Above me, I watch as streaks of orange and pink start to break apart the summer sky. The sounds of screams and cheers echo through the carnival, and laughter greets me at every corner. I'm envious of everyone who looks like they're enjoying themselves. I wish I could enjoy myself too, but the truth is some bad experiences can stick with you and taint your memories with so much black that you forget what colours used to be painted underneath.

It may sound dumb or dramatic but carnivals will always remind me of the one time I was thirteen and on a school trip. I was in line for the Ferris wheel and when it was my turn to sit, the metal had croaked in protest and made the girl next to me go white with fear. I immediately got up, even as the guy working the wheel assured me I was going to be fine and that he'd been doing this for years. He was really nice about it but the kids in my class? Not so much. There were whispers of "I bet the whole wheel breaks and rolls away" and "she's going to break the ride!" and "shouldn't they have a weight scale at these things?"

So while carnivals will always remind people of their happiest times and childhood memories, they'll remind me of one of the first times I realized a kid like me simply didn't belong. I was too young to realize the world was a terrible place. I should have been ignorant and happy but I had to grow up too fast in order protect myself.

Sometimes I think I have a tendency to act like a kid because I missed out on the years I should have been one. But maybe that's me just making excuses for all the ways I've failed. Crashed and burned. Med school drop-out. Wannabe baker. Insecure.

I swipe away a lone tear that manages to slip out of the corner of my eye. I don't think there's a feeling that's worse than letting yourself down—when you have these plans and expectations for yourself because you know your potential and the kind of person you can be, only to fall short and realize you didn't have what it takes. That everyone was right not to believe in you. I don't think there's anything that can break a person more than feeling like they'll never be enough.

Wow, that got dark. Everyone around me is laughing and smiling as the evening begins to wind down and remind them they've gotten through a day full of great memories. I probably look like a freak sitting on a bench by myself and not-so-discreetly sobbing. I wouldn't be surprised if someone just walked up and maced me.

But no one maces me. In fact, someone takes a seat beside me. And when I smell the familiar scent of expensive cologne and shoe polish, and when I feel a rock-hard hard shoulder and arm press against mine, my stomach twists with all kinds of emotions I can't make sense of.

Anger. Regret. Embarrassment. Want.

I use the top of my cardigan to wipe away my tears as discreetly as I can. The stare I can feel on me reminds me that I can't hide.

"This is yours." Holden brings his hand forward, facing down so I can't see what's in it. I think he does that because I have no choice but to meet his eyes in question, and I'm surprised to find a softness in his gaze I've never seen before. "Take it."

I almost don't look away because...well, it's hard to believe he's looking at me the way he is. Like he sees me. Like he doesn't want me to ever doubt that I'm the one he sees.

I break our intense stare, feeling oddly breathless, and hesitantly turn his hand over. I'm all too aware of the purposeful touch. His skin is warm and kind of rough against mine, and the pricks of hair on his hand tickle my fingers. It's weird but even his hand alone holds so much strength. He just feels so solid. Secure. Powerful.

My fingers seem infinitely smaller than his as I pry them away from his palm. I blink at the bundle of cash neatly rolled and tied up. It's so precise that I know it was his him who did this.

"What is it?" I eye the money curiously.

"Yours," He repeats. "From your sales today."

"That's not mine. I didn't sell enough to make that much."

"You sold out."

What the heck is he talking about? I push his hand away and feel my mouth pinch tightly when I look at him. "I gave the rest away for free, Holden. This isn't my money."

"They bought the rest." He argues before I can say anything else. "I made sure they all paid."

Aaaand I'm officially lost. "Why would they pay you if I already told them they were free?"

"Because they got free merchandise instead. Just take the money, Sierra."

I don't take it from him because I'm too busy gaping at him and trying to process his words. He puts the money in my hands and his touch feels the same but different. This time it's his hand on mine. He palm covers my hand completely and what's weirder is he doesn't let go. Just looks at me expectantly.

"How did your company make enough money for sales if you gave everything away?"

