Maya     (Yes, two Maya chapters in a row, oops)

I knock on the front door of Holden's house, after thanking Nella for the ride. She says she is heading over to get some groceries and tells me to text her later. She also looks at me like she knows exactly what I'm thinking, before I get out of her car. I wonder if she knows I'm terrified.

   I feel like I'm breaking all the rules, all of a sudden. I can see the house I grew up in. It's right there, and this is the first time since I've been back that I don't feel like I will have a meltdown just seeing it. My dad's car is in the driveway. I've made no effort, in two months, to talk to him. But I didn't think I'd be giving Holden the time of day, either. And here I am.

   The door opens and Holden's dog slips out to greet me. She's beautiful and I instinctively reach down to pet her head, before looking up to meet Holden's eyes. They flick down my body and back up just as quickly.

   "Um, hi." He looks so confused. "Did we... make plans?"

   "No. Oh, your mom called me this morning. She asked me to come and check on you-"

   "Of course she did," he says, and then grins. "Come on in."

   I don't hesitate, even though it feels like the weird kind of deja vu. I spent years and years in this house. For a few years, I was probably here more than I was at my own house. The energy feels different now, though. This isn't a house with an amazing mom and two young boys. Now, it is Holden's house.

   The front hall looks much the same but there are more plants than I remember. I slip off my shoes, then follow him through to the kitchen, trying not to notice how good his ass looks in his jeans.

   "Do you want a drink? Coffee, or anything?" he asks me, turning back around.

   "Sure," I say, and nod. "Thanks."

   He pours two coffees and adds a little milk to his, before holding one out to me. Black. He remembers.  I take it, and our fingers touch, just a little bit.

   "You could have called first. I mean, I don't need checking up on. I'm fine, as you can see." He waves his hand down his body and back up, and then smiles when our eyes meet again. "I mean, I'm not mad you're here, though."

   "Ah. Your mom said you should be taking it easy. Are you?" I ask.

   His smile turns into a grin and I see that dimple. Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head. "I have work to do."

   "Oh right. I would love to see one of your paintings." I try to make this sound casual and like something I'd say to a friend.

   "One? Well, you're in luck. I have twelve here." He's making a funny face so it seems like he's kidding.

   I let out a laugh and then realize he's not joking. "Twelve?"

   "I need fifteen for the exhibit. I've been inspired lately..."

   I swallow hard. "That's good, right?"

   "Yep. I don't really let people in my studio, but... I will bring a few out. Do you want to go sit in the living room?" he asks me.

   He's obviously fine. I'm glad, because he just got stabbed a couple of days ago. He needed surgery, for god's sake. And three days later he's up and around, just like normal. He must be some kind of super hero. I don't need to be here, but now I want to be here. It feels good, and right.

   "Sure," I say and turn to go to the living room with my coffee in my hand.

   This room is very similar to what I remember it being like. The TV has been upgraded. There's a love seat that I don't recognize. And the plants are in here, too. But just as I'm sitting, I spot two paintings. They are leaning against a wall, off to the side of the room. I only have to look for a second because it's so obvious that I'm looking at two different paintings of myself.

   "I brought these two-" Holden is saying as he steps into the room, just a couple minutes later. He stops and stares, his mouth open. "Shit. I forgot those were in here."

   I look at him. The two paintings he brought in here - one in each hand - are gorgeous. One's a floral mix with bright colors. The other is very obviously his mom.

   "Wow, Holden. They are beautiful." I say, pretending I didn't see the other two.

   I might as well not embarrass him right now. The painting of his mom is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's so amazing how I can just feel that this is how he sees her.

   "Thanks," he says quietly, but his eyes are on the two paintings against the wall. "You saw those?"

   "Well, yeah."

   "I... I can explain."

   I smile. "When did you paint those?"

   "Over the last few weeks."

   My stomach flips. The way I feel now is undeniable. I think the first time I realized that I was feeling "things"' for him was at the Art Hub, when we talked for a bit and he gave me his number. But now it's butterflies and uncertainty. And I don't know how he feels, which makes this so much harder.

   "The first one..." he points to the one where I look like I teenager. "It's how I feel when I think of you. When you looked at me and agreed to be my girlfriend and said you felt things for me that was more than a friend... I still feel that in my chest when I see you. This one... it was when I realized that I ... I feel better when I think about you. It's like all my worries melt away. So I painted you, so I could..."

   "Holden," I breathe out.

   He puts down the paintings and leans them again the sofa and then takes a few steps towards me. I want to pull him closer and also push him away.

   "I know you went through a lot when you left. And you didn't plan to see me again... but I never stopped thinking about you, Maya."

   I don't know what to say and I can't think of any words, anyway. My brain is mush. I just look at him and I know he'll keep talking, even if I say nothing.

   "I couldn't forgive myself for not being strong enough for you. I was supposed to be there for you and I... I failed you."

   Tears fill my eyes. That's what he thinks? This whole time he's been thinking that he failed me? I left Boothbay because he slept with my best friend, but also because I hated myself for what I did. I hated my dad for what he did. I hated that my mom was dead. I was a mess, and it wasn't Holden's fault.

   "You didn't fail me, Holden. Everything was just, it was too much." My heart is pounding.

   Holden is just standing there staring at me like he's ready to say something else. But he doesn't. This time he stays quiet.

   "I wish my mom didn't get sick. I wish I didn't go to that stupid party. And I wish I didn't run away, from you. But I did."

   "I'm so sorry for -" he tries.

   I put my hand up. "It's... don't. Don't apologize for that. It was a long time ago."

   "But you wouldn't have left. We would have had our lives together this whole time, if I hadn't..."

   "Maybe. But you got to go live in LA and get your paintings in a museum. That wouldn't have happened if I'd stayed," I say. 

   He shrugs. "Who knows."

   "We can't worry about the past, Holden. I just want to think about now."

   "Okay." His eyes go to the paintings of me again. "I am putting those in my exhibit. Is that okay?"

   I look where he's looking. He painted me a few times when we were younger but his skills have improved and he's obviously using better quality paints and canvases. Four years is a long time, and Holden has become an amazing artist. I swallow hard.

   "Of course. And that one of your mom?" I ask.

   "Yes."

   "You know how good you are, right?"

   He blushes a little and I notice him look away for a second. His hair is falling across his forehead and his beard looks like it's been recently trimmed. He's got a small smudge of brown paint on his cheek. God, this man is gorgeous. He looks so much like the boy I loved, but also not like him at all.

   "Thank you," he finally says.

   His dog barks and walks over towards the back door of the house, just off the living room. She paws at the door, then turns and barks at us again.

   "Alright, Honey. Hold on," Holden says to her, then looks back at me. "You want to go take a little walk?"

   I want to go anywhere he goes. I feel so connected to him now, like my heart knows him, knows how we are supposed to be together. My body always wanted Marcus. I let myself indulge in him, in what I was doing with him, so I could forget that I was broken and running from something. But now? Now the thing I was running from is in jail and Holden saved me, and now we are here, together.

   "Yeah," I tell Holden, and even though it's scary, I can't wait to see what happens next.