Holland

Holy shit. I thought he knew, like I really, really thought he had figured out my age. When he came through the bathroom door without my phone, looking so upset, my heart nearly stopped. I still have no idea what has him so worked up, but thank God it has nothing to do with me. I’ve got to get to my phone right now.

I’m going to Savannah’s for a good helping of normal after this long day of being saturated by all things King. It was beautiful, hot and sweet, but for a girl who usually spends her afternoons cooped up in a tiny, stuffy room alone, playing a violin, and her evenings with school books spread all over the bed studying, King’s attention was a complete emotional pleasure overload.

Making good use of the shampoo King left on the edge of the tub, I scrub the honey from my hair and skin before sliding up onto the very slippery edge to sit and dry off. I need to hurry, but I’m scared of losing my footing on the steps. With the towel tucked around my body, I scoot to the top step and grab the rail before descending. As soon as I hit the marble floor, I take baby steps to the door and fly down the hall to King’s bedroom.

My purse . . . it’s not on the floor where I left it earlier. It’s on the bed, but I breathe a sigh of relief when it doesn’t look like he had time to search for my phone. With my hair dripping on the face of the phone, I find Savannah on my contact list and press call. When I straighten to wait for her to pick up, I catch my reflection in the mirror across the room. I don’t even recognize myself at first. The person I’m used to seeing staring back at me is sweet faced and innocent; this person is disheveled and flushed with the air of satisfaction. She’s sexy and happy, with eyes full of maturity—nothing close to the chaste girl I was just a day ago. My God, how did this happen?

Savannah answers the phone in a panic. “Holland. What the fuck, why haven’t you called your mother? She’s called me like four hundred times. I can’t hold her off any more. You’d better do something—”

“Savannah, stop. Shit, you’re freaking me out. Can you come get me? Please tell me your mama left the car,” I shout, cutting her off. Savannah freezes on the other end of the line for a moment. I never ever raise my voice.

“Oh my God, he hurt you. If he touched a hair on your head without your permission, I’m bringing the shotgun my daddy left me and I’m blowing his slick talking, rich ass head clean off his shoulders. Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t cover for you. This was such a stupid idea . . .” I let her rant and ramble while I gather my clothes from the floor. When she’s worn herself out, I hear the engine of her mama’s Suburban come to life in the background.

“Savannah . . . be careful. Do you have your seatbelt on? I don’t want you driving like a maniac.”

“You’re worried about me? Holland, that bastard is over there . . . doing . . . I don’t even know what, and you wanna know if I have a seatbelt on? Are you still at this place?”

“I’m fine! If you would calm down for two seconds, I’d explain. He hasn’t hurt me. I’m perfectly fine, but he had to go out of town unexpectedly, and I forgot to call home, so I need you to hurry up and come get me so I don’t get caught.”

“Oh. Oh, good. Shit, I’m glad I don’t have to shoot him. He’s so pretty.”

I throw my head back and laugh into the dark. She’s the only person I know who would worry about messing up a pretty face by shooting it off.

I hear the radio in the Durango, and the engine accelerates in the background. She’s already on the road. I need to hurry; she’ll be here soon. I grab my wadded up romper off the floor and toss it in my bag, and I dress in the clothes I started my day in.

“I’m going down to the main entrance of the club. I’ll wait for you outside,” I say, scanning the room to be sure I have everything I came with.

“No. It’s Saturday night, and that place is probably nuts outside. Stay inside. I’ll call you when I’m there, and you can come down then.”

“Okay, but hurry. My mama’s going to be knocking on your door any minute now.”

We end the call, and I toss my phone into my purse and run my fingers through my tangled hair. Crap, she’s gonna know something’s up if I show up out there with wet hair and no makeup. I need a hair dryer, but that means I’ll have to go snooping around. Do guys even own hair dryers? When I grab my purse, I realize his bed is still a big sticky, wet mess of honey and whipping cream. I feel bad just leaving it for him to come home to tomorrow, so I carefully peel off the sheets and gather them into a ball, taking note of the thin plastic sheet underneath, protecting his mattress. I wonder if that’s new or if it’s necessary because he plays this way with other women. He said he never let another woman into his apartment. I wonder if that’s true? It’s hard to believe such a player would sleep alone every night in this big, beautiful bed.

I turn and take a few steps toward the door before I unconsciously decide to go back and strip the plastic off the bed too. I have no idea if I’m the jealous type, but something inside of me can’t bear the thought of him messing up this bed with anyone else, so I take it into the kitchen and stuff it into a stainless steel trash can next to the pantry.

