Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
Bree
M y eyes dart to the elevator behind him, betraying my thoughts. I can't help it. I need to know how fucked I am in this situation. I tighten my hand around my purse, feeling myself shrink under his gaze.
I don't know what Sam is capable of. I never knew.
"So why are you picking up your things again?" he asks me after a few moments of staring me down. "Didn't you say it's convenient to have that here when you come stay with me?"
The only reason I'd be taking my stuff back is because I'm pulling away from the relationship, and he thinks I'm pulling away because of my date tomorrow.
But how do I get him to admit that he knows about my date? That's what I'm here for. That's what this confrontation is about.
I try to swallow down my fear of him and grope around internally for the motivation that brought me here in the first place—I'm trapping him.
But it's only a trap if I can get out of here alive.
"If I spend more than a couple of days with my parents without my tablet, I go crazy," I say with a laugh, bringing attention back to his slipup. Did he even realize he shouldn't have known about that? "Oh!" I point to the left and dart toward the couches, rounding the far end of it so that he's no longer between me and the exit. "Wait, that's not my charger."
"Plans for the weekend?" Sam continues casually, studying my every move as he turns around.
"Why, am I back in your good graces again?" I snap, turning around to face him but still inching backward toward the elevator.
"How about we talk things over tomorrow?" he offers innocently.
A little too innocently.
"Is now a bad time?" I fire back, aware that he's waiting for someone else. That makes him go pale, his anger forgotten. "I guess it is."
I watch him struggle to come up with something to say, but I already have the proof I need. He's upset about my date, no doubt about it. He's spying on my Companion data. There's no other reason he'd be mad like this unless he was a control freak on the verge of losing control. And I'm about to tell him I don't have a date, about to demand that he show me his phone.
But the elevator dings, announcing someone's arrival. I watch his eyes go wide before I whip around to see the girl he's been waiting for. I didn't want to be here, but maybe I can expose him in front of her and then get the fuck out of here.
When she steps out, her mouth shooting off unimpressed observations about the lobby's decor, my eyebrows knit together in confusion. She's old enough to be his… mom. And a man around the same age is right behind her, agreeing as he waves his hand in the air dismissively. They let their critical eyes roam around the penthouse before they both settle on us. We watch them without saying a word.
I barely dare to breathe. For one, they brought in a cloud of cigarettes and booze with them, but for two, it's totally not my place.
Sam should be the one to address his parents.
I don't like their eyes on me, sliding over my figure. I can only imagine them envying my youth—they both look like dried fruit, and there's an air of dust about them, of uncleanliness. They're dressed in similar shabby clothes, and I bet the dad's hair is just as oily and unkempt as the mom's, but he at least had the decency to wear a hat.
I feel gross just looking at them.
"Well?" the mom barks, her voice loud and harsh in the clean space.
I look back at Sam because she's definitely not talking to me. His shoulders are hunched, his hands shoved into his pockets. He suddenly looks like a little boy, and when he raises his eyes to meet hers, he looks wary.
"You made it," Sam observes flatly.
"No shit, Sherlock!" the dad says, shuffling into the living space. He claps a dirty hand down on the couch before settling heavily into it. "This is where you've been living, huh?"
"You think you really turned into something, don't you?" the mom says with a cackle, and I can see she's missing some teeth.
I look away, but she's not paying me any attention anyway. Only Sam seems aware of my presence, and shame is written all over his features. He doesn't reply.
"Marj, you got any cigarettes?"
"Yeah, yeah," she says, shuffling over to the couch, still looking around with her mouth open.
I wince. No way are they going to smoke in here. I look back to Sam to see if he's going to stop them, but he's staring at the floor.
"Don't snatch from me, Frank!" Marj erupts, and Sam flinches.
"Aaah, nobody's snatching from you," he replies dismissively. "You got anything to drink around here?" He looks in our direction while rustling in his pocket.
"I don't have anything here," Sam says. I know that's a lie, though.
"I should go," I whisper to Sam. No way is alcohol going to make this situation any nicer, and whatever I've gotten mixed up with, it's time to leave.
Sam nods like he thinks that's a good idea.
"Can't you order something up? I bet you can order anything!" Marj says in her too-loud voice.
As I head to the elevator, I start to understand why he never mentioned them and why he's been cooking for himself for years. Their stale scent is lingering inside, repelling me. I shoot a last look at Sam, who has his eyes glued on me, sadly. He doesn't make a move, just looks so small there. Marj and Frank don't say goodbye. When I step in and the doors start to close, I hear them start up with their complaints again, this time about the penthouse, addressed directly to Sam.
The further I get from them, the better I feel. But I keep thinking about Sam, the way he looked.
It was like he didn't want me to leave him there.
The first thing I do when I get home is cancel the fake date in Companion and delete the diary message. They served their purpose, and there's no point in keeping them around if they're just going to torment Sam. I don't know how much time he'll have to look at my data, but I don't want to deliberately contribute to his problems.
I'm also not going to use it anymore, either.
For the first time since I got it, I take Companion off and place it in my desk drawer, not any closer to feeling better about being spied on. I don't even know what to think about that.
I can't get Sam's parents out of my head. They weren't like parents at all, more like trash that had blown in from the street, ugly and only saying ugly things.
I'm in bed fully clothed before I know it, thinking about them.
That must have been what happened at the beach house. They contacted him or someone contacted him about them, and he was waiting for them to come over. After seeing them myself, it makes sense why he didn't just come clean about what was going on.
There was shame in his eyes, too, not just sadness when I left.