He shrugs. "We didn't. But it doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" I parrot his words incredulously. Did he go through some time vortex I wasn't aware of? If so I think I'd like to try it and go back to last month when everything still made sense. "You always bring in the numbers. You hate failure."

"It's my biggest fear," He confirms so seriously that I stop talking. All I can do is watch as his face takes on a solemn expression. This time he won't look at me but he does brush him thumb across my hand lightly before pulling away. I try to ignore how that spot burns with awareness. "I don't know how to accept failures and mistakes. It drives me crazy when I make them and I feel physically ill if I can't fix the things in my life that go wrong. Failure triggers my compulsions, the yanking at the cuff links and ties constantly. They help me feel grounded when my OCD kicks in. I'll do whatever I can to feel in control. Even act like a class A dick."

"Is this another apology?" I whisper, a little stunned by his admission. I just thought he was a control freak and uptight, not that he had an obsessive compulsive disorder.

Though all I can see is the side of his face, I swear his mouth twitches for a moment. "Am I getting better at those? You seemed to tell right away."

"Is that a sense of humour?" This time my mouth twitches even though I try to stop it. "You better tone down all that personality before you give me a heart attack, Satan."

He chuckles and it's so unexpected that I can't stop my pleased smile. I look away instead. That might have been the first time I made him laugh since we were kids. I forgot how great it feels cracking through his hard shell.

Silence follows the brief moment we shared, the echoes of our joined laughter lingering between us. I'm a little flustered. Okay. A lot flustered. I didn't think Holden and I were capable of being civil with each other but apparently can. We're pretty good at it too.

"I'm sorry about what I said," I feel the need to say. I was wrong too and I can admit that. "You didn't have to botch your sales at the expense of mine. I know it's important to you that you always do your best and there isn't anything wrong with that."

"Maybe," He concedes after a minute. I watch a muscle on his jaw pulse. "But if it made you cry then I went too far."

Cue immediate embarrassment. I clear my throat. "I wasn't crying. I was...sweating."

"From your eyes?"

"What are you—the sweat police?"

He shakes his head then stands up. I watch him straighten his tie, and now that I'm not annoyed it's actually kind of funny that he feels the need to be so put together all the time. He's such a stark contrast from the walking disaster I am.

"Come on." He jerks his head to the side.

I stand up too just to humour him. He did scope me out so I guess I can go along with this. I follow him as he starts walking and match him stride for stride. "Where are we going?"

"You owe me," He replies evenly.

"I owe you?"

"You got all weepy and sad on me so I fucked up my sales. Never done that in my life but it's something I had to accept. If I managed to get through my fear of failure, you can get through yours."

"I don't have a fear of failure."

"You have a fear of that."

He points and I hadn't noticed earlier because I was looking at him during our short walk. But now I see it. The metal death circle that's linked to probably the worst moment of my life. The sight of it brings up unwanted memories and feelings and suddenly it's hard to breathe because ohmygod, I'm freaking out.

"No." I take a step back, throat tight. "No way, Satan. Screw this."

I expect him to make fun of me or call me childish or insult me in some manner. I'm taken aback when he slides his hand to the back of my neck instead and gently but firmly holds me in place. Right against him as he stares down at me. Woah. Now my heart is racing for different reasons altogether.

"We're doing this." He sounds soft and commanding all at once. "That day of the field trip when you came home, crying to me? The look on your face? I'll never fucking forget that. I know how hard this is for you. But do it anyway."

That's right. I hid in the bathroom of the carnival the whole day and sat at the very back of the bus on the way back. The first thing I did when it stopped in front of my house was run to Holden's place instead. I told him every humiliating detail and he sat and listened, reminding me I was dumb to listen to them in that clueless boyish was of his. Somehow I forgot all about that. I only remembered the pain of that day, until now.

And right now there's that same understanding, and the reminder that nobody except him can know how deep my insecurities really go. We might have lost our way at some point but he was my friend for a reason. He knew me.

"What if it breaks or something?" I mumble. I realize it's a stupid question but I ask anyway because a part of me is actually considering it.

