Chapter 41
SAM
I stare at the Caesar salad in front of me like it's a pile of garden clippings someone mistakenly served on a plate. The smell of Zach's roast beef wafts across the table, and my stomach lurches in protest. Three days of chemo and here I am, pretending I'm a normal college girl having lunch with her brother, not someone whose blood is betraying her one cell at a time.
I force a smile as Zach watches me push a limp piece of lettuce around my plate, his eyes narrowed with suspicion that I've been trying to dodge for weeks.
"You know, when I said 'let's do lunch,' I actually meant you should eat something," Zach says, slicing into his roast beef. The meat is pink in the middle, juices pooling on his plate. Just looking at it makes bile rise in my throat.
"I am eating." I spear a crouton and pop it in my mouth. The texture is like sandpaper against my tongue.
"Angel." My brother's voice softens as he leans forward. "This is the first time I've seen you in what—four days? And you look like you've lost ten pounds since then."
I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.
He slices off a piece of his roast beef and drops it onto my plate. It lands beside a pale romaine leaf, its juices bleeding into my dressing. "Eat real food. You're disappearing before my eyes."
"Dramatic much?" I mutter, but I cut into the meat anyway. It's tender enough that I don't have to chew much. Small mercies.
Zach's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "When your sister keeps ghosting you and then shows up looking like she's auditioning for a Tim Burton movie, you earn the right to be dramatic."
I swallow hard, the beef sitting like a stone in my gut. "I've been busy."
"Busy with what?"
"Classes, obviously," I laugh, the sound hollow even to my ears. I need to change the subject before he sees right through me. "My figure drawing professor told us today that for our finals, we're drawing nudes."
His eyebrows shoot up, and thankfully, he takes the bait.
"Nudes?" Zach nearly chokes on his roast beef. "Like... naked people?"
"No, Zach, we're drawing naked fruit. Yes, people." I lean in, grateful he's distracted. "And get this— the theme is 'sensuality in motion.' Our professor kept saying we need to 'capture the erotic tension' and 'feel the heat between the lines.'"
"Oh God." He covers his face with one hand. "Please tell me you're not posing."
"I'm not the model, you idiot. But some guy. Apparently, he's—and I quote—'phenomenally proportioned.'"
"I'm going to need therapy after this conversation."
"It's art, Zach." I roll my eyes, grateful for the reprieve. "Though I've never actually drawn someone naked before. I haven't even seen—"
And then it hits me—the memory so vivid it steals my breath. Eli in the hot tub in Duluth, steam rising around his broad shoulders. His hungry green eyes as he lowered himself between my thighs. The way his tongue—
Heat floods my face, and I slap both palms against my cheeks.
"Whoa, you okay there?" Zach asks, his mouth quirking up at one corner.
"Fine," I squeak. "Just... thinking about the assignment."
But I can't stop the flood of images. Eli's hands gripping my hips. His whispered words against my skin. How gentle he was, how he made sure my first time was... God, it was transcendent. The way he filled me, moved inside me—
I squeeze my thighs together under the table, mortified at how my body responds even now to the memory. An ache blooms low in my belly, a visceral reminder of what I've given up. What I can never have again.
Great job, Sam. Terminal cancer, and here you are fantasizing about sex like a hormone-addled teenager. But then again, at least I won't die a virgin.
Silver linings, right? I almost laugh at the absurdity. Twenty years on this planet, and my grand accomplishment is losing my virginity before leukemia claims me.
Someone carve that on my tombstone: Here lies Samantha Westbrook. At least she got laid before she died.
"Earth to Sam?" Zach waves his hand in front of my face. "You just went somewhere far away."
I give him what must be a dopey grin. "Sorry. Just... thinking about technique. For the drawing."
"Uh-huh." He doesn't believe me for a second. "So, speaking of things you're avoiding talking about... what's going on with you and Elijah?"
My appetite, what little there was of it, vanishes completely. "Nothing's going on."
"That's not what he says."
I stab a piece of chicken with more force than necessary. "And what exactly does he say?"
Zach studies me, his expression softening. "That you told him no after he finally got his head out of his ass and told you how he feels."
"So?"
"So?" Zach echoes incredulously. "Angel, you've been in love with this guy since you were ten. He finally tells you he wants to be with you, and you push him away? What's that about?"
