Chapter Twenty One #2
I cut myself off. Sam looks at me meaningfully, his eyes confessing
even more than his words.
"I couldn't leave it up to
chance."
"You sent it." It's not a
question. Sam wasn't out walking the beach last night, he was
sending me that message from Robin. "But, how?"
Same smiles sadly,
regretfully. "Come on, baby. You know my uncle's hotel connections
go beyond discounted rates. The hotel the Forbeses were staying at
is under the same ownership." Sam shrugs. "It was as simple as the
manager letting me know when his room was empty, disabling the
cameras for an hour of 'routine maintenance', and counting on the
assumption that a moron like him would keep his account logged into
either a tablet or a computer, which he did."
I stare at him,
processing. Sam sent the Facebook message. Sam caused my panic
attack.
I'm sorry, baby. I'm so
sorry.
Now his apologies make
sense.
"I never wanted you to see
it. But then your mother texted us about the postponement, and you
took your phone out onto the balcony, and you checked
Facebook. Why did
you check Facebook?"
He's not really asking me,
he's asking fate. Neither of us have an answer for him.
I swallow the lump in my
throat. "You snuck into his hotel room and sent that message?" I
don't know why I ask him to admit it again.
"Yes."
I'll never forget the
terror I felt reading those words. The desperation for air, the
pain of my chest being constricted by panic. But it's Sam's
decision to take such a big risk, to frame Robin like that, that
has me reeling.
I stand up. "You could
have gotten into so much trouble!"
"I covered all the bases,
Ror," he says in defense.
"The bases?! The bases of a
frame job?! Do you have
no regard for your own goddamned future?!" I sound
hysterical—I am hysterical.
Sam stands and approaches
me cautiously. "No, Rory, I don't."
My jaw drops.
"Not when your
fucking life is
at risk. I am sorry—so fucking sorry—that you had to read those
words, that they scared you. I am so sorry I made you panic and
I'll never forgive myself for it. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the
truth, that I needed it to seem real for your mom, for the
prosecutor. But I'm not sorry I did what I had to do to keep my
girl safe." He takes a deep breath. "I made you a promise. I keep
my promises. Especially to you."
I stare at him in unveiled
shock.
"Look, this wasn't some
haphazard plan. I've had it in the works for weeks. My father told
me the best way to ensure he gets jail time, he helped enlist Uncle
Kelly, and your restraining order was our best card,
and—"
"Your father?" He doesn't even speak to
his father.
He licks his lips again.
"He's been helping me. I told you I'd do whatever I had to,
Ror."
It hurts me even more, that
he reached out to a man he hates and asked him for help. God, that
must have been so hard for him. "But you hate him…"
Sam's brow furrows. "He…
he's sober," he says simply.
I understand immediately.
"He stopped drinking? Like for good?"
Sam nods, his brow still
furrowed in that adorable way that melts my heart. "Five years now.
He's… different."
I can't help my small,
wistful smile. I don't know how I feel about the man to be honest,
it's hard for me to consider the possibility of forgiving an
abuser, but it's not for me to judge him. Sam went to his father
for help—for me—and found someone different than he remembered. Someone he
doesn't seem to hate.
"That's really great,
Sam," I breathe.
Sam sighs, shoving his
fingers through his hair. "I don't know what it is, Ror, but it
wasn't what I was expecting, that's for sure. Nothing about him is
what I expected," he admits. He shakes his head, as if it doesn't
even matter, and takes another step toward me. "I'm sorry I hurt
you," he says again. He looks worried, like he's awaiting his own
sentencing and I hate it.
"Sam I get your need to
protect me, really I do. I just… you don't need to protect me from
the truth. I may not always agree with everything you do, but… I do
need you to be honest with me," I tell him. "I hate that you lied
to me," I admit.
Sam nods, like he deserves
all of the condemnation in the world, but he doesn't.
"You've asked me to trust
you, and I have," I remind him. "I don't think it's unfair for me
to ask for the same in return… I—I know I'm a terrible liar, but
still, you should have told me."
He nods again, but I can
tell he's not sure he agrees. "God
I wanted to tell you, Ror. You don't know what it
was like for me—seeing you like that, knowing I had the words to
fix it, but having to weigh them against putting away
that motherfucking bastard..." he trails off, like he's still stuck in the conundrum
that has obviously been plaguing him since this morning.
"I'm not angry with you,"
I promise him, unable to bring myself to prolong his suffering for
even a moment longer.