Once again, Holden doesn't make fun of me. He even looks like he's taking this seriously. "I probably have fifty pounds on you, Shortcake. If that Ferris wheel breaks it'll be my doing before yours."

Shortcake.

When Holden moved in beside my house when we were nine, I was smitten with the young and handsome boy immediately. He was serious even as a kid and I'd watch him from the kitchen window, wondering why he never smiled. So I baked him a cake. I wanted to be his friend more than anything and I wanted to see if he had a smile as nice as I imagined. He didn't smile when I worked up the nerve to present the strawberry shortcake one afternoon, walking out on our shared lawn while he fixed his bike tire, but he did burst out laughing when I smushed it in Dave Brooker's face for calling out some stupid insult to Holden when he walked past us. And his smile was even better than I thought it would be. He offered me a "you're pretty cool, Shortcake," before heading back inside his house and that easily became the best day of my life. The nickname stuck ever since.

"Okay," I say softly and his hand tightens on the back of my neck for a moment. "But if I freak out and try to jump off, please let me."

"Say the word and I'll push you," He deadpans and I laugh, surprised that he's humouring my dramatics. "Let's go."

So this situation is suddenly not funny at all. I feel a flash of nerves and dig my converse into the ground when Holden tugs on my hand. I'm putting in all my strength here but with one irritated sigh and a jerk of his hand he yanks me away easily. I almost fall on my face. Fucking Satan.

"Stop," I beg when Holden flashes some kind of VIP card and the guy lets us move to the front of the line. I thought I'd have time to prepare myself. "Let me call my parents first. And Kate from across the street in Minnesota. I can't let Mom and Dad find my vibrator in my old bedroom. Do you even care about me?"

"Sit," He demands when one of the carts stops in place in front of us.

Crap on a cracker. I eye the large metal seat with my heart in my throat. I can barely think past the pulsing in my ear. This is so stupid. Why do I have to be so scared? Nothing is going to happen.

And yet.

"I..." My chest heaves as I fail at my attempt to not freak out. I am so totally freaking out. I can hear impatient murmurs from the crowd behind me and the backs of my eyes sting with humiliation. I'm such a mess. My voice comes out in a breathy whisper. "I don't think I can."

"You can step off to the side, ma'am." The guy working the wheel points out. He sounds majorly annoyed and my cheeks grow warm in return.

"How about you shut the fuck up before you're out of a job?" Holden calmly questions. He didn't yell but he didn't need to. There's enough menace in his voice that the buzz of voices suddenly grow quiet at his command. The warmth of his hand is on the back of my neck again, cupping and swiping his thumb across my nape. His tone is much more gentle with me. "Come on, Sierra. I know what you're made of. I know you can do this."

And maybe that's what does it. The knowledge that he believes in me. Right now he doesn't see me as less or not enough. He knows I'm enough to do this. So I nod and grip his forearm so tight I have to be hurting him. But he doesn't complain. He just keeps his hand on the back of my neck as I walk over to the metal seat on shaky legs. Slowly, I lower myself until I'm sitting and there's definitely a little creak as the seat moves back. My stomach bottoms out and I'm about to shoot right back up but then Holden sits next to me and makes sure I stay in place. His hand moves to the side of my neck so his arm is around me but not quite. I can feel the way I'm trembling, embarrassing as it is.

"See?" He murmurs, the tip of his thumb fiddling with my earlobe. "Why'd you have to be so crazy about it?"

"I might punch you," I tell him through gritted teeth.

But then I'm freaking out all over again when the bar is shoved into our laps to hold us in place. At least until Holden bends his head to speak low in my ear. Then it's hard to decide what's freaking me out more. "I might let you."

"You're just saying that to distract me."

"Is it working?"

"Maybe," I admit. I suck in a quiet breath when I feel Holden's mouth brush my ear briefly. His touch on the side of my neck is feather-light, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing my along the warm skin. I feel like my blood is on fire and my eyes flutter involuntarily. "Uhm, is this part of distracting me?"

"Maybe," He whispers back.

