Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
Sam
T he new year started off with a hell of a bang. I'm still fucking reeling. Wish I could blame anyone but myself, but the blame is all mine. That's all anyone can tell me since shit hit the fan.
Outwardly, the company is doing pretty well, all things considered. When an outside source—like a journalist—uncovers a privacy vulnerability, it's usually pretty bad. But Bree went above and beyond with her kind coverage, something she didn't need to do. A lingering sentiment for a device she'd grown attached to?
Who can say.
I know it wasn't out of consideration for me, though.
In her article, Bree shared an interesting turn of events, all false: While working on the last update we pushed through for Companion, I realized that our software was structured poorly. Any employee, should they choose to, could look into any user's data, which wasn't anonymized in any way. There was no evidence that such a serious violation of privacy had been committed, but the possibility was worrying nonetheless. That's why I not only reached out to a journalist myself to admit the mistake, but I was also working around the clock to protect our users' data.
The article stressed that no data had leaked and that there was nothing for customers to do. In fact, it praised me for admitting the grave mistake and owning up to it. That hasn't stopped people from calling customer service to ask paranoid questions.
But that's not the problem.
I walked into a shitstorm the morning the article was released, having no idea Bree fabricated quotes from me. I had to take ownership of a problem I didn't even know existed. If there was a privacy issue, why the fuck hadn't I mentioned it to anyone in the company before going public?
Yeah, that would have been a good idea.
If I wasn't so enmeshed in Companion's software—and prominently mentioned by name in the article—they would have let me go that same morning. They said as much, over and over.
I took the heat. I'm still taking the heat.
And we're working out solutions, but it's taking long nights, with the bulk of the work falling in my lap. It's my special project. Every morning, I hold a meeting to update the team on my progress.
It's coming slowly and painfully.
It doesn't help that Bree promised I'd give a press release as soon as possible, announcing the solution we've implemented.
All without talking to me.
I don't hold it against her. I can't.
No, at the end of another long day, I find myself repeating a familiar path. Exhausted, I don't go home to the penthouse, and I don't go to the loft. I go to the only place where I can feel close to her again. I've been coming here ever since I stepped out of the shower to find her gone—with my nightstand drawer standing wide open, the panties I've taken from her on full display.
That's when I knew I wouldn't see her again. I knew it was all too much for her to bear. Around every turn, there was something darker for her to find out. Our past is ugly, tainted.
I thought she could look past it if I showed her it could all be worth it, that who we are now could justify it in some way.
Pretty fucking stupid reasoning.
I push my legs to keep taking me the distance that a car should have covered. By the end of it, after resting in the clearing for a little while, my body is begging for sleep. Yeah, I'm already exhausted, but pushing myself beyond my limits is the only thing that can put me to sleep. Otherwise, I'm up all night, berating myself for losing Bree.
I cross the college campus as the sun is starting to set, walking through the quad to the edge of the forest. I can usually only barely make out the secret path we used to share—the snow conceals it just as quickly as I carve it out again.
But this time, there's a set of footsteps inviting me in, paving the way. My heart starts beating faster, hope leaping in me like a lick of flame. I don't dare let that hope take control. It's too painful to consider. But I walk along the path faster, crunching through the snow. Branches slap into my arms. I'm too focused on setting eyes on the clearing to dodge them like I usually do.
And sure enough, there's a figure there, right in the middle, its back to me. Years ago, when we were in college, I would have stopped here within the trees, allowing myself to stay concealed. But what if I had walked out? What if I had talked to Bree again, apologized for being a jerk?
Where would we be now?
I don't hesitate this time. I step noisily out of the forest, my eyes fixed on the feminine figure. Her hair pokes out of her beanie, little flakes of snow caught in it, copper little curls I couldn't ever forget. And when she turns around, the sight of her makes me suck in a cold breath.
Those familiar hazel eyes meet mine steadily, but it's like a light has gone out in them. Her light brown skin seems paler, and the smile she offers is weak, like she doesn't have the strength to manage anything wider. There's a youthfulness to her, something reminiscent of our college years, so much so that I wonder if I'm hallucinating.
But what's probably closer to the truth is that the Bree in front of me is a ghost, a ghost of herself.
"Hey," she greets me softly.
It makes me flinch, and I finally drop my eyes. There's so much pain in her voice that it makes my heart ache. Worse, she sounds so far away, even though we're standing close. I've been getting shit on at work since the new year, but nothing has been harder to bear than this.
"Bree," I whisper back, wanting to reach out and hold her. "Why are you here?"
Bree looks past me, then off into the forest, like she doesn't quite know where she is.
"I don't know," she says wistfully. "I had a feeling to come here. I remember the solitude and peace of this little clearing. It felt like no one else knew about it. It felt like I could really be alone here." With a wry smile, she turns back to me. "But I was never really alone here, was I?"
I take her words like a punch in the gut, dropping her empty gaze. I deserve that, though. There's been no way for her to process everything I admitted, nothing for her to receive as recompense. She didn't even truly expose me to the media like she could have. So I deserve a jab like that at the very least.
"We're working on the vulnerability, just like you wrote," I assure her, wanting to please her in some way.
"That's good," she replies, but it's like she hasn't registered the news, like she's dreaming with her eyes wide open.
