CHAPTER SIXTEEN || ELI
Something was wrong with Sam.
Or, well… not wrong, exactly. The opposite, if anything. Over the next week, her behavior changed dramatically.
First, she got very sick and barely emerged from her room—except to stumble into the kitchen, drink water, and pop aspirin like candy—before disappearing again.
That lasted three days. At first, I thought she’d just overdone it on the drinking.
Or maybe she had the flu. She barely spoke to me and flatly refused to answer any of my questions—except to snap that she was fine. She spent most of the time sleeping.
After the fourth day of this, things got very strange.
I woke up at noon after another brutal shift and found Sam on her hands and knees in the bathroom, a scrub brush in one hand and a rag in the other. A bucket sat beside her. The bathroom was spotless and smelled like lemon-scented cleaner.
“Did you get sick again?” I asked, still bleary-eyed and under-caffeinated.
“I’m feeling better now. Just doing some chores.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. Her eyes were clear, and there wasn’t even a trace of a slur in her voice. She added, “There’s coffee, too. It’s a fresh pot—I drank most of what I made this morning.”
Surprise rippled through me. Sam didn’t do chores. She was usually too hungover. And she typically made coffee—but only one pot in the morning. It was usually stone-cold by the time I got up.
“Oh.”
She didn’t seem to notice my disbelieving stare, because she turned and went right back to scrubbing.
Three days later, Sam left the house dressed smartly in a professional-looking skirt and blouse. I hadn’t even realized she owned clothes like that.
“Hey, I’m heading out,” she told me, pausing in the doorway. “I probably won’t be home until late. I might not see you before you head to work.”
“You’re dressed up,” I said.
“Good observation. I feel ridiculous. But I’m heading to a job fair, and I’ve got to look the part.”
“A job fair?” I asked weakly, feeling vaguely like the world had just spun off its axis.
“Well, yeah.” Sam beamed. “There’s one down at Valley College today. If I hurry, I’ll make it there before it ends.”
She was referring to Los Angeles Valley College in Valley Glen. It was about ten minutes away by car.
“Are you feeling okay?”
She shrugged. “A little tired, still. But mostly fine. Why?”
I stared at her. “Do you want me to drive you?”
“I should probably get used to taking the bus. I can’t depend on you to get me to work every day, right?”
“Work,” I repeated, stunned. I scrambled off the couch. “Sam, wait. Can you tell me what’s—”
But she’d already given me a small wave and slipped out the door, a smile on her lips. I stared at the door for a long time, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. Because something had.
The following evening, before going to work, I took the trash and recycling out.
That’s when I saw a half-dozen bottles of wine neatly stacked in the recycling bin. Sam’s stash. All of it. The bottles were empty.
With shaking hands, I closed the lid.
It didn’t stop there. Sam struck out at the first job fair, but she went to several more over the next two weeks. At the last one, held in a downtown hotel lobby, she landed a job as an overnight front desk agent.
“It’s only part-time to start,” she told me, her dark eyes serious. “But it’ll get me out of the house. And I’ll be able to help out with some of the bills.” She paused. “The hiring manager was really cool about the gaps in my employment—”
She broke off, watching my expression. I realized I was staring at her in total disbelief.
“Aren’t you rushing into this?”
“I feel good, Eli. I feel different.”
“And what happens when you get thirsty again?” I demanded. “Just like you always do?”
The instant the words left my mouth, I regretted them. They felt ugly and naked.
A flurry of emotions flew across Sam’s face—and I had no trouble recognizing any of them: shame. Anger. Hurt.
“I can’t promise anything about what tomorrow looks like, but I feel really good about today,” she said tightly. “And as long as I feel this way, I’m going to do my best to take advantage of it.”
“You’re—what? You’re going to quit drinking? And get a job? Just like that?”
She drew in a deep breath, hurt in her eyes. “Why are you being like this? I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am happy!” I snapped. “But it doesn’t work like this. You don’t just wake up one day and decide you’re not an alcoholic anymore!”
“How else am I supposed to do it?” she shot back. “I’m sorry if I’m not following the rules for how this is supposed to go, but I haven’t had a single drink in over two weeks. That might not seem like a long time, but it’s the longest I’ve gone since Dad died.”
“You should’ve been in withdrawals,” I said weakly. “You can’t just quit drinking with no side effects.”
She stared me down, eyebrows raised, and waited.
