30. Thirty
Thirty
Sam
It's late morning. I haul another bag of grain onto the counter at the feed store, the impact sending a cloud of dust swirling around me. My dad is outside, deep in conversation with old Mr. Higgins about the price of hay, leaving me to handle the supply run. The place smells like alfalfa and something faintly metallic—the scent is familiar, a reminder of the countless trips we’ve made here over the years.
As I wait for the cashier to total up the order, the familiar sound of boots on wood catches my ear. I glance over my shoulder and immediately regret it.
“Sam Ryder,” Bobbi Jo croons, her voice dripping with honeyed charm. “Why, I didn’t expect to see you today.” Somehow, her voice rings false.
She looks the same as she did at the barn dance when I was with Emily, wearing painted-on jeans and a flannel shirt knotted at her waist. Her expression is lit with amusement and something a bit predatory as she deliberately closes the distance between us.
“Bobbi Jo,” I say cautiously, forcing a polite smile. “Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you too, Sam,” she says with a coy smile, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder and pushing out her breasts. “What brings you back to town so soon? And without your wife?”
“Helping my dad,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “Farm life doesn’t stop just because I’m on tour.”
She laughs, the sound too loud for the quiet store. “Same old Sam. Always so loyal to your family.” Her eyes drift over me, lingering a little too long. “You look good, though.”
I grunt, not sure how to respond. The cashier hands me my receipt, and I start to grab the bags, hoping to end the conversation.
But Bobbi Jo isn’t done. “Don’t be in such a rush,” she says, sidling closer. “It’s not every day I get to reminisce with a real-life celebrity.”
“I’m hardly a celebrity,” I mutter, stepping back to put some distance between us. Bobbi’s strong perfume is cloying and wrong—nothing like Emily's subtle, familiar scent.
“Oh, come on now,” she chides, reaching up to loop her arms around my neck. “Don’t be modest. You’re the pride of this town.”
Before I can react, she plants a kiss on my lips, lingering just long enough to make my stomach twist with discomfort. The unwanted kiss feels like a violation, especially knowing Emily's at home carrying our child. I shift, pulling back quickly, but it’s already too late.
The flash of a camera catches my attention, and my stomach drops.
I whip my head toward the door, where a man with a professional-grade camera stands, grinning like he’s just struck gold. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
“Smile for the tabloids, Sam!” the guy shouts before darting out the door.
“Dammit, Bobbi Jo, I’m married,” I snap, stepping back from her. “What the hell was that?”
“What? I don’t see a ring on your finger.” She blinks, feigning innocence. “It was just a friendly kiss. Don’t be so uptight.”
“Friendly or not, that’s not the kind of attention I need right now,” I growl, grabbing the grain bags and heading for the door. “Not with a pregnant wife at home.”
Her voice follows me. “Lighten up, Sam. It’s not the end of the world.”
But as I load the grain into the truck, I can’t shake the sinking feeling in my chest. The last thing I need is a headline implying something is going on between me and Bobbi Jo. Especially not when Emily is already questioning my feelings for her.
The drive back to the farm feels longer than it should, my mind racing with what the fallout of that photo might be. By the time I get back and unload the truck, my phone is already lighting up with messages from Cass and others. The pictures have already hit social media. In this digital age, there’s no waiting for headlines.
With a frown and a heavy sigh, I call Emily.
“Hey,” I greet her, my voice hesitant. “It’s me.”
“Hi,” she replies, but her tone is sharp and cuts like a knife.
“I—uh, I guess you’ve seen the picture,” I say, running a hand through my hair.
“Hard to miss it,” she says tightly. “Bobbi Jo’s quite the affectionate type, isn’t she?”
“Emily, it’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly. “She just showed up at the feed store, and—”
“I don’t need the play-by-play, Sam,” she interrupts, her voice cold. “I’ve got a lot going on here, and I don’t have time to deal with... this.”
Her words sting, but it’s the underlying hurt I can hear in her tone that really gets to me. “Emily, I swear—”
“I have to go,” she says abruptly. “Goodbye, Sam.”
The line goes dead, leaving me staring at my phone, the empty static filling the space where her voice should be. I let out a long breath, gripping the device tightly. She didn’t yell, didn’t accuse, but her silence spoke volumes, cutting deeper than anger would have. The hurt beneath her controlled words makes my chest ache, knowing I'm the cause of her pain. She’s upset, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it from here.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of chores and frustration. My dad notices my mood but doesn’t comment, giving me the space he knows I need. When I crawl into bed that night, my mind is still replaying Emily’s voice over and over, the distance between us feeling larger than ever.
The next morning, I wake up early and tell my dad I need to head home. He nods, his expression understanding. “Take care of your girls, Sam,” he says gruffly. “Emily and the baby.”
“I will,” I reply quietly.
The drive back to the beach house feels like an eternity, the miles stretching out endlessly. When I finally pull into the driveway, my heart sinks at the sight of the empty space where Emily’s car should be.
I sit in the truck for a moment, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Has she left me? The thought sends a wave of panic through me, and I practically jump out of the truck, rushing inside.
The house is eerily quiet. The only sound is the faint crash of waves outside. I check the living room and the kitchen, then head upstairs. Seeing her clothes still hanging in the closet makes me let out a shaky breath of relief.