I inhale deeply, gathering the courage to lie to my brother's face. "I told you at Thanksgiving I was giving up on Elijah. Just because he changed his mind doesn't mean I have to."
"But wasn't this what you always wanted? For him to reciprocate your feelings?"
Yes. God, yes. It's all I wanted for years. And now that I have it, I can't have it.
"It came too late," I say, forcing a smile so brittle I fear it might crack my face. "I've moved on."
"Moved on to what? To who?" Zach narrows his eyes. "Is this about Khol?"
"No!" The denial comes too quickly. "We're just friends."
"Mmhmm." Zach takes a long sip of his water, scrutinizing me over the rim of the glass. "You know, you're a terrible liar, angel."
"I'm not lying."
"There's something you're not telling me."
"There isn't." Another lie.
"Is this some kind of payback?" he asks suddenly. "Make Elijah suffer a bit before you take him back?"
I laugh, the sound sharper than I intend. "Wow, do you really think I'm that vindictive?"
Zach chuckles, the tension breaking. "No, but if that is what you're doing, I'm one hundred percent down to help you make my best friend grovel. After what he put you through? That man deserves to work for it."
"Oh really?" Despite everything, I feel a genuine smile tugging at my lips.
"Absolutely. We could start by making him write you daily love poems."
"He'd hate that."
"Exactly." Zach's eyes gleam with mischief. "Or we could make him serenade you in the quad. He can't sing for shit."
I laugh, picturing Eli's mortified face. "Or maybe he should carry my books to every class."
"While wearing a 'Property of Samantha Westbrook's t-shirt," Zach adds.
"Stop," I giggle, holding my sides. "You're terrible."
"I'm a genius," he corrects, grinning. But his expression gradually sobers. "Seriously though, angel. What's going on with you?"
The laughter dies in my throat.
For a brief, insane moment, I consider telling him everything. The diagnosis. The treatments. The prognosis—or lack thereof. But I can't. I won't burden him with this. Not yet.
"I'm not pushing Elijah away to get back at him," I say softly, a bittersweet smile settling on my face. "I just... I made a decision to move on, and I'm sticking with it. It's probably the most adult thing I've ever done."
Zach looks like he wants to argue, but I cut him off.
"I'm happy you two are friends again, truly. But what's between me and Elijah is different. My decision is final, and I hope he respects that. His feelings are new—they'll fade." Not like mine, which have had years to take root, to become part of who I am.
I don't tell Zach that Eli told me he's already in love with me. That when he said those words, my heart nearly burst with joy before reality came crashing back. Life isn't a collection of perfect moments strung together like fairy lights.
It's a messy, cruel thing that gives you everything you've ever wanted right before it takes everything away.
"I think it might be too late for that," Zach says quietly. "He's got it bad, angel. You should have seen him before the game last Friday when we found out you went to Charlotte to watch a fucking football game. He thought you went there for Khol, and it drove him absolutely nuts. He was on a rampage during the game—I've only seen him play like that once before."
"When?" I ask, though I already know.
"The kiss-cam incident with Adam Klein," Zach says, confirming my suspicion. "He was jealous then, and he's jealous now. I don't think his feelings for you are going away anytime soon."
Guilt settles over me like a shroud. I hadn't meant to make Elijah jealous—hadn't even considered it. But knowing I affected him that deeply sends a complicated thrill through me, followed immediately by shame.
Zach leans forward. "So what is going on with you and Khol? Because—"
He's interrupted by a tall figure approaching our table, and my stomach does a little flip when I recognize who it is.
"Hi, Khol," I say, twisting in my seat to look up at him. He's unfairly attractive today, his golden hair artfully tousled and his blue eyes bright under the diner's lights.
"Hey, sunshine," he replies, flashing that charming grin that makes half the female student body swoon. He extends his hand to Zach. "Khol Carter. You must be Sam's brother."
Zach takes his hand, his grip a little firmer than necessary. "Zach Westbrook. Congrats on the championship win."
"Thanks, man. Congrats on your win too—heard you guys destroyed Boston."
While they exchange pleasantries, I notice Zach typing something on his phone. I assume he's texting Caroline, asking where she is or when he'll see her next.
