Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Sam arrived at the office on Monday morning, Connor was perched on the edge of the desk, waiting for him. He stood as Sam walked through the door, his face tense. “Morning,” he said hesitantly. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” Sam smiled through his nerves. “I, uh, actually had something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Me too,” Connor blurted. “I just wanted to say how horrible I feel about what happened on Saturday. My dad, the ceremony, what I said afterward. I spent the entire weekend going over it in my head, and you’re right—I’m a hypocrite.
It’s like I’m stuck, and I can’t figure a way out—” Connor caught himself. “Sorry, what was it you wanted to say?”
Sam’s heart sank, and he pulled the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. “I’d like to hand in my notice.”
“Oh.”
“I thought it might be better if we made a clean break, you know? Give each other some space. I think we’re in different places at the moment, and we just need to work on our own stuff.”
Connor shoved his hands into the pockets of his overalls and stared down at the floral carpeting. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he said in a hollow voice.
“I know someone who can take over the website remotely. I’m sure I can get him for a decent fee. It’s been really helping with our bookings—”
“I don’t care about the website.” Connor exhaled sharply through his teeth. “I mean, I do—it’s awesome. I still can’t believe you conjured that out of thin air, but I don’t want you to stop working here.”
He looked up, and their eyes met. Sam’s stomach twisted.
Since their conversation on Saturday, his emotions had run the full gamut.
But after talking to his sister, a sort of resigned acceptance had come over him.
He knew what he had to do. Yet now that he was here with Connor, now that it was happening, he realized what a blindside this must be.
“Look, Sam, I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, but that doesn’t mean you have to quit,” Connor said. “You’ve been doing such a great job. I’d be lost without you.”
Sam tried to squash the flurry of hope. He had gone through this—there was no scenario in which the two of them simply forgot how they felt about each other and carried on as usual.
He couldn’t sit at the desk without glancing at the door in anticipation of Connor coming back to the office.
Even the stack of filing boxes along the wall made him think of all the times Connor had hoisted him on top to kiss him.
Sam needed to be clear; he needed to make this simple.
“I’m thinking about leaving town.”
“You’re going back to Austin?”
“Maybe Chicago. My sister’s reached out to a friend at an agency over there.” He shrugged and hoped it conveyed a casualness he didn’t feel. “Might be a nice change.”
“From this or your old life?”
Sam was struck by the question. “Both,” he said finally.
Connor nodded, his eyes dull. He glanced around the office, not meeting Sam’s gaze. “Okay, well, in that case, don’t worry about giving notice. We only agreed on a trial, right? And it sounds like this is no longer working for you. No hard feelings.”
Sam shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Really, I’m happy to stay on until you find someone else. I don’t want to put you out.”
“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.” Connor’s demeanor had completely changed. Sam was reminded of the Finnis from school, remote and abrupt.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Thanks again for all your hard work.
I’ve really enjoyed having you here. Good luck with everything, Sam.
” Connor reached out a hand, and Sam took it, feeling the jolt of electricity when their skin touched.
Then Connor let go and turned toward the workshop door.
“I’ve got to pack up for a job. Are you all right to see yourself out? ”
Crestfallen, Sam was about to nod, but Connor already had his back to him. He was already walking away.
Connor returned to the office at the end of the day to find it dark and quiet.
He surveyed the empty room and wondered if it had always been this depressing.
After Sam had left that morning, Connor kept himself moving from job to job, refusing to stop in at the office as he usually would around lunchtime.
If he’d had a hard time concentrating on work in the throes of their new relationship, it was even harder at its end.
He reached over to flick on the lights then took a seat behind the desk and exhaled, utterly defeated.
He tried to pinpoint the exact moment it had all gone wrong.
Was it when his father opened his big mouth or when Sam had nominated him for the stupid award in the first place?
Perhaps it was earlier than that—the night he’d come across Sam on the football field and invited him home.
Maybe the whole thing had been doomed from the start.
Even a decade on, did Connor really think he had a chance with the cute boy from school with the shy smile and a knack for avoiding conflict?
