6. Sam, 21 years old, Present
. . .
Music pulses in the background of the party, easily drowned out by the chatter in the basement of the house.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to relax enough to stay present in the moment.
My fingers have a death grip on the water bottle in my hands.
I wish it wasn’t training season or else I’d have opted for something with alcohol in it to make this less awkward.
I’m also mad at myself for thinking about how this situation shouldn’t be uncomfortable and how I should be enjoying myself. I’m on a first date, damn it.
Mac is often my spotting partner at the gym because we are usually the only ones there at four in the morning some weekends.
He’s kind, easy-going, with warm hazel eyes and dirty blond hair.
He’s a med student and spends his free time hiking.
All of which I learned slowly, over time, since moving here.
Mac is the complete opposite of what I am attracted to normally, which is why I called my support team in and opted to move our date from dinner to a public party.
Now, I can barely hear him over the noise, and there is no part of me that is ready to let him into my personal bubble to try.
Instead, I settle for fake smiles and head nods while feeling the constant weight of my friends’ gazes nearby.
At Leif’s shocked gasp, I turn and find the whole group watching my date.
My cheeks flush before I wrap my arm around myself and give them the finger behind my back.
There’s a chorus of laughs, and I can’t help the first genuine smile that crosses my lips all night.
Mac’s eyes flick from me to the group, and I see the way he hesitates before moving next to me instead of standing across from me at the pool table. “So as far as first dates go, this is probably the only one where I’ve been stared down by so many people.”
I can hear the humor in his voice but can’t control the way I internally cringe. “Yeah, sorry about them.”
He chuckles lightly. “Do they crash all your first dates?”
My brain scrambles because I can’t really even remember my first date. Mac’s smile fades a little and his brow lifts.
“Have you ever had a first date?”
“Yes?” No. My voice comes out hesitant, and even I can hear the questioning in it.
With Jameson, we always hung out as friends until the one day we weren’t friends anymore; we were just more.
Yes, he took me out, just the two of us, in high school with money he earned from working at his dad’s shop or at the track. Did that count as a real first date?
“I had a steady boyfriend in high school. It's been a long time since I did the first date thing.”
His eyes soften as he listens and his body shifts closer.
Oh no. I can feel the panic start to build slowly in my stomach.
There is a reason I don’t try to date, and it's not because I had to force my brain to accept that this was the healthy thing to do: to move on. It’s because any time a man is in my general vicinity, and I haven’t already classified him as a friend, my body physically starts rejecting them.
My back molars clench and I will myself to stay in place, to let Mac’s arm brush against mine without curling my lips back in disgust. There is no reason I should feel dirty or repulsed that another man is touching me.
Mac showers after a gym workout; he smells right now like an expensive cologne, and he’s a handsome man interested in me.
Still…my heart refuses to listen. My brain refuses to drop the idea about how wrong this is.
And now my stomach is clenching in protest as well.
I blow out a breath that sounds more like a defeated sigh. “I’m failing at this whole date thing, aren’t I?”
Mac shrugs, and his curious gaze wanders over my face. “I wouldn’t say you’re failing. You just don’t seem present.”
And he would be correct. My body may be here right now, but my thoughts, my mind, my soul are still standing in the new garage downtown where my ex-boyfriend looked me in the eyes and announced that he had officially moved here.
After two years of commuting between my place, my aunt’s home, and Crimson Bay, he now has an apartment over the new auto shop where he will work and live.
“I think maybe a party wasn’t the best idea. I am a little distracted. It's not you.” I manage to hold his stare even while I feel guilt seep into my pores. It is Mac, unfortunately. He isn’t Jameson.
Seeming to accept my reasoning, Mac gives me a nice smile and holds his hand out. “Take you home?”
My body instantly relaxes. “Thank you.”
I follow him out of the house, warily aware that something was happening with Emma and her boyfriend, but I didn’t get the chance to really decipher what it was.
I’ll make sure to call her tomorrow and check in.
Mac drove tonight, and I watched him closely enough to know he didn’t have more than one beer at the party.