But less than five minutes later, the diner's door swings open, and in walks Eli. His head turns left and right until his eyes land on mine, and something in them softens.
My traitorous heart stumbles in my chest as he strides toward our table, looking like he just stepped off a magazine cover in his crisp white shirt and dark jeans, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders and narrow hips in a way that makes my mouth go dry.
"Hi, sweetheart," he says, his lips curving into that devastatingly crooked smile that turns my bones to water. And just like that, all my carefully constructed defenses begin to crumble.
*****
ELIJAH
I'm already two minutes out from campus when Zach's SOS text lights up my phone.
ZACH
KHOL CARTER IS HERE. DINER. NOW.
I nearly drop my phone as I jerk the wheel, cutting across two lanes to make the exit I almost missed.
Cars honk at me, but I couldn't care less. Zach told me earlier he was having lunch with Sam, and while I wasn't planning to crash their sibling time, the thought of that golden-boy quarterback hovering around my girl changes everything.
My tires screech as I pull into the diner parking lot, and I'm out of the car before the engine fully dies.
The bell above the door jingles as I burst in, probably looking like a man possessed. My head whips left and right until I spot them—Sam, Zach, and him. Khol fucking Carter, standing next to Sam's chair like he belongs there, all golden-haired and blue-eyed like some discount Thor. My blood pressure skyrockets at the sight of him leaning down to talk to her.
Sam looks up as I approach, and something flickers in her silver eyes—surprise, annoyance, and something else she's trying desperately to hide. She's so beautiful it hurts, even with the shadows under her eyes and the sharp edges of her cheekbones more pronounced than usual.
Has she lost more weight? The protective instinct inside me roars.
"Hi, sweetheart," I say, flashing her the smile she once told me made her "stupid with want" during a particularly honest moment in Duluth. Her pupils dilate slightly—yeah, it still works.
"Elijah," she says through gritted teeth, a warning in her voice that I cheerfully ignore as I position myself on her right side, mirroring Khol who stands on her left. Zach gives me a slight nod from across the table, mission accomplished.
Captain America's cousin extends his hand toward me. "Hey man, I'm Khol," he says, like I don't know exactly who he is.
I let my eyes drag to his outstretched hand and consider my options. My mother raised me to be polite—at least she did before she decided her new family was more important than her firstborn son. But Coach Hopper spent four years drilling into me that you never let an opponent think they have the upper hand, not even for a second.
In this moment, Coach's voice is a hell of a lot louder than my mother's.
Instead of taking his hand, I drop into the seat next to Sam. "How are you, sweetheart?" I ask, like Khol isn't even there.
"Elijah..." Sam hisses, her eyes darting meaningfully between me and Khol's still-extended hand.
I look up at the quarterback, who's starting to look uncomfortable, and offer him my best press-conference smile—the one I use when reporters ask why I checked someone into the boards hard enough to dislodge their helmet.
"Sorry, dude," I say with artificial brightness. "I don't shake hands during flu season. Hockey team policy. Can't risk the germs. You understand."
It's December, so yeah, my excuse almost believable, but the look Sam gives me says she's not buying it for a second.
Across the table, Zach makes a choking sound as he tries to suppress a laugh. Sam's glare intensifies, and I can practically feel her fury radiating off her in delicious waves. She's so cute when she's mad at me.
I shift in my chair, turning to face the quarterback with what I hope is my most intimidating expression—the one that makes freshman players piss themselves during practice.
"Tell me," I say, crossing my arms over my chest, "are you trying to steal my girl?"
The reaction is immediate and spectacular. Sam makes a strangled noise beside me, Zach snorts his water and starts coughing, and Khol looks like I just asked him if he kidnaps puppies for fun.
"Wa...what?" he sputters, his golden-boy face turning an interesting shade of crimson.
"Elijah Deveraux, what on earth are you talking about?" Sam's voice could cut glass, but I'm immune to her anger these days. Mostly because I know what's behind it—she's not as over me as she pretends to be.
I turn to her, all innocence. "I just want to know the truth, sweetheart. Man to man." I gesture between myself and Khol. "He's always hovering around you like some oversized golden retriever. You're always together. And in case it wasn't abundantly clear from how I nearly caused a five-car pileup getting here—" I place my hand dramatically over my heart, "—I'm a jealous man."
