39. Chapter 39
Chapter thirty-nine
Adrián
Jolting awake, I rocket to a sitting position in bed and check the time. A little after eight in the morning. I’d wanted to make sure I woke up before Samantha, but I forgot to set an alarm.
After sitting in the tree house late into the night, I convinced her to sleep in one of my guest bedrooms. There was no way I was going to let her go sleep alone in her apartment the night after learning her abuser is out of prison.
I’m having a hard time thinking about her staying alone ever again knowing he’s a free man.
I’ll be calling Marcel today and asking him to use every avenue to make sure an iron-clad restraining order is in place as soon as humanly possible.
I’m just thankful that she came to me last night.
Thankful she needed me—and that she told me so.
I know I’m still making mistakes and will always have room for improvement, but I tried my best to implement some of what I’ve learned from the counselors about how to respond in those moments.
To help her regulate and feel safe to share what she’s experiencing.
We already had another session with our couples therapist scheduled for this afternoon, so we’ll have an immediate chance to talk through things.
But first, I want to make sure she has a good breakfast to start off the day.
Throwing off the comforter, I brush my teeth but leave the bed unmade for now as I pad out to the kitchen to see if Samantha is awake.
The house is quiet, leading me to assume she’s still asleep.
But when I notice the door open to the room she slept in, I wander around looking for her.
She’s not on the back patio, and when I check the front door, I find it unlocked and her car gone.
Panic flickers that I slept through Samantha needing me, that she may have woken up to another spiral of fear. What if I didn’t handle everything as well as I thought I did? What if she felt like she’d be a bother waking me up?
Jogging across the house to my bedroom, I retrieve my phone from the nightstand.
I’m about to call her when I hear the sound of a car in the driveway.
Jogging back across the house, I open the front door and step onto the porch in time to see Samantha getting out of her car with a brown paper bag in her hand.
“You scared me,” I say before thinking. Her brow furrows as she moves her sunglasses from her eyes to the top of her head. I clarify, “I was worried that you left. That maybe you were upset and didn’t want to wake me up. You can always wake me up when you need me.”
Her brow softens as she walks toward me with purpose, sets the bag on the ground, and places both hands on my jaw to kiss me.
My arms are instantly around her waist, holding her tight as I kiss her back with every ounce of assurance I possess.
She starts to break off the kiss, but I chase her lips, arching her back.
When her sunglasses clatter to the ground, I finally release her. She laughs as I bend to retrieve the glasses, and she picks up the bag. Her smile is tender when she says, “I went out to get breakfast real quick. I definitely wasn’t leaving.”
Samantha reaches her free hand up to thread her fingers through the curls at the nape of my neck. My hand reflexively grips her waist. Her cool blue-green eyes are locked on mine as she murmurs, “The only running I’m doing is to you.”
My blood runs red hot as I dip in to claim her mouth again.
Lifting her off her feet, I shuffle us through the doorway so I can kiss her in a “not for neighbors’ eyes” kind of way.
Without taking my lips away from hers, I close the door to the rest of the world.
Taking the bag from her hand, I let it drop to the floor.
We’ll eat breakfast eventually.
Inching my hand to the center of the table, I stop short when a sharp voice snaps, “Are you sure that’s the card you want to play?”
Unless she has X-ray vision, she has no idea what card is in my hand. But now I’m questioning myself.
Well, I was already questioning myself. Now I’m really clueless.
“Um, yes?”
Deborah is unimpressed by my questioning tone. Her sigh is heavy with disappointment, and she raps a fist on the table. “Play,” she commands.
My quick glance at Samantha finds her hiding her mouth behind her fanned-out cards. The crinkles beside her eyes give her smile away, though, and I narrow my eyes at her before setting the ten of clubs down on the pile of cards.
Marcia cackles as Deborah’s mouth gapes open. “I take it back! Don’t play!” Deborah exclaims.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I say, “This game makes no sense!”
“It’s quite straightforward once you get the hang of it,” Marcia observes airily.
Her smile is smug when she adds her winning card to the top of the trick and swipes the pile toward her.
She declares, “Well, Deborah, I suppose the playing field is leveled now that your table talk is saddled with a lousy partner.” Samantha stops trying to hide her delight.
“Hey, now,” I say, feigning deep offense. “I am a lot of things, but a lousy partner is not one of them. Right, Samantha?” I want her to come to my defense, but I can see in her twinkling eyes that she’s not about to play along.
“I mean, in life, you’re the best partner, but in bridge . . .” She trails off, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes me want to pull her chair over so I can kiss her until she has no concentration left for a card game.
“Maybe this is all strategy,” I say, tapping a finger to my temple. “The long con. Make you think I don’t get it so we can hustle you out of the whole stack of butterscotch cookies in the end.”
Deborah perks up. “Is that what’s going on here?”
With a grim smile, I look back to her. “No.”
Another heavy sigh. “This is the last time I play bridge with you and your associates, Marcia,” Deborah snipes.
An hour later, we’re driving to my house after picking up sushi to go. Glancing at Samantha, I say, “You’d better be planning on sharing your winnings with me.”
“I thought you didn’t want any more cookies fattening you up. You have the World Series to win,” she teases, and I squeeze her knee until she squeals with laughter.
