Chapter 29 Sam
SAM
We leave after dinner. Bas is asleep, his breathing shallow and uneven, each inhale a fragile thread I’m afraid might snap.
Alec and I linger by his bedside, talking in hushed tones about what to do if it gets worse through the night.
Neither of us says it aloud, but we both know, there isn’t much left to do.
When we finally make it home, exhaustion sets in, though it’s a vacant kind—the kind that comes from watching someone you love fade a little more each day.
Sleep doesn’t stick. Every hour or so, I check my phone, messaging Alec for updates.
No change, he writes each time. The words bring no comfort.
By dawn, I’m awake again, staring at the ceiling, heavy with a different kind of ache.
Olivia leaves today.
Her time here, like always, has vanished too quickly, slipping through my hands before I could grab hold.
The house already feels emptier just thinking about it.
I’ve been racking my brain for ways to make the distance between us easier, some solution that doesn’t involve sacrifice, but nothing feels right. Not yet.
I can’t leave Bas. Not now.
As much as I love Olivia—and I do, God, I do—I can’t walk away from him. He’s more than my father. He’s my compass. My mentor. My home. Every part of who I am started with him.
And Olivia would never let me go, not for her. She’d be the first to tell me to stay, to remind me where I’m needed most. That’s one of the many reasons I love her, because she understands what family means.
Still, the thought of watching her pack up and leave unravels something in me.
I push off the bed and move quietly through the house, the faint light of morning spilling across the floorboards. She’s in the kitchen, barefoot, her hair a tumble of waves down her back, making coffee like she’s lived here her whole life.
For a moment, I just stand there, taking her in.
This—her soft humming, the smell of coffee, the calm that settles in her presence—is everything I want. Everything I can’t have right now.
She turns, catching me watching her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shake my head and try for a smile, but it doesn’t quite land. “Not really.”
“Me neither.” She studies me, eyes full of concern she doesn’t voice. Instead, she steps closer and rests a hand against my chest. The simple touch is enough to break whatever fragile composure I have left.
I cover her hand with mine. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to let you go again.”
Her lips curve, small and sad. “You don’t have to let me go, Sam. I’m just not here.”
The words hit me with quiet truth. She’s right. She’s always right. But knowing it doesn’t make it any easier.
I pull her into my arms, pressing my face into her hair, breathing her in, memorizing the scent, the feel of her, the way she fits perfectly against me.
Because no matter how long the distance lasts, I already know, she’s under my skin now. There’s no undoing it.
When she disappears into the bedroom to pack, I linger in the doorway, watching her fold her clothes into neat piles.
“You don’t have to rush.” I fold my arms over my chest.
She glances up at me and smiles, soft and sad. “If I don’t go now, I won’t.”
That truth hits hard. My chest tightens as she zips her bag and looks around, scanning the room like she’s memorizing it.
I take the bag from her before she can lift it, setting it by the door. “You know, I want to go with you.”
She shakes her head. “You need to be with Alec and Bas.”
I hate that she’s right.
Outside, the air is sharp and still, the kind of morning that carries the faint promise of fall. The sun is barely above the trees, casting gold across the hood of her car.
She turns to face me, her eyes bright despite the heaviness between us. “I’ll text when I get home.”
I nod, but words feel useless. Instead, I pull her into my arms, holding her as tight as I can without crushing her. She wraps her arms around my waist, her cheek against my chest, and for a long time neither of us moves.
“This doesn’t get easier,” I murmur against her hair.
“I know.” Her voice is quiet, but steady. “But we’ll figure it out. You always do.”
I smile faintly at that, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You make it sound like I’ve got it all together.”
She tilts her chin up, meeting my gaze. “You don’t have to. That’s what I’m here for.”
And just like that, she breaks me all over again.
I kiss her once, deep and slow, trying to say all the things I can’t. When we finally pull apart, her eyes glisten.
“Go.” My smile is gentle. “Before I make you stay.”
She nods, biting her lip, then slides into her car. I stand there as she drives away, watching until her taillights vanish down the road. The silence that follows is unbearable.
Back inside, the house is bleak even though her scent still clings to the sheets, her laughter echoing faintly in the walls. I pour myself another cup of coffee and stare out the window, the ache of missing her settling deep in my chest.
My phone buzzes. A message from Alec: He’s awake. Not good today. Come when you can.
The world narrows to that single moment—grief and love colliding.
I grab my keys. Whatever the day brings, I know where I need to be.
And as I step outside, I swear I can still hear Bas’s voice in my head.
Be both, Sam. Strong and vulnerable.
So I am.
I drive toward their home.
The call comes, the one I’ve dreaded since the day Bas was diagnosed.
It’s three in the morning, my heart already pounding in my throat as I put the phone to my ear.
Alec’s voice is somber, low, and broken.
He’s always been the pillar—Bas’s and mine, solid and composed no matter what storm we’ve faced.
But now, his world is shattering. His voice trembles, thick with anguish. “Come, Sam. It’s time.”
The words gut me.
Two hours later, he’s gone.
Being there, holding Bas’s hand as he takes his last breaths, is both a gift and a punishment I’ll carry forever. His eyes flutter open once, pale and cloudy, searching for something beyond this room. For someone. For me, maybe.
Then, faintly, my name. “Samson.”
It breaks in the air like glass.
His fingers twitch once in my grasp, then still. I hold tighter, as if I can anchor him here, as if love alone could bargain with death. But the room grows too quiet. The rise and fall of his chest stills.
Alec’s hand finds my shoulder, trembling, and then he’s folding forward, collapsing over Bas’s body. His face presses into Bas’s stomach as he sobs, raw, unrestrained, shattering the silence with a grief so pure it feels sacred. He whispers his name, broken words of love and years and promises.
I can’t move. My vision blurs, tears spilling unchecked down my face. Everything hurts—my chest, my throat, my soul. The air is too thin, the walls too close. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. The world feels wrong without Bas in it.
My father. My friend. My anchor.
Gone.
The room is full of everything he was and empty of him all at once. I fumble for my phone, my fingers unsteady, and press the screen before I can think. She answers on the third ring, her voice soft and groggy.
“Sam?”
It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Bas.”
That’s all I can manage—just his name. The word cracks apart in my mouth, barely a whisper, but she understands. She always does.
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. “Oh no… Sam.” Her voice breaks, trembling with love and pain. “I’m coming.”
That’s all I need to hear. I need her.
Because right now, she’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.