Laundry room . . . where would the laundry room be? I jump out of my skin when a man steps into the kitchen out of the shadows of the adjoining living room.

“Shit!” I scream when I see him, and he calmly raises his hands, palms out in front of his body.

“I’m not coming any closer.”

“Who are you?” I holler, but I’ve already put it together in my head before he speaks. It’s King’s security guy, Sebastián.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bennett. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry, Sebastián. I just wasn’t expecting . . . I mean, I didn’t know you were here,” I say, clutching my chest with one hand and the wet sheets with the other.

“Mr. Romero’s sheets?” he asks nonchalantly, and I look down at the damp ball of material smashed up against my body.

“Ah . . . yes, um, I was looking for a washing machine to toss them into.” I don’t know why I’m so uncomfortable. Sebastián knows I was here last night, and he was helping King tonight with his magical fairyland dinner party. He knows what we’ve been doing.

“This way,” he says, motioning for me to follow him. On the other side of the kitchen wall is the fanciest laundry room I’ve ever seen. Two sets of washing machines and dryers on one wall, and beautiful cherry cabinetry that matches what’s in the kitchen along the opposite wall. Marble countertops run the length of the room, with storage bins underneath. Sebastián opens the front-loading washing machine and removes the sheets from my hands. When he has the load started, he turns to face me, and I see something in his eyes that worries me. He’s about to say something that I’m positive I don’t want to hear.

“Ms. Bennett.”

“Please call me Holland.”

“Holland . . . as you know, I’m head of Mr. Romero’s security team.” His tone is serious. I nod and wait for him to go on.

“It’s my job to keep him safe and inform him of the backgrounds of those he associates with . . .” He pauses, and I hold my breath and start to shake my head back and forth. He knows.

“Ms. Bennett . . . Holland, I know that you’re only nineteen years old. You’re a very smart, mature young lady, and I’m sure you’re aware that misrepresenting yourself with fake identification is illegal. King’s business could be closed down if he were caught serving alcohol to minors.

His words hang in the air between us. I’ve been selfish by keeping my age a secret, and I hadn’t even thought about what could happen to King if we were caught with our fake IDs. The only repercussions I had to worry about were being grounded or disappointing my parents. King would have to deal with the law and codes and the courts if we were caught.

“I’m not telling you this because I’m worried about King. I’m concerned for you, Holland. Mr. Romero has legal representation that is quite literally above the law, so he would never actually spend time behind bars, but you need to know that he’s a very dangerous man, and if he finds out you’ve been lying to him he could . . . well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be good for anyone. I haven’t told him and I don’t plan to, but I will if you refuse to stay away from him. King isn’t just a rich club owner. He’s a billionaire, a billionaire who inherited his father’s empire when he died—a very illegal, dangerous empire. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

The only thing I really understand is that Sebastián knows I’m nineteen and he’s not telling King, period. I can’t think past that right now. I have an instant headache. The air in the laundry room is thick and oppressive and I need out.

“Holland? Are you going to be all right?” Sebastián says, snapping me out of my daze. “I need to be sure you understand how serious this is. You have to stay away from King. Being associated with him could get you killed.”

“What? Killed . . . but why?” I understand the problem with our age difference and that I’ve lied to him, but why on earth would I be killed for being with him unless . . . oh God, he said King had an illegal empire, didn’t he? The information starts to filter down and settle until I’m seeing it clearly. His club is named Ecstasy. King is a drug dealer.

Oh no, no, no, no, this isn’t happening. He can’t be. Why didn’t I see it? I’m a smart girl. I know right from wrong, but ever since King touched me I’ve been making terrible decisions, putting myself in dangerous situations, engaging in extremely risky behavior, and for what? A drug dealer.

“Drugs?” I ask, but Sebastián just stares at me, neither confirming nor denying my guess. That’s as good as confirming it in my mind. I drop my head back to stare at the ceiling and hide the tears forming in my eyes. My phone pings in my pocket, and I don’t even look to see who it is. I bolt for the door. The music from the club blasts my ears like an atomic bomb when I open the door. I don’t remember it being so loud last night. Everything vibrates around me—the walls, the floor, the people . . . everything. I turn for the elevator and someone just happens to be getting off. I race to jump in before the doors close and pace back and forth in the small, empty space. Panic sets in. He’s a drug dealer—a drug dealer. I chew my thumbnail while Sebastián’s words bounce around in my head: won’t tell him if I stay away, very dangerous, I could be killed.

