25. Sam
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
sam
The words on Sam’s computer screen blur. She grits her teeth and pauses typing long enough to curl her fingers into fists.
You have got to be kidding me. She hasn’t cried over a guy in six years, and now she can’t stop. Again?
It keeps happening like this, too quick to mount a defense. One second, she’s fine. And the next, pain radiates across her chest. Tears collect in her eyes. A knot forms in the back of her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Suddenly, she’s paralyzed as a bottomless well of dread yawns like a fissure down the center of her being.
Sam blinks rapidly to keep the quickly pooling water in her eyes at bay as her boss drones on. The meeting will be over in five minutes. She just needs to keep it together until then.
I can do this.
Focus.
The second they adjourn, she slams her laptop shut and jumps to her feet, racing for the bathroom. When she turns the corner, Spencer’s there like the shock reveal at the end of a horror movie. Sam claws at her chest as an embarrassingly loud gasp escapes.
“Jesus. You scared me.”
He smiles. “I have that effect on women.”
What does that even mean? Sam furrows her brow. “Excuse me. I have to pee.”
“Sam, wait.” He circles her wrist with his hand. Nausea curls in her gut the moment his skin comes in contact with hers. To think she once swooned at his touch. Kill me now. He’s repulsive. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“That’s funny, because I’ve been actively avoiding you.”
His nostrils flare. She fights the urge to grin.
“Come on. It was a million years ago.”
“And yet I still hate you with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. It’s almost like the anger you feel after someone takes advantage of the fact that your sibling might be dying in order to sleep with you, and then laughs about it with his friends behind your back for three months, is the sort of rage that only festers with time.”
“Shh,” he admonishes and then looks around. “Someone might hear you.”
She snorts. “And what? Figure out what an asshole you are? They don’t need me for that. I have full confidence you’ll screw this job up all on your own.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Thank you.”
“I just want—”
“Save it. I couldn’t give two shits what you want. Now take your hand off me.”
He rolls his eyes, but lets her go.
Sam eyes the sharp cut of his lapel and the custom silk interior visible near the neckline of his jacket. “Nice suit.”
“I had it made.”
“I can tell.”
She leans in closer than would be considered appropriate for an office setting. The asshole can’t hide the intrigue in his eyes, but this isn’t foreplay.
“Touch me again,” she whispers, her voice as sharp as the scissors she really freaking wishes she were holding, because the effect would be epic, “and it’s snip snip, motherfucker.”
He whips back. His eyes go wide.
“I knew that was you! I fucking knew it!”
Sam lifts her middle finger and brushes by him on her way to the bathroom. The second the stall door closes, the tears fall. Cooper’s words swirl through her thoughts like a mocking breeze.
This is winning?
Sitting on a toilet at the office of the job she hates, bawling her eyes out over the guy she stupidly let get away, in a four-hundred-dollar suit she doesn’t even like but had to buy in order to keep up appearances while she saves every cent she possibly can in case an illness that all medical knowledge says is unlikely to return somehow does, and—worst of all—fooling herself into believing she’s being strong.
But what’s the alternative—quitting? Telling Emily the truth? Accepting the job as her official CFO? Running off to Nebraska to live happily ever after on a ranch with the sexiest man she’s ever seen?
Sam can envision it so clearly, like pictures from a future she’s already lived. Late nights on the phone with Em. Flights to Los Angeles. Presentations with investors, tours of factories, interviews with new employees. Cooper picking her up in that fucking chopper just to see her stew every time she gets home. Mornings curled up on the deck to watch the sunrise. Evenings snuggled up by the fire. Afternoons spent poring over spreadsheets while she sits at the desk he set up in front of the window so she’ll see that lone silhouette of a cowboy on horseback long before he officially makes it home. He’ll say it’s because he likes the thought of her watching him, but really it’s because he likes the sight of her greeting him at the door with nothing on but that old shirt of his she still uses to keep warm.
In her daydreams, there’s no possibility they’ll break up, no chance the company won’t make it, no future that would leave her destitute and desolate beyond repair.
But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
How do people do it—make that leap of faith, face those fears, overcome them?
She would give anything to understand.
Buzz.
The vibration against her hip pulls her back to reality. Sam sucks in a ragged breath and wipes the wetness from her cheeks. The name on the caller ID is the last one she expects to see.
Your better half.
Em.
