4. Samantha
CHAPTER 4
Samantha
I absently stirred the pasta sauce on the stove, listening to Sophia hum to herself at the table while she tackled her homework. It was the very picture of a normal day. Except today proved, yet again, that things would no longer be normal around here.
Evan Mercer, of all people, had blown into Minden like a storm I’d never seen coming. It was bad enough that he was in town, but his library card application had revealed that he was also living practically right next door to me, in the same apartment complex. How was I supposed to keep Sophia a secret when he lived so close?
I could still feel the echo of his laughter as he stood before me earlier, winking while I processed his library card. His pickup lines, delivered with a flirtatious curve lifting the corner of his mouth. I couldn’t help the amusement that bubbled up, but I squashed it. No, I wasn't going to let his charm ripple through the calm waters I'd worked so hard to still. Even if he was just as handsome and charming as ever.
Fourteen years ago, there had been something about Evan, the way he'd wrapped me in warmth and safety, how he made me laugh until my sides hurt. I remembered the sun-kissed days and whispered promises and how easily I fell for him.
I wasn’t exactly the spring break vacation type, but my roommate had insisted. She paid for the entire hotel room and all the gas, which was the only way I would have been able to afford a trip like that. My scholarship had barely covered tuition and room and board. The dining hall food everyone complained about felt like heaven compared to the empty cabinets I’d left behind at home.
On the beach, it felt so good to let loose and pretend I was just another college girl, carefree and fun. To ignore the stress of maintaining my grades and ignoring angry text messages from my family harassing me for abandoning them.
Evan, with his broad shoulders and golden-boy smile, had been another piece of that imaginary existence. Smart, funny, charming. I was caught by his spell so quickly. He promised me forever. Looking back, I could see my naivete. Five days? And I thought he wanted forever? I was foolish.
But I wouldn’t trade the result for anything. Sophia was my life. And now, Evan's sudden presence threatened to unravel the secrets I'd held close for fourteen long years.
The Chicago trust fund frat boy might have stumbled back into my life, but there was no way I would let him disrupt the peace I'd found here—or the future I promised to protect for Sophia.
“Mom! The water!”
I jumped, grabbing the pot handle and turning down the burner, but not before a sizzling hiss of water met the stovetop. Steam curled into the air, and I winced.
“Ooops,” I muttered, reaching for a towel to wipe up the mess.
Sophia sighed dramatically from where she stood at the kitchen counter. “You okay?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at me.
I forced a smile, ignoring the knot in my stomach. “Just a long day.”
Sophia’s sharp brown eyes studied me, too wise for her fourteen years. “You’re lying to me.”
My fingers tightened around the wooden spoon as I stirred the pasta. “I don’t know what you mean. Fix the salad, would you?” Maybe giving her a job would distract her from this line of questioning.
Sophia snorted. “Fine, but I’m not dropping this.” She pulled veggies from the fridge and grabbed the salad bowl and wooden tongs. “Is it money?”
I inhaled deeply, stirring the noodles as if they held all the answers. “No, it’s not.”
Sophia hummed in a way that told me she didn’t buy it. “Uh-huh. You know, Lola said that you can sell plasma if we need to make money.”
Despite myself, I let out a soft laugh. “Well, Lola is technically right, though I won’t be doing that any time soon.”
“So what is it?”
I exhaled, my heart aching at how much she was growing up—and at the truth I was still keeping from her. “I promise I’ll tell you when it makes sense.”
Sophia rolled her eyes. “Whatever. That means you won’t.”
I smiled, ignoring the bit of attitude. I knew she was only pushing because she cared about me. I hated lying to her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth yet. I would, though. I just had to figure out how.
The sun was bright against the pale blue sky when I stepped out into the still, cool air of the parking lot the next morning. The familiar distant rattle of the train through town and the subtle rustle of leaves in the early-morning breeze promised a day like any other in Minden's quiet routine.
I dropped my bag in the passenger seat of my car and then turned the key. Instead of the engine’s confident roar, all I got were sputters and half-hearted coughs from my old sedan. A sense of frustration knotted in my stomach; today was not the day for this. I was already running late. Sophia had overslept and I barely got her on the bus on time.
"Great," I muttered, stepping out of the car to confront the stubborn machine head-on. My hands felt clumsy and uncertain as they fumbled to find the hood latch. It finally gave way with a metallic yawn, revealing the chaotic innards of my vehicle. I hated to admit I had no idea what I was looking for.
I peered into the mechanical abyss, trying to summon knowledge from a car maintenance video I'd watched years ago. But everything blurred into a conglomeration of pipes, wires, and reservoirs, none of which sparked recognition or understanding.
I felt the pressure mounting, the weight of the day's schedule pressing down on me. Being late was not an option—Mr. Henley already hated me. I was pushing for a raise, and he’d love nothing more than to blame my tardiness for my lack of career progression.
We needed that five percent bump, though. With each passing minute, I could feel the opportunity slipping through my fingers.
I stood back from the car, debating my options with my hands on my hips, when the sound of footsteps approached.
