Chapter 15
15
S am was back in her childhood bedroom. The song had ended, and so had the vision. But what happened to her and Damon in that car? Were they okay? Her fingers twitched as she looked down at the player. She’d planned to listen to a song and leave it at that. But there was no time to waste. She needed to know if they’d wrecked. She was about to hit Play when the doorbell ding-donged through the house.
Sam stood, looked out the window and spied Rachel’s unmistakable perfect bob. God dammit.
The doorbell rang again and Sam knew she had to answer it. She couldn’t just skip to the next song and leave Rachel waiting outside.
Sam hustled to the front door. She’d let Rachel in, explain the situation and then they could play the next song. Rachel would understand that.
But Rachel’s smile immediately fell as Sam opened the front door. “What are you doing with that thing ?” Her gaze landed at the CD player in Sam’s hand.
Well, maybe she would not understand.
Rachel tossed her duffel bag into the hallway, then snatched the CD player from Sam. “We had an agreement.”
“I had a bad day,” Sam started to explain. “My grandma is sleeping, so keep your voice down.” Rachel breezed past her, gave the room a quick once-over, then returned her focus to Sam.
“You have a bad day, you take a bath. You don’t put on the headphones that are making you see things,” Rachel said in a hushed tone. She held the player up and looked ready to smash it on the ground, which couldn’t happen. Not until she knew the fate of Alt-Sam and Damon.
“Right,” Sam said. “The thing is, in this last vision, it looks like maybe I died?” Sam waited for Rachel to react and, to her credit, she immediately did.
“I don’t want to be dramatic,” Rachel said.
“I know that.” Sam shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of where this was headed.
“But you look like a person I’d cross the street to avoid,” Rachel said. “I mean, you’re in a sports bra and denim shorts and I think there’s a tube of Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker stuck in your hair?”
Sam reached her hand up. She had put the lip balm into her ponytail to save for later. What was so wrong with that?
“So this is the bad thing you texted about?” Rachel held up the CD player but didn’t wait for a response as she walked into the living room and plopped herself on the floral couch.
Sam sheepishly followed, suddenly feeling like a scolded teenager.
“And why are your hands moving like that?” Rachel gestured to Sam’s hands, which fidgeted at her sides.
Sam tried to still them but found it hard. “I need that CD player back. Please.”
Rachel pointedly sat on the player. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to take a shower, wash your hair, blow-dry and put on actual clothes. I’m going to make you something to eat, and then I’m taking you to a bar where we are going to have a drink to calm down whatever the hell is going on here. Then and only then will we talk about this CD player.”
“Rachel, I hear you, but I just need to listen to the next song.” Sam approached her, but Rachel wiggled on the couch like a hen getting ready to roost.
“Shower. Hair. Clothes. Eat. Drink. Go do it,” Rachel ordered.
Sam stared at Rachel, who stared back, but somehow harder. So Sam decided to do as she was told, because maybe if she looked reasonable, her friend would be, too.
But despite the blow-dried hair, high-waisted shorts and silk top, plus a bit of makeup for good measure, Rachel was not willing to discuss the CD player. In fact, she’d hidden the thing so Sam couldn’t so much as try to grab for it.
“Eat,” ordered Rachel as she pointed to a very sturdy turkey sandwich.
Sam ate.
When Rachel asked for a bar to put into their Lyft destination, Sam gave her the name of Band Practice Brews. Damon hadn’t responded to her text, but she wanted to check and make sure he was still alive and the alt universe hadn’t somehow seeped into this one.
As they walked through the entrance of the bar, there was Damon pouring out a pale ale from the tap. He looked up and, to Sam’s relief, gave her a surprised smile.
She was so happy to see him standing there that she went behind the bar, wrapped him in a too-tight hug and held him.
“Woah, woah,” he said as he hugged her back. “What was that for?”
“I’m just glad to see you.” Sam pulled away, tucked hair behind her ear and looked up at him. Damon was okay. That was the only thing that mattered.
“Hi,” Rachel said, breaking the moment. “I’m Rachel, Sam’s best friend. And you are?”
“Damon,” Sam and Damon said at the same time.
Rachel gave Sam a stern look that she deftly avoided by admiring the ceiling fan.
“I’m Sam’s friend from high school,” Damon added.
“Damon,” Rachel said. “This is the guy you—”
“Yes,” Sam quickly hissed.
Rachel’s lips tightened. “Could we have two beers, please? I need something that pairs well with rage.”
“Uh, sure thing.” Damon wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder.
Sam made her way back to Rachel, but Rachel squeezed her hand so tight Sam winced. “When I told you to bring us to a local bar, I didn’t mean his bar.”
Sam shook her hand free. “Then you should be more specific next time.”
“You don’t even drink beer,” Rachel said, incredulous.
“I just needed to find the right kind.”
Rachel glanced at Damon. “And you didn’t tell me he was this hot.”
Sam glanced at him, too. “Well, he is.”
“Yes, he is.” Rachel smacked her lips.
Damon slid two tall glasses across the bar top. One was the sour beer that Sam liked, and the other was a darker and richer color that smelled like honey. Rachel moved to take out her credit card. “What do we owe you?”
“Sam drinks on the house, and so do her friends.”
“You might regret saying that,” Rachel told Damon. “Okay, let’s go. We need to talk,” she said to Sam.
They sat in two Adirondack chairs on the back patio and watched seagulls run across the sand in search of discarded french fries. A flight of the bar’s most popular beers was sent over a few minutes later, as well as a large pitcher of the sour beer for Sam.