Sam silences the call. She’s been avoiding her sister for weeks, and mid-cry in a bathroom stall over the fake engagement that might destroy Emily’s life isn’t really the ideal time to change course.
A text comes through.
I know you’re at work. Sorry!! But I’m having a panic attack. I need you.
The phone rings again.
Sam slides her finger across the screen.
“What?” she asks, her heart in her throat. There’s absolutely nothing in Emily’s text to imply it’s something serious or health related, but that doesn’t matter. It’s where her mind goes with her sister. Every time. Even after six years of good news. She doesn’t know how to stop. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to go to LA,” Emily says in a rush.
“When?” Sam asks, trying to catch up. “Why?”
“Logically, I knew this was coming. The season always ends with a live finale, but I don’t know, I’ve been blocking it out or something. I completely forgot. But Nina just called with my flight info. It’s real. It’s happening. I’m going to sit on that stage and talk to the thirty men I broke up with in front of the whole freaking world, and I need to somehow not let it slip that I got with their producer instead. How am I going to do this, Sam? How am I going to face them?”
That’s what this is about? Sam exhales as the tension in her body lets out. “Em, half those guys were assholes and the other half were there for Instagram followers. None of them are going to give a shit that you’re with Jake. And none of them have to know, either. Just be the sweet Southern belle I know and love, and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m a terrible liar, Sam. You know I am. I’m going to let something slip—”
“You won’t.”
“I will. On live TV. I’m going to let something slip and it’s going to ruin everything.”
“It won’t.”
“You need to help me.”
Her heart shudders to a stop as she slaps her palm against the stall for support. “Em.”
“You break up with guys all the time. You know how to deal with exes. I clearly don’t since the one and only time I’ve had to face an ex, I jumped almost immediately back into bed with him.”
“Em.”
“Oh god. Do you think they’ll be mad? Are they going to be mad?”
“I just told you they won’t be.”
“But what if they are? Maybe I should just be honest. What’s the worst that could happen? Everyone in America turns on me? Okay. That would be bad. But Mom has a nice flower shop. I can work there forever. And Cooper! He wasn’t mad when I told him. Maybe people would understand. Maybe they—”
“Jesus Christ, Emily. GET A GRIP!”
A shocked beat of silence passes. “Is everything okay, Sam?”
Is everything okay?
IS EVERYTHING OKAY!?
No. It’s not okay. Because for a moment there, Sam thought Emily was about to ask her to do the live show in LA, and the very idea that she might have reason to see Cooper again left her so excited she couldn’t breathe, and now she’s the one having a panic attack. Fear claws up her throat like a creature from the deep.
“Sam?”
“I need to tell you something.” The words are out before she can suck them back in.
No. No. No. No.
“What?”
“I—”
The confession lodges in her larynx.
I didn’t turn down Cooper’s proposal.
The engagement ring is on my nightstand, and I put it on every night before I go to bed.
I’m the one who’s lying to everyone.
I’m the one who’s going to let something slip.
I’m the one who’s ruining everything.
“What, Sam? What is it?”
She’s keeping far too many secrets. It’s no surprise when one finally breaks free. “I’m the reason it took so long for you and Jake to get back together.”
There’s a pause, then a cautious, “What do you mean?”
“That Christmas when we came home after all your treatments, Jake came to the house. You were in the kitchen getting us ice cream. I met him at the door and I told him to fuck off. He had some stupid note he wanted to leave on the doorstep. I don’t know if it was to apologize or win you back or explain, and I never will, because I ripped it to pieces and threw it in his face. And, god, I’m so sorry, Emily. I should have told you. Years ago, right when it happened, before he left, I should’ve told you. But I was afraid. I felt like we finally had some good news as a family and I didn’t want to ruin it. I—” She stops to lick her lips, the truth sitting heavy on her tongue. But it’s now or never. How does someone find the bravery to take that leap? They just do. “I just got you back, and I didn’t want to lose you again. Not to cancer. Not to Jake. Not to anything. And I know I was being a selfish asshole. I knew it then, but I just couldn’t stop.”
The other end of the line is silent except for the soft creak of a chair, as if Emily has fallen back into her seat with the shock. Sam feels unexpectedly lighter though. Even in the face of losing her sister forever, the heavy burden of the lie has fallen away. And it would be in Emily’s right not to forgive her. It’s what she deserves.