My stomach is churning when I exit the elevator. The fairytale environment from earlier has been transformed back into the pumping dance club with wall-to-wall people drinking, laughing and dancing. I wonder how many of them are on drugs. If King owns clubs all over the world, this could be one of many distributing drugs . . . more puzzle pieces slide into place. The clubs are a cover . . .

This is all just too much. I shove through the well-dressed crowd, being groped several times before I stumble into the lobby. Savannah is waiting in her mama’s big, black Suburban right outside. Two bouncers sit at the door on bar stools checking IDs. One of them spots me, and he immediately stands up to hand the ID back to the girl in front of him while calling out my name.

“Ms. Bennett,” he says over the noise. What does he want? The thought hardly registers before he’s standing right in front of me.

“Ms. Bennett, Mr. Romero wanted me to be sure you were safe going outside tonight. Is your ride here?”

“Uh yeah, right there.” I point toward Savannah.

“I’ll walk you to the car,” he says, taking a hold of my elbow.

I step back, reclaiming the personal space that he has just invaded.

“I’m fine. There’s no need, it’s only a few steps,” I say and start for the door with Mr. Hot Bouncer on my heels. I ignore him, working against the line of clubbers out front, but somehow he makes it to the car first and opens the door to let me in. I stop short with my mouth hanging open when I see him there. I’m irritated, but hot bouncer guy won’t even look me in the eyes now. He just stands there holding the door, staring over my shoulder past me, until I huff and climb in. I reach to pull it shut, but he holds it open and bends to look past me at Savannah.

“Lock the doors and drive safely, please. Mr. Romero wanted me to relay that message to you.”

And with that, he closes the door and disappears back into the club.

“What the hell was that all about?” Savannah asks.

I don’t even know where to begin. How am I going to tell her about this mess? Instead of trying, I cover my eyes with my hand and cry.

“Holland? What the fuck is going on around here? Why are you crying?” When I don’t answer, she continues verbally dissecting what little information she has. “You forget to call your mama, then you call me up in a panic, asking me to come get you, but you say King hasn’t hurt you, and then some bouncer tells you to be safe and lock the doors. What am I missing here?”

Sniveling, I open the center console and pull out some tissue. I blow my nose and dry my eyes. “I can’t see him again, Savannah. He’s not just a club owner. He’s a . . . a drug dealer. I think he probably sells the drugs out of his clubs.”

“What? Where’d you get that crazy idea?” she says, shaking her head.

“It’s not an idea. It’s the truth. His head of security told me—well, he didn’t actually tell me, but he warned me about King. He said he has this empire or something that he inherited from his daddy when he died, and that he’s really dangerous. And he knows I’m only nineteen.”

She lets out a long, low whistle while she starts the engine. “Wow . . . man, I thought you were in over your head with the lie about your age and having a crush on an older man, but this . . . I mean, this is like shit from the movies or HBO specials.”

“I can’t believe it either,” I whisper so softly that she probably didn’t even hear me. “I’m really hot. Can you turn the air down?” I’m not only hot. I’m nauseous. The magnitude of this situation is hitting me hard, and apparently my body has decided that throwing up is the best way to purge stress.

Savannah looks my way after she turns down the air, and knowing me well, she pulls over to the side of the road.

I open the door and lean out, preparing for a horrible bout of retching, but it never comes. Beads of sweat line my forehead as I grip the dash and the door jamb, but mercifully, none of my dinner makes a reappearance.

“I’m okay now. Let’s go,” I say, gulping in the cool night air.

“You sure? I don’t have time to clean puke outta my mama’s car. We need to get home.”

“Yes, go,” I say and wave my hand forward. The further away from club Ecstasy and King Romero’s world I get, the better off I’ll be . . . I think.

Back at Savannah’s house, we couldn’t have had better timing. Just as I get changed into an oversized t-shirt of Savannah’s and settled on the couch to watch TV, Mama starts banging on the door.

“Savannah, why aren’t you answering your phone?” she hollers through the door. When Savannah opens it, she storms in, red faced and frantic.

“Hi, Mrs. Bennett. What’s up?” she says cheerily, and I sink a little further into the overstuffed couch cushions, hoping Mama doesn’t see my swollen eyes.

“What’s up? What’s up, Missy, is that I’ve been trying to call you both for two hours with no answer. What’s going on over here? Where’s your mother?”

