Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Bree
W arm sunlight on my face makes me stir in bed. A smile spreads across my face as I twist in the light blankets and remember where I am—still at Sam's beach house, far away from the chill of the city. I giggle a little to myself, spreading my arms and legs wide. Sam isn't here, but I know where he is. The scent of bacon is wafting in the air, and I'm sure he's responsible for that.
I open my eyes and look around the room, its white lines appearing all the more clean in the morning light. When I'm with Sam, that feeling follows me around—the feeling that there's nothing for me to tidy up, nothing for me to do but just enjoy life.
I stretch and feel a soreness between my legs and on my wrists, then remember the scene we had on the beach. I never imagined I'd be doing that on a private beach with a man I'm falling for, more and more every day. Warmth blooms in my chest, and I curl up and dissolve into more giggles, rolling a little back and forth.
What a dream this is.
No, this isn't a dream. It's real life, and I shouldn't just be lying here, soaking up as much pleasure as I can.
I can at least help him with breakfast.
Humming a little to myself, I bounce out of bed and snatch up his shirt from the floor. I throw it over myself, loving the scent of him washing over me, and head downstairs. He didn't bring any workers with him—I wonder if he's struggling in the kitchen. I stifle a laugh at the thought of him almost burning down the kitchen just to make us a little breakfast.
But then I see how wrong I was to assume.
Standing shirtless in the middle of the kitchen like a domestic god is Sam, nudging some scrambled cheesy eggs onto a plate of bacon and sausage. Two separate plates are filled with cut up fruit, and a couple glasses of orange juice are waiting, too.
He looks up to catch me staring, my mouth wide open, and he chuckles.
"Just in time, sleepy face. I thought I'd have to bring all this up to you in bed. Didn't know how I was going to manage that." He grins widely, now arranging the plates on the kitchen island.
My stomach speaks for me with a loud growl. I shake my head in disbelief and get my legs moving with some effort.
"Wow," is all I can breathe out. "The eggs look so… fluffy. How did you do this? I can't even do that!"
Sam scoffs, taking a last look around the kitchen before plopping down onto a stool at the kitchen island. "Years of practice. I used to be shit at it." He gestures for me to sit as he takes a bite of bacon. "But you just need to keep doing it over and over before you get the hang of it." He finishes with a shrug, digging into his plate.
I slide onto the stool beside him and eagerly dig in as well, thinking over his words. Now that he mentions it, this isn't the first time he's told me he can cook. His parents didn't cook—that's what he said, right?
"Years of practice," I repeat under my breath, wondering aloud. "How many years?"
Sam hands me a fork and shrugs again. "I don't know, long time. Not like I'm counting." He laughs and shovels eggs into his mouth, then nods with satisfaction. "Taste it, tell me what you think. I think I already know the answer, though." He nudges me playfully, and I get the feeling he's trying to change the subject.
Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.
I take a single bite, and suddenly, I can't stop eating.
"Mmm, oh my gosh," I manage after a couple more bites. "This is so good. What did you put in it?"
"Ingredients," Sam replies simply. "Spices."
"Keeping your secrets, huh?"
"Even if I told you, you can't make eggs this good."
When I look over to shoot off a smart response, his plate is empty, and he's already reaching for the fruit.
"Catch up, little bunny. We got all kinds of stuff to get into today," Sam says when he catches me looking at him incredulously.
"We do?" I ask excitedly, chomping on some sausage.
"We do. I was thinking we could explore the town. You want to?"
I nod, grinning and feeling warm all over. There's nothing I'd like to do more.
"Hurry up and finish, then." Sam leans in close and presses a kiss to my forehead, his hand briefly touching my lower back. "I'll go wash up and get dressed. Meet you back down here?"
I nod, beaming up at him, and watch him leave the kitchen, feeling a fluttering in my chest.
Not long after, I clean my plate, have my fill of fruits, then start gathering up the dishes. Sam is a surprisingly tidy cook, so cleaning the kitchen back up is quick work. I hum to myself as I work, feeling good about giving a little back to the man who has given me so much.
When a sudden clattering breaks up the silence, I let out a little scream and turn around toward the sound.
Standing in the kitchen doorway is Sam, his face a mask, hard and blank. And he looks pale, like something is wrong. His phone is on the floor—he must have dropped it—and when he makes no move to pick it up, I retrieve it for him. Without looking at the screen, I hand it back over to him, watching his expression for any sign of recognition.
"Sam, what's wrong?" I ask softly, tilting my head to get a better look at him.
At the sound of my voice—but not my scream?—he suddenly jerks back to life. He snatches the phone out of my hand and turns around, heading away from the kitchen without a word. A sick feeling settles in my stomach. Clearly something is up, but he ignored my question. Or maybe he didn't hear me? But he's still moving away from me, whatever the case.
Anxiety starts to make my head spin, so I go after him, taking hesitant steps. If something bad has happened, I want to be there for him, even if it suddenly feels terrifying to approach him.
I've never seen him this cold. Well, it was kind of like this at the loft that one time. But I didn't do anything wrong this time.
Right?
"Sam?" I call out gently as he starts up the stairs.
He pauses briefly, his hand gripping the wooden handrail, but he doesn't look at me. I stand there silently, waiting for him to go on, but he doesn't, not until I take a step toward him.
"Something's come up. We need to go back to Shade Valley. Pack your things so we can go."
