18. Sam
SAM
Ionly need to get a single look at the guy who walks in through the door, and I instantly hate him.
Not just because he has a smug look on his face, and wears wire-rimmed glasses and looks like one of those fake intellectuals who think they’re hot shit just because they've read a philosophy book one time and know how to balance an Excel spreadsheet.
Mostly, my hatred stems from the way Chelsea reacts to his presence.
All traces of her earlier amusement are gone. She was starting to relax around us, even smile and joke in response to our teasing.
But at his arrival, all that disappeared. Her body is stiff, her eyes fixed on him in anger. Whoever he is, she hates his guts. Nothing but wrath and hurt glows from her gaze, and I want to destroy him for that.
He steps into the space and eyes us.
“Wow," he says, scanning. “Full house.”
“Just get your things and go, Eric.”
“What’s the rush? I was hoping we could chat, Chels.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve packed up all your stuff in the storage closet. It’s in garbage bags. You know, fitting for you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Mature.”
She gives him a bitter smile. “I know, right?”
His eyes linger on me, and I raise an eyebrow, a savage heat building in my chest. Contrary to what my build might suggest, I’m not a big fighter.
In fact, I haven’t been in a fight since high school, because after I hit my growth spurt and bulked up at the gym, my size became a significant deterrent for people trying to mess with me.
Jake’s the one who typically gets into bar fights when he’s drunk and making out with someone’s girl, and I’ve had to step in once or twice, but typically the fight ends once I do.
Good, because I’m pretty much a peaceful type of guy, and I’m not the type to get mad at petty shit.
This is the first time I've ever wanted to fight someone.
Deep inside, a part of me really wants to break this guy’s face.
He clears his throat and looks away quickly, targeting Adam as likely the friendliest of the bunch. “I’m Eric, by the way.”
“Good for you,” Adam responds, which is valid. Because I’m not sure why the fuck he thinks we need to know his name.
“They don’t need to know who you are,” Chelsea says. “Just get your stuff and go.”
“Really?" He looks at her, and my burning anger spikes. "That’s how you’re going to treat me after all those years together?”
“It’s a lot better than you treated me,” she shoots back, and a realization is starting to form.
They were together at some point. He’s her ex, and this is him coming to pick up his stuff.
I don’t yet know what he did to her to get her to break up with him, but I know whatever it was hurt her deeply enough to hold a grudge.
I hate him even more now.
He sighs and shakes his head. “I was hoping we could talk about that.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“It was a misunderstanding?”
“A misunderstanding?” She scoffs. “That’s what you’re going with? You want me to believe that catching you in bed with your assistant was a misunderstanding? Please enlighten me, Eric. Which part exactly did I understand wrongly?”
Ah. So he cheated on her. Of course.
I knew he fucking scumbag piece of shit. A dumbass, too, because how does anyone fumble a woman like Cheslea?
I may not know much about her, but I do know how beautiful, and soft, and giving she is, how passionate, how clever.
She's way better than he deserves.
Now he’s here, what, trying to weasel his way into her life?
Not fucking happening. Not under my watch.
I’m proud that she doesn’t seem to give him a single inch, raising her eyebrow sardonically.
“Claire had been after me for months,” he says. “Do you know how long I held off? How often I told her that I didn’t want to do anything with her because I was so devoted to you?"
Fury flares through my body, and I can see it simmering in Jake’s eyes, too, as he clenches his fists.
If the bastard keeps talking, Jake's going to deck him. And I'm going to help.
But my fury somewhat lowers when she laughs in his face.
“Oh my God, really? That’s where you’re going with?
Is this the part where I applaud you? I tell you how great it is that you at least waited an entire month before you cheated on me with your PA, who was also one of my best friends?
Oh my gosh, I feel so cherished right now. ”
“Chelsea–"
“Eric. Whatever you're planning on saying isn’t going to work. Your gaslighting or whatever excuse you made up in your head that's supposed to make me okay with it, it's not going to convince me. I'm over it at this point. You did it, it happened. We're done. Just get your shit and leave.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Chelsea.” He takes a step toward her, and I have to dig my fingers into the seat to keep from moving.
A growl still escapes me that freezes him in step.
They both look at me, and whatever he sees in my face makes him pale. And that’s before Jake moves and says, “You heard her, buddy. Get your shit and leave.”
Jake’s voice is still low and ‘normal’ sounding, but for those of us who know him, I know that’s the voice he has whenever he’s close to punching someone in the throat.
And Eric must have at least one brain cell after all, because he looks between the three of us and lets his hand that reached out to Chelsea drop.
“What are you, her guard dogs?” he says, laughing nervously, and I revise the earlier analysis about him being smart.
“Yes,” Adam says. “Now get your shit, and get the fuck out.”
Adam's usually the most even-tempered out of all of us, and so the fact that his voice has already taken that deadly tone makes it clear that he doesn't like the bastard, either.
Eric swallows and gives a jerky nod. He walks through the space, and I get up and follow him, because I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
Adam gives me a warning look, likely thinking that I’m going to kick his ass, but I ignore it and stand at the doorway to the storage closet, keeping watch.
I don’t want him to steal from her or leave something behind so that he has an excuse to come back when we’re not here and can’t protect her. Or worse, leave some kind of recording device. I’ve heard of exes who did bullshit like that.
When he turns around and sees me there, he jerks. He’s smart enough not to say anything, though, just gives me that awkward thin-lipped smile and slings the bag over his shoulder. Then he shuffles through the door, stopping to stare at her one more time before he goes.
“Call me,” he says as he leaves.