Connor looked down at Sam’s workstation.
There were Post-it notes attached to the monitor with billing cycle dates and product codes and one that simply said, Small victories, in Sam’s neat handwriting.
Connor traced the words with a finger. Sam had taken to the job with such enthusiasm.
He’d gotten up to speed in record time and then gone and added his own improvements to the mix.
Connor meant what he’d said; he already felt lost without him.
He pulled open the top drawer of the desk to find it filled with stationery, pens, paperclips, and boxes of staples organized into tidy sections.
The drawer below housed a stack of folders, and Connor spotted his name scrawled across the one on top.
He took the folder from the drawer and opened it on the desk.
It was the nomination Sam had put together for the Oakdale Business Awards.
In the cover letter, Sam described Connor’s accomplishments and strengths using phrases like wealth of experience and exceptional dedication.
Connor read about himself in awe. Sam had managed to transform his mundane life into an inspiring tale of triumph.
Beneath the letter was the pile of photocopied testimonials and the rest of the supporting documentation he’d collected to present to the judges.
Connor stared at the folder. He’d been unaware Sam had put so much effort into seeing that he was recognized. His stomach felt heavy as he placed the papers back in the folder and shoved it into the drawer.
There was a knock at the office door, and Connor stood quickly. Could it be...? But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Sam standing outside. It was Brian.
“A little birdie told me about your big win. I thought we could celebrate.” Brian held up the bottle of wine in his hand. “I’m too cheap for champagne, but I have some of Jim’s best bottom-shelf chardonnay.”
“I’m not really in the mood,” Connor said, not offering an explanation.
Brian gave him a curious look. “Why so gloomy? Or should I ask Sam?”
“Don’t—” Connor spluttered before realizing the man was teasing.
“Well, if you’re not going to drink it, I will. Come on—I’ll race you to the lookout.”
Connor shook his head ruefully. “We haven’t done that in years.”
“Not since the night before my wedding. When you so graciously talked me down. Jules will be forever in your debt.”
“And here I was thinking she’d be mad I didn’t save her from you.”
“Sticks and stones, man. I’m just going to stand here until you agree.”
Connor let out a reluctant sigh. He was no match for Brian’s persistence. He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door and locked the office behind him.
There was a playground a couple of streets behind the school that backed up to a modest hill covered in woody shrubs.
Over the years, a winding trail to the top of the slope had been forged through the undergrowth.
It was an easy enough climb and led to a small clearing at the summit, which offered an obscured view of the town below.
The lookout had been a favorite spot of theirs when they were younger.
He, Brian, and a ragtag collection of friends would make the trek in pursuit of a private place to get drunk on whatever they could steal from their parents’ liquor cabinets.
As they made their way up the slope, careful of the exposed roots that snaked across the path, Connor felt the fresh air ease his nerves. Beside him, Brian panted, sweat beading along his brow. He stopped for a second to catch his breath. “It has been a while.”
Connor smirked. “No, what makes you say that?”
“You spend every waking moment bowing to the demands of tiny demons, and we’ll see how many times you make it to the gym,” Brian shot back.
Connor held up his hands in mock surrender. “Let me carry the wine, then—lighten the load.”
“Ha ha.” Brian pushed past him and continued up the hill.
They made it to the clearing, and Connor was surprised to find it deserted.
He’d imagined them having to convince a group of teenagers to scram.
But kids these days didn’t hike up hills to meet their friends.
They scrolled through their phones at home and traded clever observations over group chats.
Brian plopped down on the grass with a loud groan. “Okay, well, that was more effort than it was worth.”
Connor relieved Brian of the wine and sat down across from him on the ground. Only after cracking open the lid did he realize they hadn’t brought anything to drink it in. Fuck it, he thought and lifted the bottle to his lips to take a long swig.
He handed it back to Brian. “Hope you like cooties.”
“You’ll have to do better than that. My gross-out threshold is off the charts.” Brian chugged back several mouthfuls then made a face. “Look at us, two grown men acting like animals. Why didn’t I bring mugs?”