“Oh, she went out with her new boyfriend. I’m sorry about the phone. Mine died. Holland, where’s your phone?” she asks, turning in the darkened room to look at me curled up on the couch. I wish like hell I could just disintegrate into the old dust-filled stuffing of the pillows where I would never have to lie to my mother again.

“Um, I think it’s in my bag in your room. Sorry, Mama. I should have called, but we got caught up watching this . . .” I don’t know what the hell we are supposed to have been watching.

“Super sad movie,” Savannah says dramatically with wide doe eyes. “Holland is such a sap, she’s been bawling since the main character got arrested and had to leave her fiancé to go to jail.”

I glance at the screen and thank God Mama doesn’t know anything about Orange is the New Black, because that’s what Savannah has on. I have an overwhelming urge to roll my eyes, but I nod in agreement instead. Mama tilts her head to the side and peers through the dark to examine me closer. She’s never been suspicious of me before, and I think she’s trying to figure out if she should be now. She takes a quick breath in and blows it out when she’s satisfied nothing fishy is going on.

“Well, all right, you girls don’t stay up too late now. You need your sleep. And go get your phone, Holland. I want you to answer it if I call you from now on, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama, I’m sorry. I’ll go get it right now,” I say and welcome the excuse to leave the room. She calls out “I love you,” and I hear the door click shut and three locks being turned. Savannah’s mama is a little paranoid about intruders. When I dig my phone from my purse, I see I have six unread texts—one from my mama, who never texts, so she must have been desperate. The other five are from King.

Standing in my best friend’s bedroom with only the light of my cellphone, I stare at the screen and pray for a solution. I think I might have been falling for King, but now that I know who he really is—what he really is—I know I’ll never get past that. There’s no way in hell I could ever be involved with someone like that. My whole life has been about preparing to be a professional musician. Being associated with King would destroy everything I’ve worked so hard for. God, I hope it hasn’t already. What if someone finds out? My parents would flip, Juilliard would retract my entrance acceptance in a heartbeat, and all of my years of hard work would go up in smoke. No. I’m not letting that happen. I have to cut things off with King completely, starting with these texts.

“Hey, whatcha doin’ standing in the dark?” Savanna asks softly.

“Thinking.” I hold the phone to my chest, and two fat tears race down my cheeks.

“Do you want to talk? I mean, I don’t know what to say, but I can listen if you want.”

“There isn’t really anything to say. King was a mistake. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I lost my mind.” I can’t keep the quiver from my voice, and Savannah rushes into the room, smashing me into a bear hug.

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t begged you to go clubbing, you would have never met him.”

I don’t regret meeting King, and I especially don’t regret what happened between us. It was amazing to be swept off my feet like that, and I’m glad he was my first. It was magical and intense and too good to be true. I should have known.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you forced me. I could have said no to the clubbing, the drinking, and to King, but I didn’t, and that’s on me,” I say, untangling myself from her arms. “Let’s go finish watching Orange is the new black.”

“You caught that, huh?”

“Yea. I’m glad nobody started cursing or getting naked while she was standing there.”

“I would have died laughing,” she says.

“I don’t feel like laughing.”

I can just make out the silhouette of Savanna nodding in the dark before she turns to lead the way back to the living room.

My phone pings, notifying me of another text while I’m snuggling into my spot on the couch.

“Who’s that?” she asks, and I turn my gaze toward the TV.

I have to decide how to handle breaking things off with King. Should I read his texts or just delete them and block his number? If I read them, it will make me weak and I’ll feel obligated to reply. And I have a strong suspicion that King will not be ignored. Blocking his number will only prolong the inevitable until he gets home from Miami and searches me out.

My phone pings again, reminding me of the waiting texts. Ugh, I need time to think and my damn phone is rushing me.

“You gonna answer that?” she asks.

“I don’t know what to do. He keeps texting, and I want to answer but I can’t.”

“I can read them for you,” she offers. That wouldn’t be a bad idea if I weren’t afraid of him saying something about last night.

“Thanks. I should probably do it though.”

“Holland, you said earlier that you could have said no to King. Did you mean—”

“Yeah,” I answer. She may as well know everything—well not everything. I look over, and she’s frozen on the other couch with her mouth hanging open. We were both virgins, and it was always assumed that she would be the first to lose hers. In fact, she teased me that I’d never give it up to anyone because I couldn’t put my violin down long enough.

“Who are you? I mean, where is the real Holland? I can’t believe this.”