"You're not?" He seems
astonished.
I shake my head. "Did you
seriously think I wouldn't want to stay here with you?" He said he
had to tell me something before we changed our flights, like he
thought this would change my mind about spending the next few days
in Miami with him.
Sam shrugs uncertainly. He
really doesn't get it.
"Jesus, Sam. I just got
you back. Hell if I'm gonna give you up now," I tell
him.
Finally I watch the stress
he's been carrying fade away. "That's really fucking good to hear,
baby girl," he murmurs as he presses his forehead to
mine.
Slowly, his lips inch
closer to mine, until they're brushing against them in a soft,
sweet kiss. I kiss him back hard. It feels different somehow, more
intense, like our connection is the only thing in the world that
matters now. Like knowing Robin and his shadow are locked in a cell
has shifted the focus of our lives back where it
belongs.
Sam's lips pick up pace,
caressing mine, sucking my bottom lip the way he does until he
licks the seam of my mouth. I open for him, welcoming him in. This
kiss is freedom. It is relief and hope and rediscovery.
His tongue finds mine and
I deepen the kiss even more. His arms slip around me, pulling me
flush against him, and the feel of my soft, modest curves pressing
into the hard planes of his body turns the kiss into need. It's
been so long since I've been really intimate with him and I want to
touch him, want to feel him. I want to feel him everywhere.
I feel myself melt into
him, feel myself submit to his pull. It's unfathomable—the effect
he has on me. He pulls away and stares at me.
"I can't lose you again,
Ror," he murmurs.
I shake my head. I would
never leave him. I never wanted to leave him the first time
around.
"I'm not built for it. I
know that now." He takes a deep breath. "Do you know how many times
I told myself I would let you go? That I even could let you go?" He laughs again.
"I told myself I would be your friend. You know, just be there for
you and watch out for you. That I would stop thinking about you all
the damn time, stop staring at you whenever you were in the room.
That I wouldn't touch you, because I knew that would fuck up my
resolve. Because then I would do something stupid like kiss you.
And put myself out there again, when you'd already made it clear,
you know, how you felt. God, I didn't want to ever feel that
vulnerable again… fuck,
I'm a pussy," he groans adorably, and I think my
heart actually, literally flutters.
"I think you're real damn
sexy—you being open about all that," I say honestly, loving his
words, wanting to memorize them, so any time I think about our time
apart, how lonely and heartbroken I was, I can reassure myself that
I'd never really lost Sam in the first place. That he'd always
wanted me too.
"I'm not the sexy one," he
replies. His fingers reach up and tuck a wayward strand of hair
behind my ear, and his thumb lingers, brushing over my cheek in a
shivery trail of heat, blazing to my heart… and
elsewhere.
Sam's gaze turns lustful.
But there's also something else there. Something I now recognize,
because I've seen it in him before, and mirror it back in my own
gaze. His affection overwhelms me, my entire body growing both
excited and relaxed, wanting to give myself to this man in earnest.
His palm holds my cheek and scalp in a soft grip and he inches my
face toward his as his other arm slips around my waist. Fortunately
it holds my weight when his lips meet mine again and my knees
weaken. He yanks me against him and I'm both willing and eager,
kissing him back with the desperate fervor of every kiss I missed
while I'd let fear rule my life. When I'd let Robin win. I will
never let that happen again.
I force the will to pry my
mouth from Sam’s. He gasps above me, his breath stolen from the
force of our kiss, his brow furrowed in question, asking why I
pulled away.
"I love you," I whisper,
answering his silent question. They're words we've both held back
since the last time we were here in this suite, but right now I
need to say them, need him to hear them.
Sam's face drains of any
discernible emotion and my heart stutters. But then I read what is
most definitely awe. "Say it again," he rasps.
My smile is wide and
insuppressible. "I love you," I repeat, happily complying with his
demand.
"Don't you fucking forget
it again," he growls, before his lips crash against mine in a
fiercely claiming kiss.
His tongue reclaims my
mouth, rediscovering territory it's long owned, until abruptly his
mouth is gone, and my eyelids take a moment to flutter open and
dazedly meet his gaze.
"I love you too, you know
that right? It just hit me that maybe you hadn't realized that I'd
never stopped. And that I hadn't said it back, because I thought it
was a given. But just to be clear, I fucking love you, baby
girl."
Before I can even respond
his mouth is back on mine and he's lifting me until my legs fly
around his waist.
His lips lick and suck