“I already forgot your number, asshole,” she tells him before she slams the door, then mutters under her breath, clearly still irritated. She brushes her hair out of her face and blows out a heated breath through her lips.
"Ex-boyfriend?” Adam asks. He's probably the most stable out of all of us, because I'm still fuming and Jake is still glaring at the door as though daring Eric to come back.
Adam had been just as irritated by his presence, but he was just better at hiding it.
"Yup," she says. "I don't want to talk about it. And Jenna should be here any second now, so you guys can leave."
"We didn't really finish talking, though," Jake says. "We said that we want to help you through the whole pregnancy, and you never responded.”
"Yes, um, just give me time to think about it, okay? This is all too many changes for me, and I'm getting frazzled."
"No problem. We understand." Adam straightens from his spot, leaning against the wall. "If you need anything, anything at all, please don't hesitate to let us know."
"Yeah, what he said." Jake says, rising from his spot as well. I'm the only one who shows resistance. I don't want to leave, not yet. There's so much that I still want to say to her, so much that feels trapped in my gut with no way of truly expressing it.
And when she turns to me, I want to pour it all out.
But she's not ready for that yet. I'm already weird enough. I don't want to scare her off.
So I nod in response.
Later, I tell myself. I'll be back later, with or without the others.
As we walk to the door, it opens, and we meet a pretty woman holding a box of pizza, hand elevated like she was just about to knock.
She blinks in shock and says, "Whoa. Did I die and walk into Sports Illustrated heaven?"
Jake grins, and Chelsea says, "No. They were just leaving."
"Not without an introduction, they're not."
"I'm Jake," Jake says. "This is Adam and Sam."
"It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too."
I nod in her direction, and Adam murmurs a greeting too. I notice that Jake doesn't do the thing he does when he meets a pretty woman, which is immediately turn on the flirtatious voice. No. His voice sounds friendly, but uninterested, just like he'd been at that bar we'd been at.
What's up with him?
As we leave, Adam says, "You're lucky she didn't call the cops on you for coming to her home like that."
"How did you know where she lived?" I ask him.
"I didn't. I have a GPS tracker on your car, because I figured one day you would do something crazy and I'd need to track you down."
I nod. That's a fair thought to have.
"Are you going to lay off her now?"
I smirk, but I don't reply. Lay off her? I think. I'm just getting started.
The next day, I make sure everything is in place before I ring the doorbell. My shirt looks good and ironed, my collar is down, and I have the flowers in my right hand.
I don't know what I expect, but when the door opens, it's to find the same woman from yesterday, Jenna, in an old, oversized T-shirt.
She raises an eyebrow, and a smile crosses her lips. "Well, hello."
"Hi," I say a little nervously. "Is Chelsea home?"
"She sure is cutie. Chelsea. It's for you!"
Jenna steps aside as Chelsea comes in looking so beautiful in a pink pantsuit, which brings out the color in her face, and makes her eyes sparkle.
Only it's a little confusing because it's a Sunday.
"Sam," She says. “What are you doing here?'
I hold out the flowers. "Just wanted to give you this. And possibly ask you out to eat."
"You mean on a date?"
Yes, but I think maybe that might spook her out.
"I was just hoping we could talk some more," I answer cagily.
"God, these flowers are gorgeous," Jenna says, taking it out of my hand. "I'll go put them in some water while you two talk."
"Thanks, Jenna," I say, and she winks at me as she leaves with the flowers, while Chelsea contemplates my offer.
I half expect her to say no. She's chewing the inside of her lips and says, "You know you don't have to do this."
"I know. I want to."
"You don't know me."
"I want to get to know you, though. I feel a connection with you that I've never felt with anyone else."
"That was just lust."
"It was more than that. I've felt lust before, and I know what that's like. I know what I felt when I saw you at that party. Maybe the proposal was a little crazy–"
"A little?" she comments wryly.
I smirk. "We can at least talk. I can give you a ride to wherever it is you're going."
She glances down at her suit as though recalling it. "Yeah. I was going to scout locations for the billboard."
"Great. I can drive you."
"You don't have to. It's hectic."
"Perfect."
She watches me closely, then finally allows a small smile. "Alright. Let's go."
I nod, though internally I'm pumping my fist in the air.
I try not to say anything to ruin it when we get in the car, and as we drive, I think up conversation topics that could entertain her and not be too weird.
Or maybe I shouldn't talk at all. She seems lost in thought, and a frown grows on her face until she reaches out and touches my arm, saying, "Hold on. Stop."
"What, why?"
"I need to get out."
I glance at her. We're on a highway, and there's no place for her to get out.
But then suddenly, I realize how pale and green she is, right before she turns and vomits all over my seat.
Hours later, and I'm bringing her back home after a visit to the hospital.
I drove her straight to the hospital after the vomiting, my heart racing because I was concerned something might be wrong with her. I mean, I know morning sickness is a symptom of pregnancy, but the rapid onset made me concerned.
I rushed her to the hospital and stayed with her while she got checked out. Then when the doctor ascertained she was fine, but she wanted extra tests to make sure, I ensured she got those too.
While waiting, I quickly went down to clean out my car, then passed it through a carwash so that I could drive her home in a freshly washed car that wouldn't make her nauseous again.
Now, we're at her doorstep and I take her up.
"Thank you," she says.
"For what?"
"For today. I…” Suddenly, her face pales again and she looks like she’s about to throw up again. She stumbles and I catch her against my chest, staring down into her eyes.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “You’re okay.”
“I don’t want to throw up on you.”
“You can do anything you want to me.”