“Are you mad at me?” Sam took a preemptive sip of her beer to ease the sting of the inevitable yes .
“Mad is not the emotion I’m feeling. Shocked? Yes.” Rachel took a thoughtful exhale. “Well, actually, I take that back. I’m a little mad that you brought me to this bar where your ex-boyfriend works without any kind of warning.”
“Not my—”
Rachel cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Yes, not your ex-boyfriend, so you keep saying. But then why were you all over him?”
Sam didn’t have an answer for that. Well, she did, but Rachel wouldn’t like it. “Do you want the truth?”
“My rental car smells like sour milk, but I still drove here to see you. Which is all to say that yes, I want you to tell me the truth.”
Sam sat forward and decided to be honest, then. “When you came to my grandma’s house, and I’d just finished listening to another song—don’t roll your eyes, hear me out.”
Rachel still rolled her eyes all the same.
“In the alternate version of my life—or whatever—Damon and I were going to the prom. He was driving us there, way too fast, and then...” Sam closed her eyes, remembering the sound of Alt-Sam screaming for Damon to stop. “I don’t know. It seemed like we got in a car crash. I woke up before I could find out what happened.”
Rachel carefully studied her. “That’s why you looked like you’d been dragged through a swamp?”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“Yeah, you were.” Rachel bit her lip as she looked out. “Okay, so here’s what I think. I think you are not losing it.”
“Thank you.”
“What you’re saying is totally bonkers, but I’m going to just kind of go with this and believe you. Because the Sam I know doesn’t make shit up. You hide things, apparently, but you don’t just spin weird stories. I believe that when you listen to this CD, you are seeing things.” Rachel leaned back into the chair and smoothed out her bob.
“Okay, so, now what?”
“I don’t really know. I mean, the easiest solution would be to not listen to the CD, right?” She squinted at Sam.
But Sam couldn’t not find out what happened to her and Damon on prom night—that just wasn’t an option.
“Okay, I can tell you don’t like that solution. But we’ve each had three beers, and I need to be sober to figure out alternate universes. So how about we finish up, call a Lyft home and figure out what to do in the morning. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, okay.” Sam gave her a weak smile. And then Rachel raised her glass, and Sam did, too, and they clinked them together in an understanding.
Then Damon stepped in front of them. Damon, with his thick hair and thicker legs, and those ridiculously gorgeous arms of his, sat in the empty chair next to Sam. “What are we cheersing to?”
“Alternate universes,” Sam offered. Rachel raised an amused brow and took another sip from her beer.
The three of them sat there, searching for something to talk about. And Rachel found the perfect topic. “So, Damon, tell me, was Sam always so uptight?”
“I’m not uptight!” Sam was indignant. Since when did she sign up to be roasted?
“You have a weekly calendar and each hour is scheduled to the minute.” Rachel then turned to Damon. “Do you know how hard that is to accomplish when you fly planes that are often delayed?”
“I write in pencil so I can move the items easily.” Sam took a sip, then noticed Damon staring. “What?”
“Sam wasn’t uptight in high school,” Damon finally answered Rachel. “I mean, she was serious about tests and things like that, but the only thing we ever had planned were Friday pizza and movie nights.”
“Mmm, pizza,” Rachel said wistfully. “Pizza, though. I think we need some.”
“Agreed,” Sam said. The sandwich hadn’t been enough for the amount of beer they’d already had.
“Let me go to the back and see if the kitchen is still open.” Damon stood and took another sip of beer.
“No, I don’t trust you to order pizza,” Sam said and pushed herself up. “Your favorite topping is pineapple.”
“Oh, Lord, no.” Rachel shook her head. “Sam, please go make sure we get something edible.”
Sam and Damon discovered that the kitchen was closed, but there was food to be had. They stood in the back, opening drawers and scavenging.
Damon opened a cabinet and pulled out a bulk bag of tortilla chips. He poured some onto a clean white plate. “I’m still thinking about that whale we saw.”
Sam took a chip and chewed. “I just wanted to show you what I left Tybee for. I never meant to hurt you, and I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”
He leaned across the chrome countertop and pointedly met her eyes. “We’re allowed to make choices, and you made yours. That’s not for me to judge.”
Yes, she had made choices. All those years ago when she’d chosen not to kiss Damon, and then chose to leave Tybee. But now there was another universe where they had kissed, and ended up together, and they seemed sublimely happy.
She didn’t want to lose Damon, not the way she’d lost him all those years ago. And maybe it was the three beers, the way his eyes sort of turned down and leveled her, or the way his biceps flexed with the pressure of the counter, but she moved toward him. She wanted to be close, hug him and let him know all was okay.
Only, when she went in for the hug, her face also awkwardly pressed against his cheek, her lips so close to his it could be a near-kiss. And there was a bit of a kiss as their lips briefly met. Damon quickly pulled back, and so did she.
“Oh, God.” Sam’s hand flew to her mouth to cover any evidence that she even had one. “I’m so sorry, that was an accident.”
“You accidentally tried to kiss me?” Damon’s brows furrowed.
“I was going to hug you, and then sort of fell on your mouth.” Sam covered her own face with her hands.
“Don’t worry about it,” Damon eventually said. But when Sam looked up, his finger traced a line across his lips as he quickly turned away to scour for dip.
And Sam was glad he wasn’t looking at her, because the truth was that she needed a moment to compose herself. Her lips still tingled from the warm feel of his mouth pressed against hers, and now that she knew what he tasted like, she wanted more of what she couldn’t have.