Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sam
The sound of a car in the driveway shouldn’t send my heart rate spiking. But it does.
I move through my sun salutation again, breathing steadily and channeling the calm I usually feel when practicing yoga. I need the physical reminder that Andrew is in my past and I am living here and now.
I’m not getting dragged back into an awful marriage.
I’m not even being sent back to LA. I’m simply being forced to experience feelings about those things and I’ve really enjoyed not physically burning myself into exhaustion with work and mentally wishing something would change.
I made the change. I am changing. And clearly, a major part of me wishes I could change the things that got me here.
My current mood isn’t helped by the fact that when I checked my e-mail, I had nothing but spam and promotions save one short, brutal email from my mom. It shouldn’t have gutted me, but as anything from her tends to, it did.
I don’t know why you’re acting like a child, but this is a man. If he makes a mistake here and there, you live with it. Running away is beneath you—or should be.
A mistake? Does she really believe him wrapping his hands around my neck a year ago was a mistake?
It was why we divorced, and because of the police report, he’d had no ability to contest. But even with that, he managed to financially gut me. And he made sure I had a steady stream of expenses to deal with as I planned my exit from his life entirely.
My mother knew much of this, and many of the small concerns and bright red flags waving before he finally put his hands on me.
That she would suggest his violence, not to mention over a year of emotional abuse, was simply a mistake?
Sometimes, it makes me sad, but today, my fear is morphing into anger, and it’s palpable. It’s in the grind of my molars and the tension in my chest. It’s in the harsh breaths I can’t seem to fully smooth out as I flow from post to pose.
The sound of boots on the stairs knocks me back into the moment and summons the shreds of logic and sociability I have left.
I used to be a person who liked being around people.
And though I thought I wanted to keep to myself—I’d planned to—I’ve loved making friends and stepping back into having a social life.
That space I’ve been giving myself with this change and this low-stress job and keeping my expenses basic so my financial worries aren’t in the front of my mind has in fact allowed me to recognize I want more than survival and quiet.
But right now, I’m missing the hermit life I lived in LA—work, home, work, home, and so on.
“Sam.”
My eyes open and my pulse ticks up. For some reason, I thought maybe May, or even Finn would be here.
“Sam, it’s Grant. Please open the door.”
I scramble to my feet and approach. “Why didn’t you knock downstairs?”
There’s no reason for me to ask this question, but I’m jarred by him being so close. I didn’t have time to compose myself before I jogged downstairs to answer him there. Instead, he’s right here. And today, it feels unmanageably close and confusingly welcome.
“I talked to Finn.”
My heart sinks, though I’m not completely shocked. “Oh.” But it’s hardly a whisper, and there’s no way he heard me.
“Please open the door and let me talk to you. Please.”
His tone is soft and pleading, and I’m a mess of emotions only snowballing into something more out of control. I yank open the door, heedless of the reality that I don’t look at all composed enough to see this gorgeous human, and start talking.
“You talked to Finn? So that means he talked to you, which I specifically asked him not to do?” I stomp away from the door and stand in the kitchen, hands braced on the island.
I have gone from searching for calm in all the wrong poses to a white-hot anger I definitely don’t have a leash on, and this man’s slow approach does nothing to quell it.
He very calmly shuts the door behind himself, then saunters over to where I stand.
Fine, it may not be a saunter, but right now, I’m not sure I’ve met a human male who is actually decent, and Finn has just proved that one more seemingly okay guy can’t keep his mouth shut for even a full day.
“What did he say?” I cross my arms, frustration absolutely radiating out of me.
Somewhere deep down, I know it’s misplaced. Grant has done exactly nothing to wrong me, and Finn didn’t actually promise me he’d keep quiet. Even so, I’m too far down the path of overwhelming emotions, and this man just shoved his way into a problem that is quite definitively not his.
“He mentioned the phone call. Said you seemed upset and suggested I talk to you.”
His face is dusted with stubble, and he looks even more dark and severe than he did the first few times we talked. If I hadn’t seen him laughing and playing with his little girls, I might think he was some shadowy crime boss.
“And what did he expect you to say? Or me, for that matter?”
His frown deepens. “I imagine he wanted you to tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”
I scoff. “Right. Because it’s that easy. I tell the do-gooder sheriff my tale of woe and he’ll believe me and solve all my problems? Sure. Sounds perfect. Because that’s the way the real world works.”
I’m not proud of the bite to my words, but I can’t reel it back in. I pace away from him, needing space. Needing air. Needing all of this to stop and let me just take a second to breathe.
“Sam.”
I don’t speak, working to gather myself, and he tries again, but he’s closer.
“Sam, let me help.”
His hand settles gently on my upper arm, and I whip around to face him.
“How are you going to help? Erase the last five years—no, let’s make it ten—of my life?” I watch his face, searching for confirmation this was his plan, but he only watches, steady and focused fully on me.
It’s his calm that undoes me, but instead of crumbling, I erupt.
“Do you want me to tell you all the details? Okay, Sheriff, here they are. We started dating while I was his maid. Yep! A real Cinderella story. He pulled me out of my pathetic life and let me sleep in the master’s bed.
” I grit my teeth as shame courses through me.
“He made me feel like I was special just enough for me to ignore the signs I should’ve seen. ”
My spine snaps into place as I try to remind myself I’m not that girl, and I’m here, standing in front of this infuriatingly pushy man, and not back with my ex. Yet now that I’ve started, it all comes rolling out.
“The first time I remember him hurting my feelings was at a dinner with some of his lawyer friends. He made a comment about how he was such a cliché because he’d started sleeping with the help.
Later when I asked him if that’s how he felt, he said it was just a joke, that I needed to lighten up, and that I shouldn’t get upset over things that were true. ”
Grant swears under his breath, but he doesn’t say anything else because I’m still talking.
“I don’t remember loving him, but I do remember thinking we could have a decent life together.
I felt special that he wanted me, and having someone who did despite my lack of…
everything, was enough to make me believe a life with him might be okay.
One where I didn’t have to worry about working so hard I couldn’t take a day off to get an eye exam or go to the dentist. One where I knew with confidence I’d be able to pay my bills this week and next. ”
My laugh is more of a sob, and I wipe the tears on my cheeks away in a rush. I absolutely hate that I’m letting him see all this, but now that I’ve popped the top, there’s no stopping. “By the time we got married, even a bit before, I felt trapped. I felt it in my gut.”
A large, warm hand presses against my upper back and I turn to see an expression that steals my breath. So much compassion and empathy in his achingly handsome face.
“We got married on a Tuesday. My mom was my only guest, which should’ve been sign enough for me.
I didn’t want to tell anyone at work. Plus by then, I’d become so isolated, I doubted any of them would’ve come if I’d asked.
” I blink away tears and I can feel the anger deflating, the desire to lean into his touch mounting.
I want to bury my face in his chest and hide away in his strong, steady arms. I’ll inhale his clean laundry and pine scent, and I’ll feel all this grief and rage evaporate into the chemistry and pull between us.
I’m not proud of it, but I want to get lost in him and him in me and make all of this go away.
But if I let myself give into that, I won’t just crack. Eventually, I would crumble into dust.
“You left him, though. You’re here, not with him anymore. You’re safe.”
He’s trying to soothe me, but he’s missing so much. And my heart is so bruised and sad, I throw it at him. “It’s not that simple.”