“You guys probably would’ve gotten back together that winter if not for me,” she continues softly, ripping the veil over the hideous truth clean off. “You wouldn’t have spent seven years unhappy and alone. You would’ve had the love of your life. You wouldn’t be freaking out about facing your thirty exes on national TV because they wouldn’t exist. It’s me, Em. I’m the reason for everything. If I’d just let him through the door, your whole life might be different, and—”
“No.”
The word is so quiet, barely more than air. Sam holds her breath, unable to tell if that whisper was infused with horror or heartache.
“No,” Emily says again, stronger, louder, and this time Sam hears the last thing she ever expected. Beneath the sadness and the anger and the hurt, at the base of it all, there’s love. “That’s not on you, Sam. You did a shitty thing. And yes, I’m pissed. It’s going to take me a minute to process this. But you’re not the reason it took so long for Jake and me to find our way back to each other. You don’t need to carry that burden. He could’ve fought his way past you. He could’ve come back the next day. I could’ve called him. I could’ve gone to LA. There are a million things the two of us could have done differently, but we weren’t ready. Back then, we weren’t prepared to fight for each other, but we are now. And that’s what made the difference.”
Sam can’t quite believe her ears. “You’re not going to yell at me?”
“What would it accomplish?”
“Hate me?”
“I could never.”
“Set a plague on both my houses?”
“We’re from the same house, idiot.”
“Huh.” Sam relaxes on the toilet and drops her chin into her palm. “I guess you really are the nice one.”
“Maybe.” Em snorts. “Or I could just tell Mom you said you’re finally ready to settle down and get married.”
“You devious little bitch!” Sam gasps in mock horror, then grins despite herself. “It’s brilliant.”
“Yeah. Let’s see how you like it when she shows up on Wake Up, America! demanding you get a boyfriend too.”
Maybe it’s finally time to come clean. About the engagement. About Cooper. About all of it.
“Hey, Em?”
“Yeah?”
I am completely head-over-heels in love with Cooper Kelley.
The truth sits there like a weight on her heart. She already knows what Emily will say. Go after him. Come clean. I don’t care. But just as Em won’t let Sam bear her burdens, Sam won’t let Em bear hers either. She’s got to figure her own way out of the mess she made.
“I love you.”
“Love you too, sis.”
In the ringing silence that follows, Sam thinks about how easy those three words are to say to her sister. I love you. As simple as breathing. As innate as her heartbeat.
It could be like that with Cooper.
If she lets it.
Emily’s explanation turns over in her mind, again and again, as though if she keeps flipping it and twisting it and dissecting it, the truth will emerge. We weren’t prepared to fight for each other, but we are now. And that’s what made the difference.
Cooper’s been fighting. For every step she took away, he took one closer, keeping them connected, keeping them bound. Wasn’t that his parting promise?
I can’t stop fighting. I won’t.
She’s the weak link.
She’s the missing piece.
She’s the only thing keeping both of them from living happily ever after. And maybe ever after won’t be forever. Maybe it will. There’s no way to know. But there’s suddenly something that scares Sam a hell of a lot more than Cooper leaving her—the thought of never having him in the first place. Never seeing him again. Never wiping that stupid smirk from his face. Never slipping that hat over her head and kissing him against the backdrop of the fading sun. The idea is so suffocating, the bathroom walls cave in, the ceiling drops, the floor lifts. She’s Alice in the shrinking house, the pressure so immense she can’t breathe.
One moment of courage is all it’ll take to get everything she wants.
One brief, beautiful moment of wild abandon.
A switch flips in the back of her mind. An idea comes to her, the same way all her best ones always have, like a bomb exploding in reverse, the messy debris fusing back together to form the perfect picture. There’s a way to save Emily’s business. To help Cooper keep his. To get her dream job and her dream man and her dream life. There’s a way to fix everything, if she’s brave enough to reach out and take it.
Sam lifts her phone. She pulls up her messages. She taps Nina’s name. A series of unanswered texts flood the screen. The ones she’s been ignoring ever since she got back from Nebraska, a silence that must’ve prompted the producer to take action by calling Emily in the first place. Because somehow that terrible, conniving, brilliant woman always seems to know exactly what Sam needs, and what she needed this time was a push.
She briefly wonders if she should run it by Cooper first, maybe tell Em, but the impulse fades. There are too many factors to work out, too many things that could go wrong. The last thing she wants to do is give either of them false hope. And as she told Cooper over the weekend, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.
Sam types her message to Nina— I figured out our final step —and hits send.
The reply is immediate. About damn time.