“I’m not sure who I am anymore either.”

“Holland, what are you gonna do? I can tell you’re into him, but damn, he’s really a drug dealer? Are you positive? Could that Sebastián person be wrong? What if he’s just trying to scare you off for some reason? I think you should talk to King before you make any decisions.”

She has a point. I mean, Sebastián didn’t actually say the words, ‘King is a drug dealer,’ and I’ve only known King for less than forty-eight hours.

“Look at the texts. See what he’s saying.”

I sigh and cave easily, looking at his first message. When I see it’s pretty tame, I read it out loud to Savannah.

‘Thinking of you. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just ask Sebastián.’

“He sounds sweet, not like a drug dealer.”

“What’s a drug dealer sound like?” I ask.

“Like you know . . . using curse words and being bossy and stuff. I don’t know, not like that though. What’s the next one say?” She wiggles into a more attentive position on her couch and waves at my phone.

‘Boarding the jet. I’ll message when I’m in the air. Are you okay?’

“Boarding the jet? Holy shit, Holland, he has a jet? Maybe he really is a drug dealer.”

“Just because he’s boarding a jet doesn’t mean he owns it.”

“Now you’re defending him? A minute ago you were ready to dump him,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

“I know. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. I’ve never had a boyfriend or whatever he is, and I’ve certainly never known a drug dealer, okay?” I yell and toss the phone aside.

“Okay, okay, sorry. It’s just . . . I dunno. This is so crazy.” She shakes her head.

“You don’t have to tell me that. I feel like I’m in the middle of a tornado. I don’t know which way is up.”

“Call him.” She shrugs.

“What? I can’t just call him, he’s on a business trip.”

“Okay, then read the rest of his texts at least.” I grab my phone again and scroll to his third text.

‘Getting ready to land. You’re quiet, baby. You okay?’

“He calls you baby? Oh my God, that’s serious.” She’s on her knees now, rubbing her hands on her thighs and practically vibrating with excitement.

“It’s no big deal.” I lie, because it is to me. I love it when he calls me baby.

“Okay, next message,” she says with enthusiasm. She’s just not getting that this is serious. It’s not a game. I have strong feelings for this man, and we both have secrets—big secrets. I sigh and look at the next message.

‘Call me.’ Short and direct.

“Well that’s a little bossy—much more like a drug dealer,” she says, nodding her head up and down.

“You’re not helping, Savannah.”

“Sorry. Keep going. What else does he say?”

‘Call. Me.’ Again? Shit.

“Uh, I think maybe you should call him.”

I look with one eye open to see what his last message says, and it makes me sit up straight and drop my phone in my lap.

“What? Holland, what did he say?” she asks, joining me on my couch. She picks up my phone to read the message herself. I hear her gasp when she reads it aloud.

‘I’m having the jet refueled. I’m coming home right now if you don’t call me—pinky swear.’

“Pinky swear? What’s that mean? Shit, Holland, call him.” She hands me the phone and I take a deep breath before dialing.

He can’t come home. He can’t find out I’ve been lying to him about my age. He can’t know I live at home with my parents, and I can’t keep seeing a drug dealer, no matter how I feel about him.

The phone doesn’t even finish ringing one time before I hear his voice.

“Holland, is everything alright?” he says, and I hear the howl of a jet engine in the background.

“I’m fine, sorry I didn’t text you back. I guess my phone was on vibrate. You don’t have to come home. Really. Everything’s fine.” I start to think he can’t hear me over the noise of the jet, because he doesn’t respond right away.

“Something’s wrong. I hear it in your voice. You sound scared.” Shit, now what am I supposed to say? I sound scared because I am, but I can’t tell him I’m scared of him.

“Uh no, why would I be scared? I just don’t want you to rush back. You have business there, and I’m fine.”

“Holland, if someone is making you say these things, just say yes right now, okay, baby?”

“Huh?”

“If someone is with you that doesn’t want me to come home, and they are holding you against your will, say yes right now.”

“No, no one is . . . wait, why would anyone be holding me against my will?” I ask, sitting up straighter and bouncing my foot up and down on the floor. Oh my God, am I already in danger from being associated with him?

I hear him sigh heavily into the phone. “This problem in Miami could be gang related, and I guess I’m just being paranoid where you’re concerned. I’m sorry if I upset you. Sebastián says you left and Brian saw you off. Are you at home?”

“Yes, sort of. I mean, I’m at Savannah’s spending the night.”