That's why he couldn't help that snarky remark about my family.
I groan and roll onto my stomach, then pull my laptop toward me. Marj and Frank. I don't know if they're married, but I'm betting at least the dad shares Sam's last name. I type their names into the search engine, wondering if there's anything online about them, all the while battling the regret clawing through me.
Thanks to me, Sam has even more crap to deal with besides his trainwreck parents. But even thinking that feels like a betrayal against myself. Didn't he severely violate my trust, my privacy? How am I supposed to make sense of that?
I groan into the silence of my room, long and loud, unsure of what I'm supposed to think or feel.
For now, Marj and Frank will be my focus, just until I can get their story. Something didn't feel right about leaving Sam alone with them.
I can't help myself—I'm worried.
Nothing comes up with their names alone since they're so common. I have to get much more specific, mixing and matching keywords and locations until something useful finally pops up.
A mug shot, one each for Frank Green and Marjorie Green, same day. That leads me to look up their public records, and sure enough, the reason Sam had to cancel on me all of a sudden is because they just got out of prison, both for good behavior. Ten years ago, they were sentenced for getting caught robbing someone's house—again.
That makes sense. Companion took off while they were in prison. And now they're back to get what they're owed. Even if Sam doesn't owe them shit.
Ten years ago… so Sam was still in high school when they got locked up.
Poor Sam. He's been all this time without family.
Wait, has he? He's never mentioned an aunt or uncle, and I haven't pried.
Maybe I should have tried a little harder.
I shove my laptop away and stretch out.
There's so much I want to say to him, so much I feel like I need to do. I'm not worried they'll rob him or hurt him physically. But I am worried about the amount of control they have over him. He was clearly uncomfortable with them being around. Is he able to say no to them? What if they're back to take advantage of him?
I can't leave him to handle that alone. I don't think he can.
But what can I do?
"I need to talk to Sam," I reply to myself out loud.
It starts there. I need to know what he's feeling about all of this, why they're even around.
And I need to clear up this Companion shit, too.
I'm covered in sweat, heart pounding, and every breath I take stings my lungs. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I've already been hanging on for too long. I have to press on. But do I have the strength? My muscles are screaming for me to stop, as they have been, but just a little longer, a bit more.
No, that's it. I'm done for.
I slow to a stop on a Shady Park trail and try to catch my breath, the cold air stinging me from inside. But it feels good. For the first time in too long, it feels like, my mind is blank, settled, distracted by my body's concerted effort to complain to me—I haven't been jogging as much as I used to.
And I've missed it. Between Sam and work, I haven't had time for myself. I need to make this a priority again.
For like the third time this morning, I check my wrist—Companion isn't there. I left it at home. We need a little time apart.
Just like me and Sam.
As soon as I think about him, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It's a long one—I'm getting a call. I fish it quickly out and look at the screen, my heart leaping in my chest.
But it's just Danica, my editor.
Talk about disappointing.
"Hey Danica!"
"You're energetic this morning. Didn't catch you at a bad time, that's for sure." She laughs.
"No, perfect timing. What's up?"
"I just wanted to touch base with you. I like the work you've been doing lately. Super good job on spinning the story."
"Thank you," I say, remembering the nightmare writer's block I had—before Sam helped me break through that.
"So what do you say about writing your own story?"
"My own story?" I repeat, suddenly much more interested in what she has to say.
"Yeah, I want to see where you go with it. You've got your finger on the pulse, so bring me a gem."
"Yes, you got it!"
"Christmas is coming up. Think you can give me something before then?"
My mouth pops open, but no words come out. Christmas is coming up, alright. In three days. But I can't blow this opportunity, even if it's starting to feel more like she just doesn't know what to write about and needs me to save her ass.
"Uh, yeah. I can do that, for sure."
"Good, let me know by the end of the day what you're going to write about. Real tight deadline on this, but I know you can do it."
"Yeah, sure. I'll get back to you."
I try not to let any uncertainty creep into my voice as I end the call. How the hell am I supposed to come up with?—
Then it hits me. Obviously! What better way for me to help Sam than to publicly expose his parents? I could write an exposé on them before they do too much damage. Leeching Parents Set Their Eyes on Billionaire Son, something like that. And no one else knows. I'll have the exclusive scoop.
I let out a whoop as the excitement rushes over me. This could work!
I just have to ask Sam about it first.
I glance back at my phone. No messages from him. The excitement quickly curdles into guilt.
Right now, he thinks my interest is waning, attaching to some other guy. He might even still think I have that date planned, but nothing could be further from the truth. He also doesn't know I know about his spying. I could drop him at this very second. Hell, instead of writing about his parents, I could write about how he used the app's data to keep track of my activities. That's the bigger scoop, without a doubt.
But despite his controlling behavior, I don't detect any malice in him. He's been spoiling me this whole time. What if he just wanted to get to know me better and went about it in an unethical way? Who would have caught him?
I still do wonder how long this has been going on, though, and that thought is what I'm really afraid of. But I want him to tell me, in his own words, what's going on. I want to give him the chance because…
Because even in this moment, with the fear of what I don't know gnawing at me, I still remember the thrill of being with him, of having a scene. A part of me aches to have his hands around me, guiding me, spanking me. When I'm surrendering to his control, when he's pulling me into the moment with his voice and strength, nothing else matters but him and us. I've never felt that way before.
And I want to feel it again, with Sam.
I need to feel his intensity.
Yeah, the situation is fucked up, and his parents are only complicating things.
But I don't want to let go.