His voice sends a chill through me, so hard and cold. And there's no room for argument. My anxiety only ratchets up higher. I rush up the stairs after him, finding it harder to breathe.
"What's going on?" I plead, but I know from the set of his shoulders, how tense they are, that he's become a wall. Like at the loft that one day, he's gone back inside himself, but this time, I have no idea why.
I watch him disappear into the room we shared, watch him ignore me.
We were on the verge of planning a leisurely day together. What could have happened to make him switch like this?
No matter how I strain my brain to figure out what happened, no answers come. And Sam doesn't offer any insight, either. We pack our bags in silence, and even as I steal concerned looks at him, trying to detect any sign that he's coming around or that he might change his mind or even tell me what happened, he ignores me. It's like I'm not here.
He waits by the door for me to finish gathering my things and getting dressed, and when I get there, he marches out, expecting me to follow along. I do, feeling more and more deflated with each step.
Something so precious I just had is gone without warning and no explanation. My head is pure confusion, remaining that way until we're sitting on his plane, opposite each other. Which is a joke itself. When we flew here, we sat as close as we could. Now he's buried in his phone, face set sternly.
Could it be business?
I feel a ripple of irritation wash over me. Of course it's not that. If it was, he could have easily told me, and that's the annoying thing. I'm completely in the dark. Whatever it is, can't he assure me one way or another?
I take a deep breath and push those thoughts away. It could be something he's struggling deeply with.
But then, what about what we shared? What do those scenes mean, the intimacy, the bond I thought we were building? If he can close up like this without warning and so tightly, what does that say about the strength of our bond?
I wish I was feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin right now. But all I can do is anticipate the blustering wind in Shade Valley. We're heading back to winter, and there's nothing I can do about it.
I study Sam for a little while longer. He doesn't look up or stop scrolling his phone, even if he feels my eyes on him. I sigh and pull out my own phone. Nothing else to do, so I might as well do the same as him.
We haven't been on this getaway for very long, but I somehow checked completely out of reality. There are a few messages from my mom talking about the Christmas family dinner. I thought I'd get to spend Christmas this year a little differently, and the thought makes my throat tight with the threat of tears. I clear my throat forcefully and fight the urge to cry. I don't know what Sam's plans are, just like I haven't known this whole time, but I feel a lot less hopeful about things.
I text my mom back, confirming the date, then log the event in Companion, like I've done for the past two years. I should be grateful to have dinner with my family. And a part of me is.
I just thought I'd branch away from being their failure daughter for once.
Whatever Sam is going through is contagious. I find myself spiraling into negativity as I scroll through videos, not seeing or registering anything—outside of happy couples or other people's getaways, holiday plans, spirited recipes, and crap. Every time I see someone's smiling face, the pit in my stomach grows larger. And I find myself looking over my phone at Sam.
My chest twists painfully.
It's like I'm not even here.
The tears threaten to spill again, so this time, I put my phone away and squeeze my eyes shut. I burrow down into my seat, my arms folded, and try to clear my mind.
I'll cry when I'm alone.
Next thing I know, a gruff hand is gripping my shoulder and shaking me. I look around groggily, trying to piece together what happened. Out the window, white specks swirl in the darkness, and in the distance, trees are swaying in the wind.
"You awake? Time to go," Sam says shortly, then walks away.
I look up at him quickly and try to catch his eye, but I don't think he was ever looking at my face to begin with.
I must have fallen asleep. Right outside the window is the city I know all too well, not the sun-drenched beach town. With a huff, I gather my things and wonder where I put the jacket I wore when we first left.
Sam must have sprinted off the plane because he's nowhere to be seen. When I finally step off and into the bone-chilling night, I hug myself to keep warm, not nearly dressed appropriately for the weather. I spot him near the end of the steps, and beside him are two waiting cars. He's packing my things into one car while his usual driver packs Sam's things into the other one.
I start to feel sick.
We're not even driving home together?
"Sam, what's going on?" I plead with him again as I charge down the steps toward him, my emotions spilling over. I hear my voice shake.
"This car will take you back to your apartment. This is the last bag of yours, so you're all set." Sam opens the door for me and gestures for me to get inside.
I can feel the warmth pouring out of the car as I get near, but that's not where I want to be right now. I want to be with Sam. A panic seizes my chest, and I feel myself starting to lose control.
"Sam, please. What's going on? Something happened. Did I do something wrong?" Even though I know I couldn't have, I still ask.
Still not looking at me, he shakes his head. "No, just something I need to take care of. Get in the car, you're shivering."
"When… when will I see you again?" I continue pathetically, my voice coming out as a whine.
He shrugs, then rakes a hand through his hair with a hard sigh. "I don't know." He places his hands on my shoulders and steers me toward the car, practically pushing me in.
"Wh-what about Christmas?" I sit in the car like he wants me to do and pull my legs in, still desperately trying to catch his eye.
Sam scoffs, and his grin chills me to the bone, it's so empty. "You're having family dinner, remember?"
With that, he shuts the door and taps the hood of the car, signaling the driver to leave.
I'm too numb to even put my seat belt on. My head is spinning, and I'm fighting the urge to throw up. It's like I can't even recognize that man. And nothing makes sense. What could be making him almost act like he hates me now?
But that's not what's making dread settle in my stomach. I whip my head around as we drive off, searching for an empty bag to throw up in. I know I can't hold it together, not for much longer.
I only just confirmed the family dinner, only a couple of hours ago.
How did he know what my plans were?