Chapter 12
The door to Sam’s office is ajar when I approach and I spy him sitting at his shabby desk, his curly orange hair just visible over the mountain of paperwork resembling Mount Everest that’s permanently stacked on his desk.
I crack the door to the cramped room wider and slip inside, the combined smell of musty old things mixed with Sam’s cologne assaulting my nostrils the second I enter.
Sam doesn’t notice me until I scrape the old steel chair with a ripped cushion across the floorboards and take a seat across from him.
It’s Thursday morning at Hope House, and apart from spending the last few days completely shoving down and ignoring the fact that my divorce lawyer is actually my first love, the one I never truly got over after he disappeared from my life one day without a trace, I’ve been busy taking steps to secure my future.
Sam’s head snaps up. His brows furrow over his warm, brown eyes as they meet mine between a gap in the paperwork.
“Gianna?” he says wearily, shifting a stack of papers to the side to give me an unobstructed view of his face before he leans back in his chair. “What’s up?”
His bicep flexes as he runs a hand through his unruly curls, and not for the first time, I quietly acknowledge that Sam is a good-looking guy. If he didn’t spend all of his time at Hope House I’m sure he would have settled down with a nice girl by now.
“I have something to run by you,” I answer, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and folding my hands into my lap.
I don’t know why I feel so nervous when it’s just Sam I’m speaking to, but this is the first time in years that I’ve sparked any kind of passion for my future, and in turn, I’ve had an idea that can help Hope House.
“Go on,” he says with a kind smile. He interlaces his fingers behind his head and gives me his full attention. My heart swells. Sam always has time for everyone, no matter who you are, which means something to someone who has become a supporting actress in her own life story.
“Well,” I start, twisting my hands as I force myself to look into Sam’s eyes.
“I’ve re-applied to finish my marketing and PR degree at university.
The new semester starts next week and I’ve already been granted tentative entry by the course co-ordinator when I went in to meet with him yesterday, but I’ll officially be re-enrolled hopefully by the time classes start on Monday. ”
A thrum of excitement sparks in my chest. I never lost passion for my chosen career path, just the will to fight Daniel to be able to complete my studies.
Over time, I let the idea go, finally thinking I was too old to go back to university.
But fuck that. It’s never too late, I’m starting to realise.
“Oh, that’s great news for you, Gianna,” Sam says, though his voice falls as he lets loose a breath. “Does that mean you’re not able to help out here anymore then?”
“What? No!” I quickly correct him, realising he’s come to his own conclusions about my news. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
Sam’s shoulders sink in relief as he looks at me to go on.
“I had an idea last week when Cassie told me about the funding cuts,” I admit sheepishly. “I think I know how to help.”
He tilts his head forward and looks at me from under his raised brows. “You guys know it’s not your burden to deal with the costs of this place. I appreciate every little thing you all do, especially our volunteers, and would never expect you to take on that kind of responsibility.”
“Of course I know that,” I say with a small smile. Even though Sam should share the burden with everyone here who’s willing to help. He does too much, takes too much upon his own shoulders. “But I want to help, and I know how I can.”
Sam lets out a resigned sigh, but he props his forearms down on his desk and leans in toward me. “I’m all ears.”
“We need to start fundraising. This place can’t survive on government funding alone.”
Sam leans back in his chair, thrumming his fingertips on the arms of his chair. “It’s something that’s definitely crossed my mind. But I wouldn’t know where to start, and I don’t have the money to hire someone to help with that sort of thing.”
I smile wider, taking a big breath to settle my nerves. “I can do this for you. For Hope House. Let me organise a fundraiser, see how it goes, then we can look at some options for ongoing support for this place.”
Sam cocks his head to the side, his warm eyes softening further.
“Gianna, I don’t have the funds to pay you for this kind of work. And that’s what it is. Work.”
I sit forward in my seat and place my palms on top of Sam’s desk, staring him straight in the eyes so he can see the resolution in mine.
“No, Sam. I don’t want to be paid. Think of it as work experience for me. I would only dedicate the time I’m here at Hope House to work on it, if that makes you feel better. But Hope House needs funds desperately, and I know I can help.”