“Or glasses, like a normal person.”
“I’ll drink my wine from a mug like every other sane parent.” Brian held the bottle aloft. “Cheers to old spots and old friends.”
“Cheers.”
Brian took another gulp and ground the toe of his sneaker into the dirt. “I’ve been meaning to ask—if I hadn’t barged in on you and Sam that night at your apartment, when were you going to tell me?”
“I think never was kind of the plan,” Connor confessed. There was a rustle in the scrub beside them, and a sparrow hopped out onto the grass.
“Interesting.” Brian passed him the bottle. “I can’t help but feel slighted. Thought we had enough history you’d feel comfortable sharing those things with me.”
“And I thought you knew I’d rather burn down some poor man’s shed than deal with my repressed emotions.”
“What does Sam think of that?”
“Sam and I are over.”
Brian turned to get a better look at him. “How did you manage that?”
Connor took a pull from the bottle, ignoring the smart of shame. “The same way I’ve managed to fuck up everything else in my life.”
“I call bullshit, my friend,” Brian said with a shake of his head. “That night I came by, I’d never seen you like that. Like you’d found the courage to speak your truth. He gave you that, didn’t he?”
Connor stared down at the label on the bottle, a lump in his throat. He remembered how good it had felt to stand beside Sam and tell Brian they were together. Connor nodded.
His friend splayed out his hands. “So, what happened?”
“I couldn’t tell my dad,” Connor said, not expecting the tightness in his voice. He cleared his throat. “I can’t do it. It would break him. And he’s barely holding himself together as it is.”
Brian nodded and reached for the bottle. They sat watching as the streetlights began to turn on in the town below.
“Sam’s spent so long being open about who he is, and the last thing I wanted was for him to have to pretend.
But it’s like there’s me...” Connor held one hand out to the side.
“And then there’s me.” He held out the other hand in the opposite direction.
“And I can’t get the two to occupy the same space.
” There came a low call from a bird in the trees, followed by an echoing call in response.
“How am I supposed to expect someone to deal with that when I can’t even figure it out myself? ”
Brian twirled the neck of the bottle in his fingers. “Jules and I met in college, right? And I convinced her to move to Oakdale when we couldn’t afford to live in Omaha anymore.”
“What’s this, life trivia?” Connor teased. “I know the story.”
“Hear me out. The guy I was in college was nothing like the dipshit I was growing up here. The me she knew was straightlaced and put together, got good grades, paid his bills. So we move back, and I’m desperate to make sure she doesn’t figure it out—thinking if she does, she’ll see me for what I really am.
Then we had Matty, and I see his life stretching out ahead with all these potential twists and turns, and I’m like, I would love this kid if he joined a cartel or invaded a small island nation.
I would love this kid if he never left our basement and couldn’t hold down a job and stole money from my wallet.
” Brian looked at Connor with shining eyes.
“Who knows where we’ll end up? I’m not equating being into guys with joining a cartel, but I like to think the people who love us do so regardless of all the rest. In the end, I told Jules, and she was like, ‘Meh, I figured you for a stoner anyways.’ The point is, sometimes we’re more fixated on the fear itself than how that fear is messing up our life.
You not telling your dad—is it worth living with this guilt?
Is it worth you having to pass on these amazing possibilities—someone like Sam? ”
Connor stared at Brian wordlessly.
“I’m not telling you what to do, man,” Brian was quick to add. “But the two of you together looked pretty great.”
Connor’s chest hurt. “I really like him,” he choked out.
Brian handed back the wine. “Then make sure you’ve thought this through before you give that up.”
Connor tipped back the bottle and took a long swallow. He thought of Sam curled up beside him on the couch, his sweet, milky scent, the way he slipped his hand into Connor’s for no particular reason.
Brian lay back in the grass and stared up at the darkening sky. “Then again, you moping around town has its benefits. At least we’ll always have a default babysitter.”
Connor extended his leg and kicked Brian’s shin with the heel of his boot.