holden and I turn our attention to the noise and I make a hand motion for Holden to keep completely silence.
I completely forgot about date night with Luke.
"Tatum, baby, you ready to go yet?"
Without knowing what else to do, I shove Holden into my bedroom, yelling out to Luke. "Uh, yeah! I'll be out in just a minute!"
The knocking stops and I keep a hand placed over Holden's mouth to ensure that he doesn't say anything. I whisper to Holden; if Luke hears me, I'm more than dead. I'm slaughtered.
"You can stay here or you can leave about five minutes after I do. He can't see you and he can't know you were here, Holden. I'm serious. Please."
The look in Holden's eyes tells me that he's just dying to say something, but the panic in mine overrules that desire for him, "On one condition, T."
I nod, hoping to get this over with quickly.
"Come to my match on Saturday."
I nod again, "Okay. Okay. I'll be there. I promise. Thank you. I'll see you in the morning."
Without another glance back, I straighten the clothes on my body, running my hands through my hair at an attempt to control it. I stop and glance in the mirror near my door, noticing small drops of blood on my white tank top.
There's no way I have time to change my shirt before Luke comes barging in here.
Instead, I button the blazer, sealing myself up in a pocket of heat. It's only for a night, I can do this.
I open the door, giving Luke a small kiss and pushing him away from my apartment. As I turn around to close the door, I notice a pair of green eyes watching me but I have no choice but to shut the door and lock it on my way out.
I have a really bad feeling about tonight.