The ride suddenly lurches us forward and I gasp, throat tight when our weight stars moving backward and up into the air. It's MOVING. Why did I willingly get on this thing? I have so much to live for. Well, not that much but a fair amount.

"I would say Jesus take the wheel but that's exactly what I don't want to happen," I squeak.

"You want to know the last time I trusted somebody?" Holden asks out of nowhere.

"Huh?" Can he not see me literally wheezing trying to catch my breath? "How about we postpone that conversation, sweetie? I'm not feeling so good."

I pat his knee in light reassurance and try not to hack up the popcorn I had earlier when the wheel stalls at the top for a moment before whooshing down. I smack a hand over my mouth. This was a bad, bad idea.

"I've always had issues with trust and you of all people know that." He leans back against our cart, taking his hands away from me and folding them in front of him instead. He looks locked up and defensive.

"Oh, so we are doing this right now?" I mumble. "Cool. Don't mind me. I might just die at any given second but go on."

He side-eyes me for a moment. "Sierra."

Realizing he's being serious, I clamp my mouth shut immediately. Ohhhh. So this is one of those conversations. Yikes. I gesture a hand for him to go on, my other hand gripping the rod tightly and trying not to focus on how this wheel won't stop moving. I'm half-expecting to be launched out of my seat and into the air.

"I think I was always an uptight prick. I didn't really have a choice. Mom and Dad were never home, always travelling and doing dumb shit at the expense of calling themselves spontaneous. I didn't want to be anything like that after seeing how they left Mase and I alone. Raising my kid brother when I was a teenager was the result of their "adventurous" personalities. They were so fucking irresponsible and childish. Still are. Fuck, I don't even know where in the world they are now. Just the occasional phone call lets me know they're still alive. So I dug my feet in to be as grounded as possible. Responsible and mature. A control freak, I guess."

I bite my lip, feeling a wave of guilt. I've thought of him as a control freak multiple times and I guess even he knows what he looks like. I've always known about his parents too. Of course I did. He'd spend most days at my house where Mom and Dad would coddle him the way I knew he wasn't in his own home. But he was always so indifferent about his situation. He'd never shown that it bothered him or affected him. On some level I guess I understood it had to have hurt having absent parents but we stopped being friends when we were sixteen. Not only was I too young, but I was so blindsided by my own pain and insecurities that I never questioned his.

"I always tried to make the best decisions," He continues. "The logical ones. The safe ones. Letting the NFL draft me? That wasn't a safe decision and it was the first time I ever did something for myself. Coach pushed me to take it and not let the opportunity pass me by like I was about to. So I didn't. And when I blew out my shoulder and did everything to fix my mistake, I couldn't. And the coach for the Vikings? The one who promised me he'd help me get far if I let him scout me? Forgot all about me the second he heard I would never recover. He dropped me so fast I was blindsided. Everything went to shit. Mason had to take care of himself while I tried to pull myself together, so I failed at raising him too. And after that I promised myself I wouldn't ever rely on anyone else again. The fear of failure is what caused my obsessive compulsive disorder, when I started having these symptoms. I need control more than I need air, Sierra."

"I had no idea," I whisper tentatively.

After he blew his shoulder out I tried to keep track of what was happening with him but the tabloids were full of gossip and drama that I knew I couldn't rely on. Talk was always passed around in our town but in bits and pieces that I couldn't make sense of and then eventually we all moved on.

I jerk in my seat when the bar is suddenly lifted and the guy working beckons us to get off. It's done? That was all?

"How was it?" Holden asks, appearing amused at my bewilderment.

"I missed the whole thing," I find myself complaining. "That didn't feel like anything."

"Do you want to go again?"

Surprisingly, I do. Because nothing happened and I'm completely okay. And maybe because I don't want this moment with Holden to be over. We haven't spoken like this in years and I'm not ready to give it up. So I nod and lean back in my seat. This time, I'm only a little afraid.

"We have a line," The worker tries to say until Holden swings a stare that's somehow blank and murderous all at once. He gulps and pushes the bar back down on us, stepping away.