“I’ll join Carson for one of his extra workouts in the name of Marcia’s cookies,” I say as I pull through the security gate of my neighborhood. “Worth it.”
“They’re definitely worth it,” Samantha agrees. “Just like watching steam come out Deborah’s ears was worth making you her bridge partner. Marcia was sure delighted to see her get a taste of losing. You can’t cheat when your partner doesn’t understand the game.”
Clicking my tongue, I say, “You two schemers. You should have warned me what I was getting into today.”
“It was so much more fun to watch it play out organically,” Samantha replies. I pull into the garage and turn the car off. She kisses my cheek and adds, “And you’re such a good sport. I love you.”
Before she can lean away, I catch my hand behind her neck and pull her lips to mine. “I’ll do anything for you, cielo,” I say after a brief kiss. “Everything. Even lose at cards with the world’s saltiest partner.”
She laughs, and we carry our sushi-and-cookie haul into the house.
While she’s visited Marcia several times over the past few months—sometimes to bake cookies and sometimes to play bridge at the clubhouse—this was my first time seeing Marcia since the night of the gala.
I was happy to tell her that I’ve been making the most of every moment with Samantha since then.
I’m not sure why Marcia decided to punish me for taking her advice by partnering me with her nemesis in the world’s most confusing card game.
But considering I owe her one for giving me the final shove to pursue Samantha, I’ll forgive the torture.
After our late, reheated breakfast this morning, I drove Samantha to her apartment so she could shower and change before our session with the therapist. It was tough but beneficial for us to immediately process through last night’s events with a professional, even if she doesn’t have the depth of history with Samantha that Amber has.
I’ve spent my life putting effort into everything fun. Extra batting reps to get that rush of adrenaline from hitting a home run. Extra reflex training to make those split-second catches that get the out and win the game. Extra sprints to hear the crowd roar over a successfully stolen base.
Now, I’m putting extra effort into something hard. Something painful—something I’d still rather avoid, if I’m honest. But my own personal growth and my solid relationship with Samantha—those are the most important things. I’m going to give them the most extra effort.
So it was a boost of dopamine to hear Samantha say out loud that I was there for her exactly how she needed me to be last night. A boost that will keep me going when I’m tempted to avoid the extra work.
Once we have the food spread out on the patio table in the backyard, Samantha asks, “How are you feeling about the playoffs?” She dips a piece of her favorite sushi in soy sauce as she waits for my answer.
I take time to think before answering. “I feel good. Like we really have a shot. I was feeling that way last year before Griff got hurt, and then the season kinda fell apart after that.”
Samantha frowns. “I know he hasn’t doubted his decision to retire. I know he loves the new life he has with Danae and Jason. But I do miss seeing you two out there together.”
Sighing, I agree. “Yeah, me too. I still think about it every time I step onto the field. But I have to admit, things have finally been clicking more with Carson. He’s still way too uptight for his own good, but he’s getting there.”
“He has the best possible model to show him how to have a good time,” Samantha says after swallowing a second bite of sushi. “How to have a good time while also being awesome at the sport.”
Grinning, I say, “You’re finally gonna start puffing up my ego, huh? Took you long enough.”
“Ay, menso, don’t make me regret complimenting you,” she says, harmlessly snapping her chopsticks at me. She sits back, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask gently.
Her eyes find mine, a hint of hesitation still in them.
“What do you want to ask?” I prompt. “It’s okay.”
She takes a breath and asks, “Will you tell me a good memory of your mom? The counselor today talked about the importance of us recalling the good things in our lives together, not only the hard things. And I was thinking that I’d love to know a happy memory of your mom to connect to her.”
My chest tenses initially, and Samantha quickly recants. “But you don’t have to right now. You can tell me another time.”
“No, I want to,” I tell her. She sets her chopsticks down and takes my hand.
Staring out at the layered purples and pinks of the sunset, I imagine the same sky in Venezuela.
Closing my eyes, I try to picture the vibrant colors of the city through my mother’s artistic eyes—the brightly painted buildings set in stark contrast to the lush trees of the mountains.
Beams of yellow sunlight glinting off of the water of Lake Valencia.
The rich forest green of las palmas against the azure-blue sky.
“When we would walk outside—whether it was through the city streets or through the trees—mi mamá loved to point out all the colors. Like the whole world was a painting to her,” I say.
“I don’t have a lot of clear memories of her.
But the memories I do have are in vivid color. Mamá was full color, all the time.”
I return my eyes to Samantha’s face when she squeezes my hand. Her eyes are soft, and the breeze picks up a strand of her hair, dancing it across her face. I reach over to tuck it behind her ear, savoring the sense of grounding I feel every time I touch her skin.
“No wonder you’re so vibrant, always bursting with life,” Samantha says. “It’s in your blood. In your heart.”
When she leans her lips to mine, it’s soft as a whisper, yet somehow slams into my heart with more force than our most passionate kisses.
For once, I don’t capture a longer kiss, instead holding her forehead against mine as I close my eyes. As I let myself float in the wave of sadness that comes.
“She would have loved you, Samantha,” I whisper. “She would have loved who I am with you.”
Samantha draws back enough for our eyes to meet, and she places a hand on my cheek. She quotes the first line of the poem on my wrist. “‘La tierra giró para acercarnos.’” She pauses. “Maybe your mom turned the world to bring us together.”