“Oh good. Okay then. I need to get over to the club if I’m not coming home. You’re positive everything is alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine.”

“I miss you already, Holland.” Oh God, his voice is hypnotizing. I can’t think about anything but his mouth forming the words I miss you and his hands all over me. All the drugs and illegal activity in the world can’t stop my body from reacting to that voice.

“I miss you too,” I answer breathlessly, and Savannah shoves my shoulder, bringing me back to reality.

“I’ll be home soon. Keep your phone close and turn on the volume, please. I don’t like not being able to reach you.”

“Okay,” I squeak helplessly. I can’t make myself tell him that I won’t be seeing him again . . . ever.

“Think of me, Holland. Think about my hands sliding over your silky skin in the water tonight and my lips on your mouth, your neck, your perfect breasts. Think of my hard cock pressing against your back . . . fuck, I might have to get back on this plane. I can’t believe I left you like that. I’m so hard for you it hurts, baby. I can’t wait to get back to you.” His deep, gravelly voice turns me inside out. I can’t breathe. My heart is pounding in my chest so loudly that he can probably hear it in Miami. I close my eyes and think of his hands, the water, the honey . . .

No one has ever spoken to me that way. I don’t even think I’ve ever heard a man say things like that in a movie. This is so much worse than I thought it would be. I have no idea how I’m going to cut this man out of my life.

“Speechless?” he says playfully.

“Uh yeah. Sorry, it’s just . . .”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to think of me.” The line goes dead, and part of me wishes I were dead too.

“So? What did he say? For a minute there I thought you were gonna faint.”

“He knows something’s wrong. He wants me to think of him, and he’s coming home tomorrow. Can we talk about something else? Distract me or something. This is all just too confusing to try and figure out right now.”

Savannah chews her bottom lip, and after a minute, she jumps up and takes off down the hall. When she returns carrying a violin case, she has an insanely big grin on her face.

Raising an eyebrow, I reach for the instrument.

“It’s mine from the fourth grade. It’s a piece of crap. Play. It always makes you feel better.”

I open the case and discover that she’s right. It’s a piece of crap, but right now I don’t care. She knows me so well. Music has always been my coping mechanism, and Lord knows, right now I’m not coping very well.

“What are you going to do?” I ask. I can’t imagine how Savannah thinks classical music is boring. She likes her music loud with a pounding beat.

“I’ll just lay over there and let you play me to sleep,” she teases.

“Nice, thanks.” I roll my eyes and try to tune her violin. It’s almost impossible, but I get it as close as I can and begin to play Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings. It’s one of the saddest pieces of music I know. Savannah is actually familiar with the piece. She has an electronic mixed version on one of her playlists.

I close my eyes and let the music take me away to the place that feels most comfortable, the place that is home to my soul. I slowly slide my bow across the strings, feeling every fiber of it connecting to make the sounds that will temporarily ease my pain. If I could sit on this couch and play every minute for the rest of my life, I would. My small, comfortable life has been turned upside down by a man I can never have, a love that can never be known. I feel a part of me growing up tonight as I sit and try to figure out my very grown up problems. I’ve always felt more mature than my friends—sometimes even more mature than some adults—but this is something that even the most experienced adult would have trouble dealing with.

Orange is long past being over, and Savannah is fast asleep on the couch when I finally have to put the violin down because my arms are too weak to play another note. As soon as I do, my real world problems come rushing back. I lay in the dark, swinging back and forth between my heart and my mind. I could easily throw all caution to the wind and tell King I lied about my age and pray that he cares enough about me to overlook it. Or I could avoid him like the plague and go to New York earlier than I had planned. Maybe some distance would help me get on with the life I’ve been dreaming of for as long as I can remember.

It’s past two in the morning, and I’m exhausted when I finally lay my head down to sleep. King wanted me to think of him, and think of him I do. All night while I sleep, his face plays the leading man in all of my dreams. Some are happily ever after dreams, some are confusing and broken, and others are downright nightmares.

In the morning, I don’t feel one bit refreshed, even though I sleep until eleven o’clock. Savannah is in the kitchen making grilled cheese and tomato soup. She’s been up for a while. She’s showered and dressed with her ear buds in, listening to something so loud that I can hear it twenty feet away.

“You’re going to be deaf if you don’t turn that down, you know,” I say, fully aware that she can’t hear me, but she squints, trying to read my lips before pulling one bud out and letting it dangle from her neck.