I shake my head at him. "Don't be so mean."

Holden messes with his cuffs, not the least bit bothered. "He shouldn't have upset you."

Oh. I cast my eyes downward before I do something stupid like visibly swoon. Because seriously, I will.

The wheel starts moving again and my stomach turns over. I pull in a breath, reminding myself I was fine the first time and I'll be fine this time.

"You did a good job, you know," I tell him. Partly as a distraction to myself and partly because I want him to know in case no one has ever told him. "You're one of the most successful sports agent in state and you've barely just started. You might have had no choice being this way but you did it better than anyone could have."

To my amusement, he goes a little red on the ears at my compliment. There's no stopping my grin and Holden notices, scoffing and quickly looking away from me. Who knew Satan was capable of being cute? The devil does come in all forms.

"I'm used to being the one to push," He admits, eyes pinning mine in place. "You're the only person who's ever pushed me back. You're real and messy and you remind me of everything I'm afraid of."

Our cart stalls at the top and stays suspended in the air. The wind blows my hair into my face but before I can move it away, Holden reaches out to sweep the strands back. His palm grazes my cheek, fingers at the base of my neck, and I'm pretty sure he can feel my pulse thundering under his touch. I swallow down the tight ball of nerves in my throat.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask softly.

The world is so quiet up here. There's so much stillness apart from the occasional breeze that feels that much cooler against my heated skin. It's dark now, the sky a deep navy blue, and only the lights from the Ferris wheel illuminate Holden's face. Up here, in the quiet and the dark, makes it feels like there's only us.

"You," He replies hoarsely. His face inches closer to mine, warm breath a stark contrast against the cool of the night. The scent of him is overwhelming and I feel enveloped in his heat. God, my insides feel like pure molten fire. "Losing you again. Can't lose you if I don't have you. So I push, Sierra. And you remind me that I'm not fucking good at it."

Somehow our bodies turned to face each other. Somehow his hands ended up in my hair and mine bunching the front of his shirt. Somehow my leg had lifted to rest on his hip and keep him locked against me. Somehow our faces came so close that when the Ferris wheel jolts the cart and begins to move, we're pushed together that remaining inch until our lips brush against each other and we're sharing breaths. Oh, God. My stomach dips to a puddle at my feet and it doesn't help that Holden growls low in his throat, right against my lips, showing me what it could be like if we kissed for real.

Then the cart is close enough to the ground that the sounds of everyone in line are clear again. I lock eyes with Holden one last time, both of us saying goodbye to this moment that could have transformed into something else entirely, before we let go and move to separate ends of our seat.

Holy crap.

The cart stops in place at the bottom and this time Holden pushes the bar up before the worker can do it for us. He stands up, offering his hand, and I take it with my much shakier one. If he notices, he doesn't say. But he does hold my hand as we go down the short steps off the ride. My legs are wobbly too from the adrenaline that left my body so instantly. I'm still trying to adjust.

"I have to stay back." He's the first to speak, voice raspy as his eyes meet mine. "I have to reserve our booth for next year's fair and then go see my boss."

"Yeah. Of course." I nod. Speaking is harder than it should be considering I can't catch my breath. "I'll...I'll see you around."

He nods too, and for a moment his eyes drop to my lips. Then he pulls in a steady breath and lets go of my hand, taking off. When he's out of sight, I finally let my knees give out on me and sit right there on the concrete, breathing hard.

I don't think Holden Rey is my enemy anymore.

_________________________

A/N

THE TENSION. I REPEAT—THE SEXUAL TENSION.

I felt that almost kiss in my bones. And when it didn't happen it was a legit slap in the face. So don't hate on me because I'm going through it too!! But seriously, can't wait for what happens next because this is their turning point!

Also in case some of you were wondering about Holden's story and why he is the way he is, what do you think? I've never written a character quite like him before and I'm enjoying being in his head a lot. Might need to give him a POV before the book ends.

Please VOTE, comment and share if you liked this chapter!

Happy Reading :)