ays be.”
There was a warmth in his voice that soothed so many of my rough edges. The ones caused by missing-in-action parents and living all but alone in an empty house. The ones of never feeling good enough, no matter how high my grades were or how many extracurriculars I participated in. With Holt, I could simply be.
“I like the sound of that,” I said softly.
Voices sounded in the background. “That’s Nash. I told him I’d help him with his bike.”
The voices grew. It was the typical cacophony of the Hartley household. With four brothers and one sister, their house was always barely contained chaos. I loved it. It was so different from the sterile silence of mine.
“Tell him hey.”
“Little Williams, release my brother’s balls for ten minutes, would you?” Nash called.
There was a scuffle and a grunt.
“Shit, Holt. That hurt.”
Holt let out a low growl. “That’s what happens when you’re an ass.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips.
“Heard that, Wren,” Nash shot back. “And I won’t forget that you laughed at my pain.”
“Sorry, Nash Bash,” I said, loudly enough for him to hear across the line.
“Don’t apologize to that moron,” Holt said.
“Loveable moron,” Nash yelled, his voice moving away from the phone.
Another laugh bubbled out of me.
Holt sighed. “Sorry about that.”
“He’s harmless.” The truth was, I loved feeling like I was a part of the Hartley clan. Nash’s teasing. Grae’s steadfast friendship. Lawson’s protective big-brother act. Even Roan’s scowls in my direction. I loved that they treated me as one of theirs.
“As harmless as a two-by-four to the head,” Holt grumbled. “I’d better go help him, or I’ll never get to my girl.”
That warmth was back. Spreading. Sinking deep into the places that were only his. I pitched my voice low. “Holt?”
“Hmm?” His footsteps told me he was already moving toward the massive garage on the Hartleys’ property.
“This is one night you don’t want to be late.” My voice held a husky promise.
Holt’s steps halted. “Cricket…”
A flutter took root in my belly. “Just don’t be late.”
The list of things that typically kept Holt from running on time was endless. A mama duck was trying to cross the street, and he had to stop traffic so she and her babies could get there safely. He couldn’t find his keys. He’d searched high and low until he found them in the door to his truck. But the most common was that he’d gone out with his dad on a search and rescue call. He’d forget to text, and Grae would inevitably have to let me know where he’d gone.
I couldn’t begrudge him any of it because his reasons were always so good. He was so good. That was Holt. Easily distracted but with the best heart. And I’d love that heart until the day I died.
“I won’t be late.” Holt’s voice was low and full of promise.
That heat inside me sparked and twisted. “See you soon.”
“Soon, Cricket.”
The line went silent, but I kept the phone pressed to my ear as if I could still hear the strains of the voice I knew better than my own curling around me. There was little I loved more than my nickname slipping from his lips.