Sam rubs a hand absently across his scruffy jaw, contemplating my offer.
It sends another pang through my chest, because I know his only hesitation is that he feels like he’ll be putting too much on my shoulders.
Sam’s only flaw is that he cares too much, but I’m hoping his undying devotion to Hope House will win out.
After a few quiet moments, he sits forward in his seat and mirrors my palms on the desk.
“Gia,” he starts, his voice is softer, and I feel emotion gather in my chest. “I don’t know much about your situation, because I’m under the impression you don’t like to talk about it much, but I hope you know your worth.
” Sam’s ability to read people who, I guess, are damaged like me, is second to none.
I avoid his gaze, instead turning my attention to the bookcases lined with old colourful lever-arch folders, which I’m sure contain the details of every woman that’s passed through these doors.
From nowhere, tears prick the back of my eyes.
I’ve never told anyone about my life with Daniel, but now I know that without ever being told, Sam knows.
And to be seen and acknowledged, it turns out, is quite an overwhelming sensation.
“Of course I will accept your offer on behalf of Hope House. Heck, if anyone can rally a fundraiser and pull us from the trenches here, it’s you. ”
I turn back at the smile in his voice. He’s looking at me with such kindness my heart swells.
“But please promise me you’ll also use your time to focus on your studies and rebuild your life.
You were a gift sent to us at exactly the right time, and we all love you and are so grateful for everything you do here. ”
“Thanks, Sam,” I say as a tear escapes and slips down my cheek. I discreetly wipe it away with a knuckle. “I promise I will. But this place has helped me just as much, and I want to do what I can to give back. I’ll let you know when I have more details.”
“Sounds great, Gianna. Thank you.”
I leave Sam’s office with one hundred thoughts flying through my head about where to start searching for gala locations, sponsors, donations, and ideas to promote such an event.
And yes, despite what I’m sure are Sam’s wishes, I will get him in a suit for this occasion.
Excitement like I haven’t felt in years bubbles in my stomach and spreads through my veins like a highly infectious disease.
Purpose. That’s what the feeling is, and it feels good.
It’s an added bonus that it acts as a distraction from the Zayn-sized elephant that’s been trumpeting around in my mind since Sunday.
There’s a skip in my step as I go in search of Emma.
We planned to make scones together after I had my chat with Sam, and judging by how eager she’s been all morning, I’m sure I’ll find her in the kitchen ready to go.
On my way, I pass the living area and see Hudson and Hattie playing LEGOs on the old crochet mat.
Beth’s reading a book with her feet propped up in the soft, aged-leather armchair behind them.
The scene is so peaceful it makes me smile.
I’m still watching the twins when both their heads snap up towards the entrance of the living room that connects to the foyer of Hope House. My gaze follows theirs at the same time they both yelp, “Daddy!”
My heart plummets down to my ankles at the same time the blood drains from my face.
Standing in the arched doorway across from me is a gaunt, unshaven man with dark circles under the eyes of an unnaturally pale face. His hardened gaze is locked on the two toddlers who have started to make their way towards him.
Acting on impulse, I swivel direction and launch into the living room, reaching out, barely grasping the back of the kids’ overalls as I yank them both behind me, placing myself between them and their unhinged father.
It takes a moment for me to register the screams coming from Beth.
My heart is beating so fast in my chest it rattles my ribcage.
Panic makes my movements jittery as I try to step back from the man, pushing the toddlers with me, but the man mirrors the movement and takes a small step forward.
He’s less than three steps away from me, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath from here.
Adrenaline pushes its way through my blood-stream, making me want to hurl, but I swallow it down.
I can’t lose my shit now when Beth and the kids need me.
Beth. The woman that arrived at Hope House beaten so badly by her husband that I spent a whole morning cradling her? Yeah, that was Beth.
Flinging my arms out to the side to stop the kids from moving around me, I tilt my head back and stare down at the man whose slightly yellowing eyes have come to meet mine, his ashen face mutated with rage.
“Beth,” I say as calmly as I can over her whimpering. “Take the kids and go to Sam’s office.”