22. Sam
Sam
Mercy ignores all of my phone calls and texts over the next week.
I go to her house, but her father won’t let me in.
I leave hand-written notes on her car windshield and fold a few into paper planes that get stuck on her roof, but they all go unanswered.
The seasons change quickly, and apparently so does my relationship with my best friend.
I may have royally fucked myself over by turning her down for sex.
So much for proving to her how much she means to me. She won’t even give me a chance. My only saving grace is that Grandma Star has been keeping track of Mercy’s medication for me. Every time I stop by the house, she tells me how many pills are left.
That’s the one good thing to come out of that night. Mercy’s taking better care of herself.
Football practice helps give me an outlet for the turmoil inside my heart, but even that is short-lived.
The season is nearing its end, and we only have one or two more games before that’s gone, too.
Classes for this semester will be over, breezy fall will turn to chilly winter, and I’ll spend another holiday season hopelessly alone.
Truthfully, I’ve been attending the Morningstar Holiday Banquet every year, but if I don’t patch things up with Mercy, I doubt I’ll be invited unless Grandma Star throws me a bone.
Her father sure as shit won’t invite me after what happened the other night.
Blowing out a breath, I kick an empty can down the curb as I walk from campus back to the frat house.
It’s only a few blocks, no big deal. But I walk the same path that Mercy and I took when we went to Papa Joe’s Pizzeria and she first told me about Reaper’s stupid game, and my mind drifts back to her for the millionth time.
I miss my friend.
Reaper better be keeping his hands—and every other appendage—to himself. I’ve texted Mercy to ask about that, too. If she’s keeping up with them. If she’s seen them. If they text her.
I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from her.
After I left her house the other night, I had Grey connect her call log and messages to my phone so that I can make sure she’s safe.
When I’m not on the practice field or running drills, I’m glued to my screen to check on her.
She doesn’t call or text people often, and what little has passed between her and Reaper has been mild at best.
KANE
Good morning, Siren.
Thinking of you, beautiful.
When are you coming to class? I can’t cover for you forever.
Surprisingly, even Zane has been messaging her… And I happen to agree with everything he’s saying. It’s a knife to the heart that she’s texting them instead of me, but maybe that’s what I deserve. Maybe I got too comfortable with the idea of being with Mercy that I didn’t give her any other choice.
Maybe she genuinely only want to be friends.
Zane
Just tell him that you’re sorry.
You are sorry, right?
Even if you’re not, is it worth all this? You’re backsliding.
Hey, answer me.
Did you take your meds?
You’ve been sitting for two hours. Time to stretch.
It’s like he’s watching her twenty-four seven.
I itch for the same unfiltered access. I want to know when she sleeps.
Was it enough? Does she need more? Did she skip breakfast again, or did Grandma Star bring her scrambled eggs and toast with strawberry jelly?
Is she getting enough steps in every day, or does she sit in her room with a pencil tucked behind her ear?
Has she showered this week, or is she lying in bed crying?
The worst part of all is knowing that if something’s wrong—if she’s sad or lonely or spiraling into a bout of depression—I’m the one to blame.
I can’t even fix it, because she won’t let me.
If Reaper or Zane gets close to her, it’s my fault for breaking the door off its hinges and giving them a clear path to get to her.
I’ve been so focused on the physical part of our relationship and making her feel like my girlfriend that I took what we had for granted.
That’s on me. But it doesn’t make watching her befriend the enemy any easier. I hate that they’re winning.
“This is stupid,” I yell, kicking the can so hard that it skids across the road, tumbling to a stop in front of a sorority house.
Their yard is immaculate—lush green despite the season change—and I frown at how stupid that is, too.
Everything feels pointless. Even going to class, knowing that it won’t amount to anything if my father snaps his fingers and forces me to start working for the family business, is a chore.
Classes used to give me something to focus on other than my impending doom as the sole heir to the Wright fortune and every million-dollar expectation that comes with it.
Now, all I think about is her and how badly I fucked up.
“Sam? Is that you?”
I try not to flinch as Abby bounces over from the sorority house, cheery despite our last meeting.
“I thought so! Walking home?” She links her hands behind her back and leans towards me, pushing her tits in my direction.
I blink as her cleavage comes into view, frowning at how tan she is compared to Mercy.
Tanned and freckled. Nothing like Mercy at all.
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes.
“Yeah. On the way.” The last thing I want is another girl butting her head into my business, but thankfully, Abby doesn’t bring up Mercy at all.
She falls into step beside me, content with walking the few blocks to the frat house in silence.
I didn’t want company, but now that she’s here, I don’t have the heart to turn her away.
“The boys said that you’ve been really stressed lately.” Abby’s shoulder brushes mine. “Is it about the Championship game? Everyone knows that you’re going to win.” With a smile, she loops her arm through mine and leans into me. “I’ll cheer you on, okay? Better look for me.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Her smile falters. “Hey, did something happen with…” After a few seconds, she stops trying to guess Mercy’s name. “You and that girl?”
I guess the peaceful silence was short-lived.
Confiding in strangers has become normal ever since I started therapy and group counseling, but confiding in Abby is new territory.
Still, I’ve been cagey with the rest of the team and everyone in the frat; they’re walking on eggshells around me because they can tell something’s up.
If they’ve brought up my sour mood to Abby, they’re probably trying to hook me up with a rebound.
Everyone knows that I’ve got a thing for The Dead Girl.
I stare at the sidewalk. “You could say that.”
“Sooooo…” Abby perks up. “You need a date to the party tonight?”
The party. Shit. I completely forgot. I’m supposed to pick up the President’s beer order with my truck. I turn around so fast that Abby stumbles, nearly toppling the two of us over. She catches herself by wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my chest, giggling the entire time.
“Oops, sorry! I’m really clumsy.”
