on the light and tossed my keys on the table by the entry. Hard. My heart pounded in my chest and I fought for control.

I stripped down to my underwear and climbed into bed with Gods of Midnight. Again.

Because I’m fucking pathetic.

But in moments, I was lost in the complex story of one man, Oliver, who lives a seemingly perfect life—loving husband and career—but who dreams of another version of himself every night: Jules—who lives a wild, reckless life of sex, drugs, alcohol…and who dreams of Oliver.

Holden seamlessly wove their narratives together until the climax where Oliver and Jules see each other on opposite sides of the same bathroom mirror in a seedy club in Amsterdam. When their reflections touch, they’re transported to a black lake in a snow-covered wasteland. Both struggle to the surface but only one climbs out, shivering and naked. The reader is left not knowing which one emerged or if either truly survived at all. Maybe the life of one man was merely a drug-induced hallucination of the other as he died in that Amsterdam bathroom. Maybe not.

I felt Holden’s conflict dripping from every page, his yearning to be free of his demons, and the relentless power they wielded over him. But the open ending was a big question mark, leaving me without answers.

A sudden growl erupting out of my chest, I hurled the book across the room. The hardcover smacked the dresser and landed face down, pages bent and the spine dented.

“Fuck.”

The silence in the small apartment crowded in, and I nearly let go. Nearly screamed and let every ounce of grief—for my mother and for Holden—come pouring out. I felt it rise in my chest, like a boulder that needed to be coughed up.

It was going to hurt.

It was going to tear me open.

I fought it down while part of me begged to let it out.

My phone rang. Violet. I sucked in a deep breath. Then another. When I trusted my voice, I answered.

“Hey, Violet.”

“Hey, you,” she answered. “You sound terrible. Chest cold?”

I cleared my throat. “No, I’m…fine.”

“Oh, good. I know it’s late, but it’s been too long since we spoke.”

“It’s been about a month. Not that I’m counting,” I added, forcing a smile over my words. “What are you up to? How’s Miller?”

“He’s great. Perfect, actually, now that he’s done with touring.”

“I’m happy for you, Vi.”

“Thanks, River.”

She quickly changed the subject, as if her happiness would chafe against my loneliness. She updated me on her medical school progress and how she and Miller were planning on moving back to California as soon as she graduated from Baylor.

“Having you here will not suck,” I said.

“I can’t wait. I miss it so much. I miss you and Shiloh…”

Her sentence tapered and I could hear the ache in her voice.

“Do you want to talk about her?” I asked slowly. “Or Ronan…?”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s too sad and I want to talk about you. What are you up to?”

“Guess,” I said bitterly.

“Reading Gods of Midnight.”

“You forgot to add, for the sixth time. Don’t sugarcoat my pathetic existence.”

“Stop. You’re not pathetic. First of all, the book is brilliant. I’ve read it twice myself. Second, it’s all him. Like…he ripped himself open and laid it all out there.”

I closed my eyes. “I know.”

“You still haven’t heard from him?”

“No. So I did something stupid and went on a date.”

“You did?” Violet practically shrieked. “That’s great… Not stupid at all. Why do you say that?”

“Because it was pointless. I wasted the guy’s time and it felt like I was cheating on Holden.”

“River,” Violet said quietly. “It’s been three years since you’ve been with anyone. Two years since you’ve seen him. You’re allowed to live your life.”

“I know but I told him I’d wait for him, no matter how long it takes. But Christ…sometimes I feel like I’m going to implode. Taking care of the family, the business…”

“Who’s taking care of you?” Violet asked gently.

“I’m fine—”

“Stop saying fine. I can hear the hurt in your voice. Makes me want to jump on a plane tonight. How are you, really?”

“Not great,” I admitted. “It’s why I went out, Vi. To make a connection or…I don’t know what. But it was a mistake.”

“Was he an asshole?”

“Just the opposite. He was a good guy. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything.” I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. “Maybe I’m not gay after all. Maybe I only want Holden.”

“Or maybe you’re just in love with him.”

“Yeah, well… It’s looking pretty one-sided. At what point do I give up?”

“You don’t. When it’s real, you can’t give up. I’ve loved Miller since we were thirteen years old. Fate and circumstance tried to keep us apart, but it didn’t work. Nothing will. You and Holden will find each other again. I know it.”

“Thanks, Vi,” I said, genuinely grateful for her love and support, but her theory only worked if Holden felt the same way about me.

All I had was his book, but if the answer was within its pages, I couldn’t find it.

Or maybe that was my answer—nothing.

Chapter Thirty-One

“I just got word,” Elliott said excitedly.

My agent rushed into the anteroom of the Frederick P. Rose auditorium. On the other side of the wall, two hundred people were waiting to hear me give a reading of my book, Gods of Midnight.

“You’ve been shortlisted for the National Book Award. The youngest author ever.” He started ticking off items on his fingers. “The youngest author nominated for the National Critics Circle, the PEN/Faulkner, the Lamba Literary… At this rate, the Pulitzer is just around the corner.”

“Okay, okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, smoothing my

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