Chapter 13 #2
“Come on, Sam,” Finn said softly, wishing she’d just talk to him. “You don’t need to put on a brave face for me.”
Sam rolled her eyes at him. “Me—brave face—hahahah!”
Finn watched in horror as her face crumpled. She looked down and wiped her face with her hand. “This is too much; this whole damn day is too much.”
Tears fell in great big drops, onto the oak table.
Grabbing the tiny black napkin that had come with her tequila, she tried to mop up the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You’re right. Tequila is not a good idea.”
Finn moved closer, gently pulling the napkin from her hand and offering his sleeve.
“Here,” he said, voice low. “Use this—I don’t mind.”
Sam huffed a laugh through her tears. “What, and ruin your designer hoodie?”
“It’s not designer.” He shrugged. “And you can ruin anything of mine, Sam. I mean it.”
He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to make any of this better—what could he do to bring her back to herself—the brave, talented and unstoppable Sam he thought he knew.
“Want me to see if they can whip you up a Samwich or a Finnomenal?” He nudged her.
The tiniest smile on her lips made his heart soar. “God, not the Finnomenal. Cream cheese, jalapenos and pineapple in a wrap … I haven’t had one in ages.”
“No time like the present,” Finn said, happy to see her smile.
“Um, Finn,” Sam said. “Maybe not here—it’s Italy—they don’t put pineapple on anything.”
“You’re so right.” Finn chuckled. “How do you think they’ll feel when they hear you put banana into a sandwich?”
“It’s a dessert sandwich,” Sam said, her lips quirking into a smile. “Like banoffee—which sounds Italian, doesn’t it. I think I’ll be fine—you on the other hand, as the inventor of the criminally and insanely delicious Finnomenal—you might actually get arrested.”
Finn laughed. This was the Sam he recognized: witty, funny, and so easy to talk to. For a second the tension in his chest loosened. She shifted and suddenly her hip was close to his, her warm, soft body leaning into him.
“What would I do without you, Finn?”
She leaned against his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin.
A surge of protectiveness filled him as he slid his arm around her and pulled her in closer, holding her like he was shielding her from everything, even herself.
He smoothed her hair back from her face, inhaling her scent as if he’d never get to see her again.
“Thank you,” Sam said, looking up at him. “I just hate this feeling. I thought I could do it. I really did.”
Her breath warmed his neck, making his blood heat up. She was so close.
Her lashes were wet, her face blotchy. It made something inside him twist sharply. What had happened to make her doubt herself?
“You can do it,” he said quickly. “You’re the best out there—you are what the Finnomenal is named for.”
She giggled and shook her head. “Finn!”
“No—you are, Sam.”
“Finn—I messed up today,” Sam said quietly, as if she was hearing someone else say it. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Her whole body seemed to deflate right next to him. “I messed up. I always mess up.”
Her words sliced through him. His heart sank.
Where were these words coming from? This wasn’t Sam.
Sam was unrelenting, and she’d always picked herself up whenever she’d made mistakes before.
What the hell was hitting her so hard? Didn’t she know how good she was?
He turned to her, taking her hands in his.
“You messed up,” he said. Her body stiffened; a frown formed on her brow. He sat back. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to do—comfort her or snap her out of it. But whatever it was, it hadn’t worked. She scooched away from him, taking her warmth and scent with her.
“Thanks.” Her eyes didn’t meet his, her hands scrabbled around for her jacket. “I’m tired, I’m going to go to bed.”
He didn’t move right away, and she huffed.
“Finn.” She kept her eyes down. “I need to get out.”
He slid from the booth, slowly and confused. She slipped past him, pulling her jacket up on her shoulders.
“Sam—” He reached for her, but she shrugged his arm off.
“Goodnight, Finn.” She finally looked at him. Her green eyes were puffy and red.
“Sam, please,” he tried again. “What did I say? Talk to me. Please.”
She shook her head slowly. “I really need to go, Finn.”
Finn’s stomach knotted hard. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. What did I say? She didn’t wait for him to try to fix it between them; she was gone, moving toward the door, leaving him behind.
“Sam, wait—” A rising panic swirled in his gut.
She was gone, and it was because of something he’d done, something he’d said.
He sat down hard, staring at the table. Two untouched beers.
Two empty shot glasses. A napkin damp with her tears.
Shit. He grasped the napkin and folded it up.
He’d been the one to mess up. He was an absolute idiot, even if he didn’t know what he’d done.
For the very first time, Finn wondered if maybe Sam didn’t want him to be the person she ran to, and it felt like the searing, breath-stealing pain of falling through the ice of a dark, frigid lake.