“Huh?” she says, and I chuckle and repeat myself.

“You’re going to be deaf.”

“It’s not that loud, hush. Here, eat something.”

I take a seat at the kitchen table and see her glance at the coffee table where my phone is sitting before pouring the hot soup into mugs.

“He’s been calling. I put it on vibrate so you could sleep.” I sigh and drop my head back.

“How long does it take to fly from Miami?” I ask the ceiling.

“About two hours and thirty minutes. Why?”

“Because he’s probably already home. He said he would come straight home if I didn’t answer his calls.”

“Shit, does he know where you live? Do you think he will just show up on your doorstep?”

“Yes, absolutely. I have to call him.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“I don’t know, whatever comes out of my mouth I guess. I can’t figure this out, but I know he won’t give up. I’ll have to tell him I lied about my age and that I know what he is.”

“What if he freaks out?”

“Then he freaks out,” I say, taking the mug of soup from her.

“Okay, it’s your funeral,” she says, sitting down next to me. I kick her shin and she yelps.

“Sorry, bad choice of words. I forgot he’s a drug dealer. But seriously, why don’t you just have that Sebastián guy tell him and avoid the trouble?”

“I owe it to him to tell him the truth myself. I shouldn’t have lied to him.”

“He shouldn’t have lied to you either.”

“It’s more like we both omitted the truth. Neither of us actually lied. I mean, he assumed I was over 21 because I was in his club, and I assumed he was just a club owner because that’s all he told me.”

She shakes her head and smiles while she dips her sandwich into her soup.

“What?” I ask.

“You can rationalize anything, ya know that?”

“Hush.” We eat in silence until I realize I didn’t hear her mother come in last night.

“Your mama still out?”

She takes a bite of her sandwich and looks past me toward the front door. “Yeah. Told ya she doesn’t usually come home when she’s with that guy.” Her voice is laced with disappointment and anger. I feel bad for her. If her mama’s not working, she’s dating. There’s never any time left for Savannah.

My parents are so different from hers. Everything they do is somehow geared toward getting me to New York so I can fulfill my dreams.

“Sorry, sore subject. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I just wondered if she was home.”

“It’s cool. You’d better shower and call him back before your mama comes to get you for practice.” Practice. Shit, that’s right. I have to be there at one o’clock. I need to hurry. Should I call first and shower after, or shower and then call? Shower first, definitely. That will give me some time to think of a way to tell him that we can’t see each other anymore—as if there were any good way to tell him.

“I’m going to shower,” I say, getting up to put my dishes in the dishwasher.

“Grab something out of my closet to wear if you want.”

“Thanks,” I say, picking up my phone. I make my way down the narrow hall to the only bathroom in Savannah’s small house, glancing at her old family photos on the walls. It’s strange how they all stop when her daddy left them, kind of like a representation of the death of her family. I’m so grateful that my parents still love each other and I never had to deal with the heartache and mess of having divorced parents.

I start the shower in a thoughtful daze and quickly strip down and hop into the hot water. Savannah’s house is always cold, even during the hottest part of the summer. As soon as I’ve stepped under the spray, I hear a commotion coming from the front of the house. God, I’ll bet Savannah’s mama is home and Savannah’s pissed off at her for not calling, the poor thing. Savannah’s shouting gradually becomes louder and closer, and it sounds like she’s fighting with her mama’s boyfriend who kept her out all night. I wince when they’re just outside the bathroom door. I don’t want to be eavesdropping on her family problems, but I’m sort of stuck in here.

I lean my head back under the spray to block out the noise when the bathroom door bursts open and I hear Savannah yelling at King—not her mama or her boyfriend.

“Get the fuck out of my house. Holland, get dressed,” she shouts. I’m frozen, paralyzed with my hands still in my soapy hair.

“Stop pulling at my clothes. Move, damn it!” King yells, and I hear them slapping at each other. Savannah’s a scrapper. She can smack, scratch and pull hair with the best of them.

The shower curtain is ripped open, and I jump and lose my balance trying to cover myself, but King roughly thrusts his hand in to grab my waist, steadying me.

“I told him not to come in here, Holland. You need to leave right now. I’m gonna get my daddy’s shotgun,” Savannah screams.

“Little girl, you had better back off and let me talk to your friend here before I get really angry.” The power behind his voice causes her to stumble back just enough for him to quickly close and lock the door.

God, this is a nightmare. I squeeze my eyes closed as the shower pelts my back and shampoo runs down my forehead and over my face.

