30. Chapter 30 #2
Reaching my hand toward Sam, she looks at it, seems to process the invitation, and steps close enough for me to hug her.
I rest my cheek against the top of her head and say, “Griffin told me today’s a rough day for you.
I thought I’d distract you with some breakfast in the park before I have to go to the stadium.
But we don’t have to do that. I can stay here with you if that’s better. What I had planned doesn’t matter.”
Sam tenses in my arms, then leans back. “Yes, it does matter. You planned something nice for me. I’m so . . .” Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “That was really thoughtful, and I’m so thankful. Um, give me a second to change my clothes.”
As Sam walks back to her bedroom, I stand dumbfounded at my own cluelessness. Once again, I have no idea how to handle this. And I hate myself for not knowing.
Sam walks out of her room with a bundle of clothes and turns into the bathroom. “I’ll be just a minute.”
I pace the living room as I wait for her. When she emerges from the bathroom, she’s wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, and she’s redone her ponytail.
“Sam, if you’d rather—” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“No, I want to do what you planned. A breakfast date in the park will be so nice,” she says as she ties the laces of her Converse. She stands up with a tight smile on her face. “Let’s go.”
Hoping the fresh air and sunshine will do her some good, I lead her out to my truck. She notices the to-go bag from one of her favorite breakfast restaurants sitting between the seats, and a warmer smile breaks through. “I hope you got the sourdough breakfast sandwich,” she says.
Grinning as I start the engine, I say, “Of course I did. And the fresh fruit parfait. I even went crazy and ordered some pancakes and waffles in case today requires sugar.”
Her smile falters, but she recovers quickly and reaches over to hold my hand as I drive. I scouted out a covered picnic area at the closest park on my way here, and I hope that it’s still empty. Thankfully, it’s a little off the beaten bike path, and no one has hijacked it.
We sit down, and Sam immediately starts peppering me with questions about the TV series filming. I fill her in, happy to see color returning to her eyes as we talk. She doesn’t eat much, but she takes four tiny bites of the sandwich and three bites of blueberry pancakes.
I count.
I don’t ask her any questions about the significance of this day, letting her take the lead on sharing if she wants to. Even though I want so badly to understand her life. I hope she’ll let me into that space.
An hour passes with no interruptions from other park visitors, and Sam’s smiles have appeared more and more genuine with each minute.
Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible idea. Maybe I did good for once.
Checking my phone, I reluctantly admit to Sam that I need to get going. “If you decide you need some distraction and want to come to the game today, Lily will be there in the suite.”
Sam tenses, her eyes dropping. I rush to add, “But no pressure. I don’t expect you to be there, cielo. You can skip it.”
She looks at me, searches my expression, then nods. I pack up the leftovers so she can take them home, hoping she’ll eat more later. As we walk back to the main bike path that leads to the parking lot, Sam shuffles right in front of me, watching her feet.
A bike careens down the path, the rider clearly in sprint mode. When I realize that Sam hasn’t noticed and is about to step out in front of the bike, I yell, “Sam! Watch it!” as I grab her arm and yank her out of the bike’s path.
The next few moments happen in both fast and slow motion, so quick I hardly understand what’s happening, yet so agonizingly slow they’ll be seared in my memory forever.
Sam whirls around, pulling her arm from my grasp while shoving my chest with her other hand, pushing me away from her as she yells, “Don’t touch me!”
Her eyes are crazed, her chest heaving, her body visibly trembling as she stumbles backward, putting more and more distance between us.
Dropping the bag of food to the ground, I cautiously hold up both of my hands. “Sam,” I say. She flinches at the sound of her name. I strain to keep my voice calm despite the panic inside from seeing her like this. “It’s okay.”
She looks all around—at the trees, the bike path, the picnic tables, the sky—like her mind is trying to catalog the pieces to figure out where she is. Her eyes are still wide when she looks back to me, shaking so hard I think she might physically crumple to the ground.
When I take a small step forward, she shrinks back, so I simply hold out an open hand toward her. “Cielo. It’s okay.”
The nickname somehow snaps Sam back to the moment, and her eyes fill with tears as she looks at me, down at her hands, then back to me.
“I’m so sorry!” she says, covering her face. “I . . . I pushed you! I’m so sorry, Adrian!”