"It's none of your business who I hang out with," Sam snaps, her cheeks flushed. "First of all, I am not 'your girl,' and you have absolutely no right to act like a jealous boyfriend."
"Sure you are," I counter smoothly.
"I'm not!"
"Oh, right, my bad, sweetheart," I say, my voice dripping with honey and sweetness. "You're not my girl. You're my fiancée."
"You're getting married?" Khol blurts out, looking like someone just told him his team forfeited the championship.
"No!" Sam says quickly.
"Yeah," I say at the exact same time, smirking at him.
I sling my arm possessively around Sam's shoulders, not looking away from the stunned quarterback whose hopes and dreams appear to be crumbling in real time. Good. I flash him my most arrogant smile, the one I reserve for opposing teams after I score.
"In fact," I continue, pulling out my phone, "let me show you our engagement photo."
I unlock my phone and turn the screen toward Khol. My phone wallpaper is a photo from that day six years ago when Sam wore white and I wore the only suit I owned, both of us playing dress-up bride and groom in her backyard so her father could walk her down the aisle before cancer took him three weeks later.
It's the same picture she used to scare off girls who approached me at parties.
"Sweetheart, show him yours," I say, nudging her. "We have matching wallpapers."
When she doesn't move, I reach for her phone on the table. "Here, let me—"
Disappointment floods me when I see her screen. It's a golden retriever puppy, not our photo. She's had that same wallpaper for six years, and now she's changed it? My throat works as I swallow down a sudden rush of emotion. This feels more significant than it should.
But I school my expression and smile fondly at her. "Sweetheart, I told you to keep our photo as your wallpaper so all these thirsty dudes would know right away that you're taken. Can't have them trying to poach what's mine, can we?" I shoot Khol a pointed look.
"Have you lost your mind?" she asks, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I think so," I murmur, leaning closer to her ear.
I feel her shudder as my breath tickles her skin, and satisfaction curls in my gut. She still wants me, no matter what she says. I nudge my nose against her ear adoringly. "But if being crazy is what it takes to make you admit you still want me as much as I want you, I'll happily check into the nearest psych ward."
I pull back and wink at her, then turn to Khol with a predatory smile. "So yeah, we're getting married. Soon."
Sam makes a choking sound beside me, but I barrel on, my eyes softening as I look at her.
"I don't think I can wait until you finish college like we planned," I say, quoting the future she described to me in Duluth while we were at the ski resort, talking about our imaginary family. "I'm afraid if we wait too long, some other guy—" I throw another sharp glare at Khol, "—might try to steal you away. Not that I'd let that happen."
I lower my voice, just enough to make her squirm. "Besides, if we get married sooner rather than later, we can start working on little Elijah and little Sam that much earlier. Wouldn't that be perfect, sweetheart?"
Sam's mouth falls open in disbelief, her face flushing deep crimson. I know she's remembering the picture she painted for me in Duluth—our kids in tiny Deveraux jerseys cheering at my games and the Golden Retriever she was already planning to name Pancake.
That picture is tattooed on my soul now, and I plan to make it our reality one day, no matter what she says right now.
She's trying so hard to look annoyed, but I see the flicker of wistfulness in her silver eyes—the one she's desperately trying to mask.
But I see it. I see her. And damn if it doesn't make me want to kiss her senseless right here in this diner.
Khol clears his throat, looking embarrassed as hell. "I, uh, didn't know you two were engaged," he mumbles, glancing between us. "Sam and I are just friends, that's all." He shuffles his feet, backing away slightly. "Actually, I just remembered I'm supposed to meet someone. I should... I should go."
Bullshit. But I'm not about to call him on it, not when he's taking the hint like a good boy.
"Nice meeting you," I lie, offering another press-conference smile.
As Khol retreats, Zach catches my eye across the table, shaking his head but looking amused. Sam, meanwhile, is vibrating with what appears to be fury beside me. But I know better.
Under that anger is the girl who loves me, the one who told me so in the cabin in Duluth, who whispered it against my lips as I moved inside her.
She can push me away all she wants—something's off with her, and I intend to find out what—but one thing I know for certain: Samantha Westbrook is still mine. And I'm prepared to remind her of that fact every single day until she stops this ridiculous charade and admits she feels the same way.