Yeah, okay. A varsity cheerleader is clumsy .
“Look, I’m not interested?—”
“If you need to unwind?—”
We both stop talking at the same time, but she’s the only one of us smiling. “You’re a good guy, Sam. I know you have a thing for that other girl, but if she’s not interested in you, then it’s her loss. You need to move on. We had fun Freshman year, didn’t we?”
I’d nearly forgotten that Abby and I dated for a semester. If I’m remembering right, she dumped me for not taking her out enough or paying for her manicures every few weeks.
“I don’t really remember,” I answer honestly, “and I’m not in the mood, Abby. Sorry.” I detangle from her octopus arms and walk faster down the sidewalk, the sound of her annoyed huff following me.
“At least try it before you say no!” She jogs to catch up to me. “If you want to make her jealous, I can help!”
The last thing I want is some other girl clinging to my arm, especially at a party that Mercy won’t attend. I know that technically we’re not dating, but it still feels like cheating.
“Go away, Abby.”
“If you take me to the party?—”
“No.”
“It’s your frat’s party! You can’t go alone! I’m doing you a favor!”
A laugh bursts from my chest. Abby just won’t give up.
“I can do whatever the hell I want,” I snap, grabbing her wrist. Letting out some of my frustration, I squeeze until she whimpers.
“If I wanted to fuck you, Abby, I would, because you wouldn’t hesitate to get on your knees, would you?
” As much as I have a reputation for being a nice guy, Abby has a reputation for being a pretty girl —a slutty one.
“But I already told you, I’m not interested, so back off.
” Releasing her, I turn around and pound the pavement, eager to get the fuck away from here.
I don’t even care about the frat or the parties or the women. Hell, I hardly care about my degree.
Once I’m around the corner and Abby’s out of sight, I pull my phone from my pocket and check everything again.
My texts and calls. Zero.
Mercy’s texts and calls. Six. Two from Kane and four from Zane. Kane sent her a cryptic picture of a painting he’s working on and asked her to guess what it is, and Zane asked her about her plans for the upcoming holiday break.
It’s like the events from our disastrous dinner date never happened.
MERCY
We don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. We save up for our annual Christmas party instead.
ZANE
Kane and I rent a cabin every year. Want to come?
What.
The.
Fuck.
MERCY
I don’t know…
Who’s going?
He better say that they invite the entire goddamn neighborhood?—
ZANE
Me and him
Hopefully you
That’s it
Did you want to invite someone?
Say my name. Mercy. Tell him that you want to invite me. I clutch my phone so tightly that my case creaks.
MERCY
Maybe. Let me think about it.
I curse under my breath at her noncommittal answer. She could be thinking about inviting her sister. Her father. Hell, her grandmother. None of which are good answers, but hey, if it keeps either of them from kissing her at this romantic cabin, she can invite the goddamn Pope for all I care.
My phone suddenly vibrates in my hand.
MERCY
Hey, can we talk?
My lungs collapse as I stare at the three little dots on our text chain. She’s typing something. Texting. Communicating.
With me.
MERCY
I want to apologize… and ask for a favor.
Can I come over?
Rather than write a reply, I hit the call button and pray that she answers.
After the third ring, her voice rumbles through the speaker, scratchy and hoarse, like she either has a cold or she hasn’t been using it at all over the past week.
It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been avoiding talking to people. “Hello?”
“Mercy,” I breathe, my heartbeat stuttering. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
There’s a beat of silence that I’m desperate to fill. “How are you? I left you messages.” I wince, knowing that it’s stupid to bring that up. Of course, she knows that I’ve left her messages. “Nevermind. You wanted to ask me something?”
“Can I—” She takes a small breath. “Can I come over? I’d rather ask you in person, and… there’s more I want to say.”
“Of course you can come?—”
A car whizzes by, the passenger whooping loudly as they see me in my letterman jacket. “Gonna get smashed, Harlot!” He sticks his hand out the window and flicks me off as they drive away. Their bumper sticker proudly supports the opposing team for next week’s game.
Shit , the pregame party’s tonight. All Greek life has to be there to continue the annual Harlots’ traditions of getting wasted and pretending we like it. My house will be trashed. It’s the last place I want to bring Mercy.
“There’s a party at my place, though,” I backtrack, kicking myself for it. I’d love to lock her away in my room for even an hour or two so that I can apologize for everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life. “Can I come to yours?”
“I need to get out of the house,” Mercy admits sheepishly. “I don’t mind the party. Do I need to bring anything?”
Is she seriously coming to a frat party?
“Uhh—” I quickly file through everything people usually bring to parties. Condoms. Alcohol. A designated driver. A pack of friends. A change of clothes. Sensible shoes.
“Sam?”
“Just yourself!” Pounding my fist against my forehead, I internally scream.
I’m such an idiot. I need to steer her away from coming.
“It’s a big party, so everything’s taken care of.
Wear closed-toe shoes. And pants.” There’s no way in hell I want anyone trying to look up her skirt tonight. “And maybe pin your hair back.”
She sighs. “Any other requests, Your Majesty?”
“Don’t leave my side.” This is the most important part. “And don’t set your drink down. Only drink what I give you. Don’t take anything from strangers.”
“Got it. What time should I be there?”
“I’ll come get you.” That way, I can check her outfit before she comes over. If it’s too revealing, maybe I can convince her to change without her getting pissed off about it.
We hang up after confirming the time, and I stare at my phone for a solid minute, unable to believe my eyes.
Mercy
Looking forward to it :)
I run the rest of the way to my truck, eager to pick up the beer and sprint home to clean my room before tonight. Mercy’s never been inside, and I have to make sure that everything is perfect. I won’t mess this up. At the least, I’m getting my best friend back, and at best…
I’m getting back into the race to win Mercy’s heart.