“Rinse off. We need to talk,” he says, yanking the curtain shut. I step back, trembling from the cooling water and the fury in King’s voice.

My God, what is he doing here? Shit, what am I doing? I knew I should have called him before I showered. Now he’s in Savannah’s house, where her mama could come home any minute, not to mention my own mother is right across the street in my house, getting ready to come and take me to practice.

I can’t keep my mind on what I’m supposed to be doing. My thoughts are all jumbled, and he wants me to get out. He wants to talk to me. Shit, shit, shit. I haven’t had time to wash my body or condition my hair, but King’s demanding tone isn’t one I’m willing to mess around with. I turn the faucet off with shaky hands and reach for the towel hanging on the towel rod just outside the shower. King grabs my wrist and pulls the curtain back again, completely exposing me. Thick, heavy steam billows around us as we stare at each other like two cowboys in a standoff. You’d think I would be more frightened or inhibited by this crazy drug lord bossing me around in my best friend’s bathroom, but I am neither.

His face contorts with pain and rage, which makes what I do next so insane that neither of us thinks to stop it.

I step over the side of the tub into his arms, dripping wet and shivering when the cool air hits my skin. Adrenaline blinds my common sense when I lace my arms around the back of his neck and hoist myself up, wrapping my legs around his waist. King’s hands slide easily under my ass to support me as our mouths crash together violently in a kiss filled with equal parts passion and anger.

I don’t know what he came to say. I don’t know if he found out I’m only nineteen or if he’s just pissed that I haven’t been answering my phone, but this isn’t the sweet, tender King I’ve been dealing with for two days. This King is furious and desperate and hurting.

“God damn it, Holland.” He growls between kisses, and I feel the tension and frustration rolling off of him like a cornered animal. Panic spurs me on, and I tighten my hold and push my fingers through his hair, ignorantly putting myself in harm’s way. He whirls around and sets me roughly on the edge of the vanity without breaking our kiss and works to unbutton his shirt while I fumble with his belt and unzip his suit pants.

A tiny, weak voice in the back of my mind, under a pile of sheet music, is telling me to stop. This is wrong, it’s dangerous and reckless, but when he slides inside me, that pathetic voice of reason fades into nothing.

I pull my mouth away from his and bury my face in his neck while the force of his thrusts lift me off the vanity over and over. The only sounds in the small room are King’s grunts and my gasps with every fierce penetration. There are no soft sighs or gentle moans of desire floating between us. It’s clear that this isn’t adoration or cherishing. It’s punishment—his or mine, I don’t know which, but this isn’t I miss you or I need you. This is I’m sorry and I’m angry. My apex aches with every relentless slam of his hips against mine, but I accept it willingly. If he’s trying to hurt me, the effort is soon futile when the pain turns into pure pleasure. His ferocious grunts echo off the walls of the tiny bathroom as his powerful presence drives me over the edge in seconds. I crash down around him, the rusty taste of blood spreading across my tongue as my teeth sink into his shoulder and I gasp in ecstasy.

God, What the hell am I doing?

“Bite,” King says, thrusting hard into my pulsing core.

“Me.” He thrusts again and I cry out.

“Again.”

I obey his command without hesitation and bite down on his shoulder . . . hard.

“Fuck, Holland,” he roars, slamming into me one last time as he loses control while I completely come apart at the seams in his brutal embrace.

“This is killing me, God damn it! I feel things for you, but I can’t . . . I just can’t.” He pants in my ear, no longer sounding fierce or strong.

Clinging to him with my heart pounding in my throat, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. He just told me he has feelings for me, but the anguish behind the admission shakes me to the bone. My body trembles like a leaf in his hands the longer he holds me, the tighter his embrace is, until I can’t breathe. I really cannot breathe. I’m suffocating, so much so that I can’t speak the words my brain is screaming, “LET ME GO.”

My head swims and my heart pounds like a jackhammer from the lack of oxygen. Just when I’m sure I’m going to pass out, he loosens his death grip and collapses to his knees. I gasp, gulping in the steamy air as my back scrapes against the handles of the drawers on the vanity behind me.

Stunned and dizzy, I try and wrap my mind around what’s just happened here. Something is very wrong—that’s obvious—but I don’t grasp the enormity of the problem until I feel King’s body jerking in my arms and realize he is silently crying. The sobs that rack his body destroy my heart forever.

It’s killing him.

He has feelings for me.

He can’t.

It all adds up to It’s over.