Chapter 11- Zane
The next day, I sat on my edge of the bed—Sam’s guest bed, technically—phone in hand, thumb hovering over the call button like it weighed a hundred pounds.
My chest felt tight. I hadn’t talked to my parents in years.
Not since I’d married Mark. Not since I chose him and silence over their concern and disapproval.
But now I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
I needed them now more than ever. I knew my daddy would be at work.
Momma had retired to travel. I could only deal with them one at a time, and Momma would be easier.
I took a breath. Then another. Pressed “Call.”
It rang once. Twice. “Hello?” my momma answered.
I closed my eyes. “Hey, Mama.”
“Zane?” My mother’s voice came through like a song.
There was a beat of silence. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” I swallowed. “But I’m okay.”
The line stayed quiet again, then I heard her sigh. “What happened?”
And I told her.
Not everything—not the details about Sam or the beach or how I was currently curled up in Sam’s house, wearing his shirt, lusting over him. But I told her about Mark. About Janet. About how I felt so stupid and so stuck, and how I wished I’d listened to her.
“I was trying to love him the way you loved Daddy,” I said. “Even when it stopped being good.”
“Oh, baby,” she whispered. “I should’ve just been louder about you not marrying him. I could see from the start he wasn’t for you.”
Tears ran before I realized they were coming. I wiped them with the back of my wrist, shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry, Mama. For cutting y’all off. For thinking I knew everything. For making y’all worry. None of this is your fault.”
“We just wanted you to be safe. To be happy. We still want that.” Her voice cracked. “You come home whenever you need to. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” I whispered. “I love you. Tell Daddy I love him too.”
“We love you too.”
When I hung up, the air felt easier to breathe. Lighter.
I went to find Sam. He was in the living room, shirtless, eating leftovers out of a plastic container like it was a gourmet meal. He ate like he was starving sometimes. I liked that he enjoyed what I made for him, though.
I just stared for a minute. The way I was feeling him didn’t make any sense—not under the circumstances. It was messing with me because I didn’t know if it was because of what I’d been missing, or because he was really this good.
He looked up when he saw me, mouth full, a little sauce on the side of his cheek. “You okay?”
I nodded, but it felt too small. I walked over, slid onto the couch beside him, knees curled under me. “I called my mom.”
He blinked. Swallowed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. First time in years.”
He didn’t say anything right away. He set the container on the coffee table and turned to face me, like he knew I wasn’t done.
“She answered. Listened. No ‘I told you so.’ Just… Momma stuff.” My voice cracked. “I didn’t know how much I missed that.”
Sam reached out, tugged gently at my ankle until my legs draped across his lap. His hand rested there—warm, still.
“I’m proud of you,” he said simply.
“I feel like I’ve wasted so much time.”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “You’re too young to dwell on that shit. You’re gonna make a lot more mistakes. That’s part of life. What matters is you keep choosing yourself after.”
His thumb brushed the curve of my calf, I don’t even think he realize what he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But it was sending shock waves right to the spot in between my thighs.
I nodded. “You’re right…”
And he was right. Put into perspective, I could see it.
I felt better about it, but in the back of my mind, there was still a feeling of dread. It was only day two and I was already thinking about how I didn’t want to go home. Not because of Mark. Not even because of the cheating.
What was I going to do when I didn’t have access to Sam anymore?
What was I going to do without his version of care that I hadn’t even earned, but he freely gave?
He made things feel safe without being soft. Solid without suffocating me.
I’d never had anyone feed into me like he did—quietly, consistently, without needing a thank you or a performance.
He didn’t ask for anything, but still made me feel like everything I had to give mattered.
I swear, he was like… like some kind of human charger. Every time he looked at me, touched me, listened—he was topping me off again.
What was I gonna do when the battery ran out and I couldn’t plug back into this man?
Because at some point, we had to separate.
At some point, I’d have to go back to my real life.
But right now, wrapped in the warmth of his couch, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my leg, I would just let myself feel the full force of him.