She wipes her hands down her cheeks, smearing her tears in the process, constantly repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I cautiously walk toward her, holding my arms out to embrace her, waiting to make sure she’s okay with the touch. She leans into my chest, allowing me to wrap my arms around her. I’ve never felt someone shaking this hard ever in my life.
No. That’s not true.
I’ve felt Sam shaking this hard before. The night she called me to rescue her in the rain.
“I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the car, okay?” I announce, not wanting to startle her.
“You don’t have—” She tries to protest, but I thread my arm under her knees and lift her, cradling her against my chest before she can finish the statement.
By some miracle, not a single soul witnesses the entire encounter. This section of the park is devoid of human life aside from the two of us, and I’m so grateful that Sam doesn’t have to worry about a stranger watching all this happen.
Once I’ve set her safely in the truck, I get in the driver’s side. Silent tears trail down Sam’s cheeks as she stares straight ahead at the dashboard.
“I’m so sorry, Adrian. I can explain. You must think . . . you must think . . .” She brings trembling fingers to her cheeks to wipe the tears away, and I carefully reach toward her, gently taking one hand in mine.
“I think that today is a really hard day for you, and I accidentally scared you. That’s what I think,” I state.
She looks over at me, eyes still filled with panic. “But I’m . . . you . . . you must . . .” She chokes down a sob and finally says, “I grew! I promised I got better! I promised everyone. But now you—”
I’m still scared to move too suddenly, but I can’t let her continue down this thought path.
Gently placing my thumb and forefinger under her chin, I say, “You have grown. But that’s not even what matters.
What matters is that I like you. I liked you a year ago, I liked you last week, and I like you right now. I’m not going anywhere, cielo.”
Her face crumples again at the nickname, and she leans against my shoulder as she cries. I scratch her back but don’t say anything.
Suddenly, she sits up straight. “You’re going to be late to warm-ups if you don’t leave. I’m not going to make you late.” She sniffs hard, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her T-shirt.
“Don’t worry about that,” I assure her. “I’ll get there when I get there.”
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Drop me off real quick and then get over to the stadium,” she says, her voice oddly strong as she clicks her seat belt.
“Why don’t I take you over to Griffin’s house?” I suggest.
She shakes her head. “No. That will take you too long. Their house is way out of the way to the stadium from here. Just take me to my apartment. I want to take a shower anyway.”
I run a hand over my face, my goatee, then look back over at her again. “Are you sure?”
Her face softens as she says, “I’m sure. I don’t want them to take you out of the starting lineup because you were late to warm-ups. I’ll be fine. A hot shower always helps.”
Warning bells fire from every corner of my brain, sending me into a tailspin of uncertainty. Ultimately, I decide to trust what she’s telling me and drive her home. I insist on walking her to her door, despite her protests that I’ll be late.
Sam struggles to unlock her apartment door, her trembling fingers not lining up the key correctly. I slowly reach out and take the key from her, turning it in the lock. “Cielo, let me take you to Griffin’s. Or I’ll call Coach and tell him an emergency came up. I’ll stay here with you today.”
“No!” Sam states emphatically. “Do not miss a game. Don’t mess up your season for this. It’s not worth it.”
“Sam, that’s not—”
“I’m fine,” her tone pleads. She looks up at me and changes tactics. “I promise I’ll call Griffin if I need him. Please go to the game. Please don’t be late because of me.”
Once again, I don’t know whether to listen to what she’s saying or not saying. “Sam, this doesn’t feel right. Please tell me what you need from me. I want to help you today.”
She swallows and says, “I need you to go to the game. I need to not feel guilty that I made you late with this mess.”
“This is not a mess,” I counter. “This is you and me figuring out our relationship. Me figuring out how to be there for you. Let me figure that out.”
Sam looks down, biting the inside of her cheek. “We can figure it out. But not now. I will be upset with myself forever if you get pulled from the game today because of me. Please go, Adrian.”
Watching her clench her fists to still the shaking, I sigh. “Okay. But I’m coming back over right after the game. Unless you go to Griffin’s. Text me if you do, and I’ll meet you there.”
I slowly raise one arm to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into a light hug. Gently kissing her temple, I release her and let her go inside, closing the door.
I speed to the stadium, thoughts racing along with my truck. I run into the locker room, barely making it in a couple of minutes past our report time. Before I change into warm-up gear, I shoot a quick text to Griffin.