Still, I can’t help but feel the bristle of annoyance that he did drink and that he didn’t bother to open my door for me when we got to his car.
Jameson always made it seem like that was the bare minimum, but maybe he was just over the top.
Maybe not all men are like that, and I shouldn’t hold them to the same expectation.
My eyes sting with the telltale sign of tears, but I refuse to cry right now.
Mac might not be the one, but at least I took the chance to put myself out there.
The drive home is mostly silent. To his credit, Mac does attempt to comment about the fall weather, the song on the radio, and inquire about my plans to work out the rest of the week.
I barely respond to him. My brain can’t function enough right now to put in the effort for more.
I feel guilty that things went this far the way it is, even though I have no reason to.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down to see a text message from my mom.
My heart sinks a little further, knowing why she’s reaching out.
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I smile at Mac, thanking him for the lift home.
I watch as he eyes my apartment warily, with even a small hint of jealousy.
The building is huge, with a rooftop pool and a private area on the ground level to barbecue or have a fire.
So far, everyone who is renting from here comes from money.
It was with a stroke of luck that I managed to get the last two-bedroom apartment, and that this complex happens to be close to our college campus.
I received an email saying they were offering a couple of the apartments to students on scholarship, and I jumped at the chance. Luckily, it worked out for me.
“See you Monday,” I tell Mac before waving one final time and heading inside the locked doors.
The security in these new apartments is insane, with facial recognition at the main doors and a thumbprint needed to open your main apartment door.
I’ve never felt safer, though, especially while living on my own.
In the elevator, I finally decide to be brave and look at my mom’s message, mentally bracing myself for the conversation.
MOM: Was it really necessary for your sister to stay there tonight?
My heart speeds up at the same time my stomach drops.
No matter what I do, she always finds a way to criticize my decisions.
She’s been that way since right before my senior year.
Her latest issue is the fact that I transferred to Michigan for college and moved out of my aunt’s home where I had lived for nine months while I got my life on track, something I couldn’t do at home with my mom in Crimson Bay. Everything had been too painful.
ME: She asked me if she could visit. I didn’t force her to be here. Plus, you bought her the bus ticket.
Allie is thirteen and struggling with school.
This year she convinced my mom to let her be homeschooled, and anytime she has a break on the weekends, she often takes a bus to visit me.
I don’t mind. I love my little sister. If I don’t have hockey, we hang out, and on weekends when I have practice, she joins us at the arena, sitting in the stands on her iPad.
MOM: For her to hang out with you, not for you to leave her alone while you went on a date. You know that isn’t a good idea, Sam. You should focus on school and not let another man derail your life.
A heated flush spreads across my chest and up my neck before staining my cheeks.
Even from hundreds of miles away, my mom still manages to make my choices feel small and immature.
No matter how much time passes, she still likes to remind me that the demise of mine and Jameson’s relationship ruined my life.
Without replying, for my own mental health, I once again pocket the phone and head to my front door.
I swipe my thumb and the door opens. The space is mostly dark, except for the small kitchen light above the sink being on and the TV.
“You’re home early, aren’t you?” Allie sits up from the couch, stretching her arms above her head. My eyes flick to the TV and see she’s watching an episode of Summer House on brAVO.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I counter and hide my smile when she rolls her eyes.
Allie is mostly a quiet, shy girl. Unless you get to know her and she feels safe around you, then she is chatty, and her sassy side peeks out. “Must not have been that great of a date if you’re home already.”
Defeat settles heavy on my chest as I shrug my shoulders. “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”
Allie’s eyes wander over me, and there’s a flicker of something behind her assessing gaze. I think she might say something profound enough for a teenager, but instead, she just nods her head. “Well, things here went great.”
I toe off my shoes and drop onto the couch next to her. “Mom texted me. She isn’t happy you’re here by yourself.”
Allie’s gaze moves to the blanket over her lap, and I see the way her small jaw clenches. “I didn’t mean for her to find out about your date. She FaceTimed me, and I couldn’t exactly hide where you were for the thirty minutes she insisted upon staying connected.”