"Trouble?" His voice was like the rumble of a distant storm—calm but hinting at powerful forces beneath. I didn't have to turn around to know it was Evan; his presence seemed to charge the air.
Because I couldn’t resist the pull, I glanced over my shoulder, taking in the sight of him—still clad in his MRFD T-shirt, tucked neatly into his dark blue pants.
"Car won't start," I replied curtly, my pride flaring up like a match struck against a rough surface. "And I'm perfectly capable of handling it."
"Of course you are." Evan's words were gentle, no trace of condescension. He stopped beside me, gazing down at the open hood with an assessing eye. "I just got off a twenty-four-hour shift, so I can either continue on to my apartment, which is apparently quite close to yours…" There was a pause, a moment of unspoken negotiation. "Or, you can let me check on your car.”
I hesitated, caught between the need for punctuality and the stubbornness that had become my shield. With a reluctant nod, I stepped aside, granting him access to the engine.
“On one condition: you listen while I talk,” he said with a smirk.
I narrowed my eyes. “Talk about what?”
Evan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned over the engine, inspecting wires and connections as if he had all the time in the world. His T-shirt stretched across his back, highlighting the strength beneath, and for a split second, I hated that I noticed. Hated that even after all these years, my body still reacted to him before my brain could remind me why I shouldn’t.
I checked my watch, tapping my foot against the pavement. “Evan—”
“Relax,” he murmured, tightening something near the battery. “I know you’re in a hurry. Just hear me out.”
I crossed my arms, bracing myself. “Fine. Say whatever it is you think I need to hear.”
He exhaled, like he’d expected me to fight him on this. “Back in Florida—”
My stomach twisted. “Please don’t.”
Evan paused, glancing at me. “Samantha.” His voice softened in a way that made my throat tighten. “That week… it wasn’t nothing to me. I looked for you, you know," Evan said quietly, his gaze not meeting mine. "After that week... after everything went down."
“You looked for me,” I repeated, not comprehending.
“I needed to know you were okay, to apologize for leaving things... unresolved."
"Unresolved," I repeated, tasting the bitterness of the word. The past was a Pandora's box, and he was prying it open with every sincere syllable.
"I know you don’t want to hear this," he continued, finally looking up at me. Those kind eyes searched mine, seeking forgiveness or understanding—I couldn't tell which. "But I needed to say it. To face the fact that I—"
"Left," I interrupted, my voice steadier than I felt. "You left without a word."
A pained expression flitted across his face, acknowledging the accusation. "I did. And I've regretted it every day since."
My heart fought a battle against the walls I'd meticulously constructed. How easy it would be to let him see the waves his reappearance had caused, to let him in on the secret that had shaped my life for fourteen years. Yet I couldn't—wouldn't dismantle the fortress protecting my daughter's world.
"Regret doesn't change the past," I said, my tone clipped, more a defense mechanism than conviction. Each word was a brick laid atop the last, keeping the truth buried deep.
"Doesn't mean we can't learn from it, try to make things right," he countered, his resilience evident even as he reached for another wire, his focus shifting back to the task at hand.
"Sometimes things are better left alone," I whispered, not sure if I meant to convince him or myself. I watched as he worked, his movements deft and purposeful, yet beneath his calm exterior I sensed the same tumult that churned within me.
I gritted my teeth. “It was fourteen years ago.” My heart pounded painfully. I wanted to ask how hard he’d really looked, to tell him he’d obviously given up too fast. “When?”
“What?”
“When did you look for me?”
His jaw clenched as he ducked into the driver’s seat. “A few months later,” he admitted. “But I was–”
“It’s fine,” I dismissed his excuses. A few months before he bothered trying to find me? By then, I was trying to hide my baby bump under hoodies during the summer semester.
The engine sputtered as he turned the key again, then it roared to life.
Evan stepped back out, wiping his hands on his pants. “Loose connection. Should be good for now, but you might want to get it checked out.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”
He studied me, his gaze searching. “I’m not going anywhere this time, Samantha.”
My fingers tightened on the door handle. “I don’t need you to stay.”
His jaw flexed, but he just stepped back. “Drive safe.”
I nodded sharply, sliding into the car. I slammed the door shut, sealing myself off from his presence, his help, his past. I didn't dare glance in the rearview mirror as I drove away; the sight of him might unravel the thin threads holding me together.
The drive was a blur, my focus fragmented by the whirlwind of emotions that swirled within. Anger, fear, longing—each vying for the lead in my chaotic thoughts. And beneath it all, the steady drumbeat of my primary purpose: to protect Sophia at all costs.
Parking outside the library, the building's familiar facade offered no solace today. I sat for a moment, hands resting lifelessly on the steering wheel. The weight of secrets pressed down on me like the heavy Midwestern humidity that would build throughout the day.
Fourteen years of carefully constructed walls, fourteen years of guarding the truth with a ferocity born of necessity. And now, Evan Mercer, with his kind eyes and calloused hands, threatened to bring it all crashing down.