"It isn't easy," I go on, "but I think I can schedule a press release soon. Everyone was pissed at work. They're leaving it all to me to fix. But thank you for not writing the truth about what happened."
Bree nods, not acknowledging that I'm rambling. The dipping sun is setting her hair aglow, but it lends no warmth to her features.
"How have you been?" I ask seriously, dropping my voice.
"Why?" she asks, and she sounds genuinely curious.
"Because I miss you." I lay it out bluntly, looking earnestly into her eyes. "I care about you. I want to know if you're okay."
There isn't a flicker of recognition in her face. The emotion in my voice doesn't affect her at all. I want to shake her, just to see if she's really alive and breathing, but I'm afraid she'd crumble in my hands.
Fuck, did I do this to her? Did I break her?
Bree lowers her head and stares off into space, her boots fidgeting in the snow.
"I know I fucked up," I start, desperation creeping into my voice. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. My parents— they left me when I was just a kid, Bree. It fucked me up. I know I should have done better, but it fucked me up for a long time. I wasn't thinking straight. It's like I couldn't think until they were gone."
I watch her for any reaction, but she doesn't appear to register my words.
"I wouldn't change any of it," I say firmly. "Not if it meant not meeting you. As messed up as it all was, meeting you changed my life. And I know you feel what I feel. We share something we've never shared with anyone else. You know what I'm talking about, right?"
The desperation in my voice seems to finally make her look up, but the smile on her face is a pitying one.
"Bree, we can start over." I grab her upper arms and finally give her that little shake, peering into her eyes. "We have the choice to start over and do everything right. We can build something together."
"Start over?" she repeats, looking confused. Then she laughs. "Start over and do what? Have a big happy family? Pretend like you didn't violate every inch of my privacy? Sam, we don't even know each other."
"I do know you?—"
"No, you don't. You collected a bunch of data about me, fucking took notes about what I like to eat and do. How I like to fuck myself, right? That's what you meant when you fucked me that night?"
My hands jerk away from her like I've been burned, and I fall silent.
Whatever anger was working up in her dissipates just as quickly as it appeared. She huffs out a cloud of air and shrugs, returning to that frozen state.
"You collected data on me to control me. That's not the kind of intimacy you think it is. As much as you'd like to, you can't just pretend that didn't happen just because you developed strong feelings for me."
"Bree," I whisper, shaking my head. "It's more than that, and you know it."
"Know what?" she asks with a hint of irritation.
"I love you."
I find her eyes and try to pass on the sincerity of my words. For a moment, I can see her gaze softening, like I'm thawing her out, if only a little. It's like she wants to believe me. I nod, reaching for her again, but that's all it takes to snap her out of it. Her shoulders square, and she's shut me out again.
"I love you, Bree. And I think you love me, too. We have something here, between us. You can't deny that. If we start over, if you give me a chance, we can heal together. We both need healing, that's why we come together so well."
Bree smiles bitterly, openly avoiding my eyes now.
"You're trying to see what you want to see. You're trying to paint it all as some big romantic gesture in your mind, but it isn't. I'm sorry your parents walked out on you. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you used me as an escape. How about you deny that ?" She jabs a finger into my chest.
And I fucking know she's right.
I've been glossing over the reality of something that got completely out of hand. And the end doesn't justify the means. Not by a long shot.
My heart sinks, and suddenly, I'm the one who can't look at her.
"I became your weird little obsession because you couldn't cope. And I used you to escape the stress in my life. We don't have some magical connection, we just happened to blow off steam together. But we can't just be each other's coping mechanisms. That's not healthy. Your parents are dead now, Sam. You killed them. Congratulations. That means you can move on. But you can do that without me."
Even the finality in her tone doesn't give me the courage to look up at her. I know it's my last chance. There's nothing more for her to say, and I have no excuses left.
I'm done trying to make excuses.
When I first thought about coming clean to her here on Christmas Eve, I told myself to be prepared for this outcome. And if need be, I had to let her go, if she wanted.
I just hoped she wouldn't want to leave.
Silence stretches between us as the last rays of sun leave the clearing. Then I watch her boots start moving, taking the steps toward me.
So she can walk past.
"I'm not coming back here, Sam," she says quietly.
All I do is watch her boots. They linger a beat longer, then with determination, she's off, following the path we both walked to get here. Except when she's out of the forest, I know her path will diverge from mine.
I hang on to the sound of her walking away, a wild pain tearing at my heart. As the sound gets softer and softer, thoughts flood my head. I could have stopped her, pleaded with her. I could still follow her now or orchestrate some other scheme to get us back together. I have the money, the means. I could have turned around to get one last look.
Maybe a last kiss could have turned this all around.
But no matter what stupid shit I think about, all I'm left with is a growing sense of cold and a pain in my heart that only grows sharper.
Heart break.
It's similar to what I felt when I realized my parents weren't coming back. But back then, I turned away from the rejection, the pain was too great. I want to do that now, too.
But I don't.
I sit with it until twilight fades into inky blackness.
Until Bree's last footsteps are gone, filled in by fresh white snow.
I stand in the clearing until my legs are stiff and aching, staring at the spot where she last stood.
A little longer, just a little longer , I tell myself.
I'll hold on to Bree just a little longer.