For Sam: A new-girl small town cowboy romance

Chapter 56 Tommy

Afew minutes of sitting and my knee is bouncing up and down, but my hands aren’t shaking so I’ll call that a win.

God, I wish she’d come out of the bathroom. I’d go in there myself if I didn’t think it might freak her out with my desperation to be near her.

It’s not about Maisy being back.

Well, I suppose it is a little. But only in the sense that I don”t want anything to do with Maisy and I really don’t want Maisy to have a chance to pull any shit with Sam. Fuck, Maisy can be so manipulative without the other person figuring it out until it’s too late and Sam is so trusting and kind because she wants people to feel at ease. She wants to see the best in them.

And without having a heads up, Maisy could walk all over her.

My jaw is sore from clenching since I turned to see Maisy wearing my hat and not Samantha so I rub it remembering the drinks that I hadn’t ordered. Maybe Elliot saw me and started making hers though. It would be nice to have hers here when she’s back.

Keith walks by and I wave him over. “Hey, could you see if Elliot made the drink I requested when I called earlier? He knew I was going to get it tonight and I dropped off the oat milk yesterday. I didn’t actually order it tonight, but there’s a chance he started it,” I say like it was one continuous sentence.

“Is this for you?” he asks, a little confused.

“No, it’s for Sam when she’s back from the restroom.”

Keith”s face shifts into pain and then pity. “I’m sorry, man, but she left a few minutes ago.”

“That wouldn’t make sense, we’re on our date.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Tommy. She wrote something down and walked right out the door without looking back.”

My eyes search the table for something with my name on it until it lands on a piece of notebook paper folded in half under the vase.

Fuck.

I think Keith is still talking but every sound is drowned out by the ringing in my ears. My hands shake as I open the letter. It’s written by Sam, but not with the usual neatness.

I’m sorry. I got sick.

-Sam

What? What happened to her? And why didn’t she wait for ninety seconds for me to come back? I wasn’t gone longer than that. But how did she leave without her car if she wasn’t feeling okay?

“Did she get in a car or anything?” I ask, cutting off Keith.

“I didn’t see,” he says, looking sorry for me.

“Um, can we do a raincheck?” I ask, pulling out some cash from my wallet and handing him a few bills.

“You didn’t order anything, there’s no charge, Tommy.” The pity in his voice is going to rub away my resolve.

She didn’t walk out on me.

No, I’m going to find her and help her feel better.

I focus on Keith again and gesture to the table. “Consider it a tip for everything you put into this. I have to go, sorry.”

As I walk, I send Sam a text to find out where she is. By the time I’m in the truck, there’s no reply.

That’s because you sent it thirty seconds ago, Tommy. Calm down.

When I’m pulling out of the parking lot, though, I call her and hang up when the automated message comes on. She’ll see a text before she listens to a message.

But what if the message didn’t get sent for some reason?

I pull over and look at my messages, I see it was delivered, but not seen. Tapping my screen a few times, I call her back and this time, I leave a message.

“Hey Sam, what happened? Are you okay? I’m going to go to your apartment. If you need privacy for whatever you’re sick with, I’ll respect that. I just need to know you’re okay.”

Resisting the urge to say “I love you” at the end of the message, I hang up. I drive past Courtney’s house and think to call her or Avery, just in case they knew she wasn’t feeling well or had ideas about what might have just happened, but remember their phones are off.

Everything is familiar on these streets. I remember playing in many of these houses when I was a kid. When I pass Jesse’s house, I’m reminded that Uncle Kent is retiring and has been out of town for well over a month to tie up his leads and transition over his clients to his replacement. Sort of his last hurrah. We should do something to celebrate. Dad would have.

Automatically, I want to call Sam and ask her what she thinks we should do. At the stop light a few blocks from her apartment building, I peek at my phone.

Still nothing.

What if she’s throwing up? Who’s going to hold her hair back? What if her cramps came back and she forgot to get her meds? Why did she just leave?

My head is a complete mess of worry and confusion when I park and hop out of my truck like I was stung by something. I jog to the front door and take the step in one stride, hitting her button as fast as I can.

Forcing myself to take a step back from the call buttons, I breathe slowly six times. Then I hit the buzzer again, this time holding it down longer.

I repeat the process and breathing to give her time to be sick but know I’m here. After several rounds of that, I try to remember who lives in each apartment number. For privacy, the names aren’t written, just the suite numbers.

My nerves ratchet up each time I step back to breathe, realizing that she’s not there. And she’s not reading my messages, all five at this point, and every call has gone to voicemail. Why the hell is her phone off?

I pace and try to quell the rising panic that something happened to us. What did I miss this time?