Emily hasn’t left. Not yet.
I wander into the nursery, the soft yellow walls and neatly arranged furniture bringing a strange sense of comfort. I run a hand along the edge of the crib, the thought of our baby girl soothing me in a way nothing else can.
As I stand there, surrounded by all these tiny reminders of our future, the thought of losing Emily and our daughter makes it hard to breathe. This isn't just about a misunderstanding anymore—it's about our family.
The weight of everything—Emily’s hurt, the tabloids, the growing distance between us—settles heavily on my shoulders. I don’t know how to fix this, but I know one thing for sure.
I can’t lose her.
The drive to Cass’s house feels hollow. Emily hasn’t answered my last few texts, and I’m guessing I’ll find her there. I can’t blame her for not being at the beach house, as she didn’t even know I was coming home. Yet, it doesn’t make walking into Cass’s house any easier.
When I knock, Cass opens the door with a raised brow. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Hey,” I say, my voice sounding as tired as I feel.
He steps aside to let me in, his expression unreadable. “Emily’s out with Kendrick,” he says as I walk past him into the living room. “They’re shopping for baby stuff.”
Cass drops onto the couch and studies me with a raised brow. “I was going to kick your ass when I saw that photo,” he finally says, his tone even. “But you already look like someone beat me to it.”
I let out a humorless chuckle and sink into the armchair across from him. “Things between Emily and I were already feeling strained.”
Cass shakes his head. “Damn. I’m sure that photo didn’t help things.”
“No, it didn’t,” I say quickly, running a hand through my hair. “Bobbi and I used to date in high school. She’s even met Emily, but Bobbi just showed up at the feed store and kissed me. I didn’t know a reporter was lurking in the bushes.”
Cass snorts. “Reporters are always lurking. You should know that by now.”
“I do,” I admit, leaning back in the chair. “I just… I wasn’t prepared.”
“Bad timing, or is this more?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Do you think Derrick is behind this? Just another way to hurt Emily?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Frowning, I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. “But you could be right. This almost felt planned…” My fist hits the arm of my chair. “Dammit, Cass. I was set up.”
“Sorry, man.” Cass sighs, “Listen, I know things aren’t always what they seem–Emily does, too.”
“Maybe we need to tell her about Derrick,” I say quietly. “She didn’t yell or scream, but I could hear it in her voice. She’s hurt.”
“Let’s hold off if we can. I’d rather not tell her yet.” Cass studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “But if Emily is hurt, we need to figure out how to fix it.”
“What do you suggest?” Glancing at him, with my jaw tight. Then sarcastically, “Oh, wise one?”
He smirks. “Something big–a grand gesture.” Warming to the idea, he leans closer. “Show her you’re serious. That you’re not just sorry—you’re invested.” He leans back with a shrug. “Women like that kind of thing.”
“A grand gesture,” I repeat, but I can’t seem to think of a thing. “Like what?”
“That’s for you to figure out,” he shrugs. “But make it good, Sam.”
The front door opens then, and the sound of Kendrick and Emily’s voices fill the house. My chest tightens at the sound of her voice, but when she steps into the living room, her expression shuts down the moment she sees me.
“Hi,” I say, standing.
She barely meets my eyes. “Sam. How’s your dad?”
My eyes hungrily drink her in. She looks great, but there are dark circles under her eyes. “He’s fine. We fixed the back fence, and I helped him load up on supplies–”
“Yeah, I saw,” Emily interrupts coldly. “Kendrick, I’m going to put these in my car,” she says abruptly, lifting a few shopping bags. Without another word, she disappears outside.
Kendrick looks at me, her hands on her hips. “I would suggest you go after her.”
I glance at Cass, who gives me a pointed look. “Don’t just stand there. Go talk to your wife.”
I hesitate. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Then figure things out and fix it,” he says firmly. “Or do I need to spell it out for you?”
I mutter something under my breath and follow Emily out the door. When I reach the drive her car is already gone. I turn and head back inside, feeling more lost than ever. Cass is back on the couch. He glances up curiously as I reenter the room.
“Didn’t go so well, huh?” he asks.
“She left,” I admit, dropping into the armchair again. “I thought about following her but decided against it.”
Kendrick walks over. “You need to show her you’re in this because you want to be, Sam. That you’re not just hanging around because of the baby or because it’s the right thing to do.”
Her words hit me like a freight train. It’s not the first time I’ve wondered if Emily thinks I’m only with her because of the pregnancy. But it’s the first time someone else has said it out loud.
I nod slowly, my mind racing. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Kendrick states with a smirk. “Now go. Show her you care.”
“A grand gesture…” Climbing into my truck, I stare at my hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “How can I show Emily I care?”
Bobbi Jo’s words suddenly echo in my head. ‘I didn’t see a ring on your finger.’
Damn! She’s right! My hand is bare. I’ve been so caught up in everything else—I forgot about the rings. I never gave Emily a proper wedding band.
I close my eyes, picturing the plastic rings we got out of a bubble gum machine the night of our wedding. Grinning, I start the engine, but instead of going home, I head to the jewelry store. I know exactly what I want to give Emily.