Free Love in the Details by Becky Wade Page B

himself wait a day so that he could organize his thoughts and emotions before calling his mom. She’d confirmed everything Holly had told him and reiterated all the reasons Holly had voiced. She’d even gone so far as to tell him that she’d always felt guilty about the grief she’d caused him and Holly.
    She’d expected both him and Holly to rebound and start dating again after their breakup, she’d said. They’d been eighteen years old. She’d thought that they’d recover faster than they had. She’d apologized to him and asked him to pass along her regret and heartfelt best wishes to Holly.
    He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, rubbing the side of his thumb against it.
    Despite his mother’s good intentions when she’d asked Holly to end things with him, there was no possible way that she could ever fully know what it was she’d screwed up. She’d viewed his relationship with Holly the way most parents probably viewed the relationships of their teenage children, as light and passing and juvenile.
    He and Holly were the only two people who knew how much they’d loved each other. And only he knew the scars Holly’s loss had left on him.
    None of them were completely without fault. He’d been shortsighted to want to leave MIT. His mom had been wrong to take matters into her own hands. And Holly should have told him about his mom’s visit the day it had happened.
    Did he fault Holly the most, though?
    No. Back then, his mom had been a forty-five-year-old woman armed with a mother’s fierce protectiveness of her only child. Holly had been a college freshman living apart from her family for the first time. He understood why she’d been swayed, and he believed her when she told him she’d done what she thought best for him.
    It was going to take practice to think of Holly without the bitterness that had accompanied his thoughts of her for so long. But it also felt right to try. She’d explained and apologized. He’d forgiven her.
    Who’s to say, anyway? The way things had happened might actually have been the best thing for him. He’d built his company into the stuff his dreams had been made of.
    Josh adjusted his Nike ball cap, slanting it lower.
    He hadn’t needed Holly to shop for rehearsal dinner locations with him, nor to visit his caterer once, much less twice. She’d been humoring him. He’d made up something about visiting the Olive Oil company next week, solely so that he’d have another reason to see her. She’d turned him down. Even so, when she’d whispered that it had taken her a long time to get over him, stupid hope had gripped his heart.
    He hadn’t planned to say anything to her, that day or any day, that would make him vulnerable to her again. But he’d asked her if she’d gotten over him eventually.
    She’d looked at him with that painfully beautiful face, her dusky blue eyes kind, her skin clear, faint pink on her cheekbones, a long strand of glossy, light brown hair falling in front of her shoulder. Instead of saying not yet or any other answer he could have worked with, she’d said that she had. Gotten over him.
    He wished he could say the same for himself.
    Her words, spoken in the sweetest possible way, had hit him like a slap because they’d shown him just how different her emotions were from his own.
    Josh’s passenger pushed his driver into one of the bags strapped to the back of the cart and took his seat. Josh drove them toward where he’d hooked his ball.
    He was here for Ben. In Texas during the month of November, and also on this weekend trip. It frustrated him that he couldn’t seem to think about anything except Holly, the woman he’d been trying not to love for eight years. He was weary of trying not to love her.
    He wasn’t someone who gave his trust and affection easily. He had a cautious personality, a tendency toward