Then it clicked—belatedly—that she had been in withdrawals. And I’d barely noticed. I’d chalked it up to a bad hangover.
Guilt swept through me. How the hell hadn’t I realized what was happening?
“Sam—”
“You were working,” she said, watching me. “And you were with Cole. Which is a good thing. You should be living your life. That’s how it should be.”
Swallowing hard, I nodded.
“I went to a meeting yesterday,” she said, fishing something out of her pants pocket.
She held it up—a small white plastic chip that read 24 hours in gold-foiled letters.
“They don’t have an ‘over two weeks’ chip, so they gave me the 24-hour one to symbolize the choice to be sober.
It’s not much, but I’m trying. And I’m going to keep trying. ”
“How did this happen? I want to be supportive—I am supportive—but I’m also…”
I winced, realizing suddenly that I was frightened. That’s what this was. I didn’t want to see her fail again. And I was being a dick because of it. My anger drained away, leaving me raw and ashamed.
“Look, I’m on board. And I’m happy for you. But please… make it make sense.”
She hesitated. “I guess I realized I could do this. If I wanted to. If I put the work in.”
“I just—help me understand. You woke up one day knowing you could suddenly change your whole life?”
Sam shrugged, looking abruptly miserable. “Yeah, I guess.”
“No, seriously. I’m proud of you. I swear,” I told her.
She must’ve believed me, because she nodded and let out a long breath. Something eased in her expression. Her eyes went glassy. Then she laughed and said, “You know what? I don’t think you’ve ever told me that before.”
“Well, I am,” I said firmly. “And I love you. I’ll love you no matter what, I promise.”
Sam gave me a trembling smile. “Thank you.”
“Let’s do this over. Congratulations on your new job.”
She laughed again. “Thanks.”
“Did you talk with someone?” I asked. “Maybe you called a hotline or something?”
Though they probably would’ve suggested a medical detox. Quitting alcohol cold turkey could be dangerous.
“No, I didn’t call anyone,” Sam said. Her brows knit together in a frown. “Um. I saw Cole, though. We talked.”
“You saw Nicolas?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“I don’t—I don’t remember. About two or three weeks ago, I guess.”
“What did he say to you?”
She faltered, eyes widening. She blinked rapidly, as if astonished. “I don’t remember that either. Shit, I must’ve blacked out. That’s probably why he was over. I must’ve scared him.”
A sliver of unease lodged deep inside me. Cole and I had spent nearly every waking moment together for the past two weeks, when I wasn’t working. I’d even slept over at his place a bunch.
He hadn’t mentioned speaking with Sam. He definitely hadn’t told me she was blacked-out drunk.
“Wait,” I said suddenly. The rest of what she’d said clicked into place. “Nicolas was here? In our house?”
Sam shrugged, giving me a strange look. “Yeah, I think so.”
“What happened? What do you remember?”
“I just remember Cole showing up. I think I was getting upset or something?” She frowned. “I’d had way too much to drink. And he was really kind. Um… and then he left?”
She said that last part like a question.
“You remember him leaving?”
“I barely remember any of it.”
“Sam.”
“Why are you getting so worked up? Cole’s a really nice guy. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell him any embarrassing stories about your childhood or whatever. Probably.”
That wasn’t what I was afraid of. But then—what was I afraid of?
Everything I was thinking didn’t make rational sense, did it? It was impossible.
Just like Nicolas’s lack of heartbeat. The way he sometimes forgot to breathe. His blurry-fast movements. The strange way his eyes caught the light. The cryptic things he said.
And now… Sam was different.
Happier. But like a whole other person. A version of her I hadn’t seen in years.
And the only person she remembered talking to… was Nicolas.
It wasn’t a coincidence.
I felt numb when it hit me fully. Even though it was ridiculous. Even though I didn’t want to believe it.
Even though it shouldn’t have been possible.
It had to be true.
Nicolas was behind this.
* * *
Sam had already left to go to another AA meeting about two hours before I had to go to work when my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
I stared at the screen and silenced it. I’d been doing that a lot lately. Tonight was not the night to listen to Eric beg me to come back. I had already deleted two text messages that morning. I didn’t even bother to open them.
In truth, I was jumpier than I should have been, being home alone. In addition to the phone calls, he had left a note on my door two nights ago, written in blocky black Sharpie: If I can’t have you, no one can.
Eric had clearly been watching me. He was escalating—between the texts, the calls, and now the note… maybe it was time to tell someone. Or maybe get a restraining order?