“Hey.” I reach for my sister’s hand and pull it between mine. “I’m not mad. I don’t blame you, and I never asked you to lie for me either. I just wanted you to know so that when you get home you aren’t caught off guard by her attitude.”
“Still, I’m sorry she got mad at you. She’s always hard on you, Sam, and you don’t deserve it.” Allie squeezes my hand.
I want to keep the peace. Allie is my sister, but she’s also young, barely a teenager, and I don’t want to taint how she sees our mom just because of my mistakes.
“Thanks, Al. Don’t worry about me though, okay. Mom and I will get past it. She doesn’t agree with my life choices, but we’re working on it.”
Allie snorts and shakes her head. The one bad thing about my sister being so mature for her age is that she can already tell when I’m bullshitting.
She loves me, and she loves our mom, as she should.
“It's okay if she disagrees with you, Sam. Except sometimes Mom tends to hold you to a higher standard, and when she thinks you fall short, she’s mean.”
Her words hit harder than they’re meant to. I know my little sister is looking out for me, but it's hard to hear. I’m the oldest, yet I still keep hoping my mom will change. I keep hoping I won’t hear her voice in my head every time I make a decision, telling me that I’m wrong or that I’ll fail.
“Look, this is a mom and me issue. We’ll be fine. At the end of the day, we’re still family,” I remind her, and finally she gives me a small smile.
“That’s the same thing Aunt Paisley said too.”
I shrug and nudge her with my shoulder. “Who do you think I learned it from?”
We both share a smile and a silent appreciation for our aunt, my mom’s sister, the one person who’s kept our family intact the past two years when everything started spinning out of control. Instead of going down memory lane, I pull back and get to my feet.
“Are you sleeping on the couch or with me?”
Allie reaches over and turns the TV off. “I’ll sleep here. I was already dozing off when you came in.”
“Okay,” I tell her and reach for the extra blanket on the top of the couch, sliding it over her legs. “I’ll see you in the morning. And thanks again, Allie.”
My sister brushes me off with another smile before lying down on her pillow and closing her eyes.
Quietly, I make my way down the narrow hallway and slip inside my bedroom.
Instead of turning on the main light, I flick the switch for the smaller lamp next to my bed, quickly casting a warm glow in the room.
I wash off my makeup in the adjoining bathroom and change into my pajamas before slipping under my covers.
I plug my phone into the power cord right as a new text comes in. My stomach clenches instantly, only relaxing when I open it and see it's just from Mac.
GYM brO: It was great seeing you tonight. Maybe we can try a second first date sometime?
I close out of my texts and sigh into the darkness of my room. I already know I won’t be accepting another date with Mac. I’m not ready. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, and it terrifies me. None of them will ever be him.
“What do you mean, you live here now?” Shock ripples down my spine as his words fire on repeat in my brain.
“I mean I live here,” Jameson replies, a hint of mischief in his deep brown eyes. Eyes that have always had the power to move me, to melt my insides and give in to everything that was him and me.
“It's a garage, Jameson,” I say out loud, my thoughts still too chaotic. We haven’t lived in the same city or even the same state for two years. Not since everything fell apart.
“There’s an apartment above the garage. It's nice. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms and an open kitchen with a spacious living room. You’ll have to come up and see it sometime,” he explains, his brow rising while watching my reaction. Jameson is always watching; I don’t know how I forgot that.
My body acts on impulse, remembering the smoothness of his voice and the deep way it has always sent shivers down my spine.
My chest flushes, and my stomach swoops, feeling like millions of butterflies taking off at once.
He isn’t flirting with me. He isn’t even propositioning me.
All he said was the word bedroom and it was enough to make a flush creep over my cheeks.
“Argh!!” I slap my hands over my eyes, trying to scrub the mental visual away.
I still can’t believe that happened. And right before my date.
It's no wonder things didn’t work out with Mac.
But who am I kidding? It wouldn’t have mattered if I saw Jameson earlier or not, he’s been a constant in my mind since the day we met.
No matter how hard I try, I fear my heart will never let him go.