18. Samantha
CHAPTER 18
Samantha
T he letter felt like a brick in my hands, the words "coverage denied" stamped across the top in an unforgiving bold font. My stomach twisted as I read through the paragraphs of sterile, impersonal language explaining why the insurance company had decided my daughter’s quality of life wasn’t worth the cost of an ICD.
My grip tightened, crinkling the edges of the paper as my pulse pounded in my ears. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Sophia needed that device. She deserved it. It wasn’t optional. It was the only thing standing between her and the very real possibility that her heart could stop again just because she dared to do normal teenager activities, like run around in the sunshine.
I sucked in a breath, willing my hands to stop shaking. I didn’t have time to break down. I needed to fix this. There had to be an appeal process. A loophole. Something.
I could ask Evan. The idea flitted across my mind, uninvited and unsettling. He had money, of course—the Mercers were practically their own economy—but pride tightened around my chest like a vise.
Reaching for my phone, I scrolled past missed calls and unread emails until I found the number for the patient advocate I’d been working with. My finger hovered over the call button just as the front door swung open.
"Mom?" Sophia’s voice rang through the apartment, light and cheerful, completely unaware of the storm raging inside me.
I swallowed hard, forcing a smile as I turned to face her. Evan stood behind her, his broad frame filling the doorway. His eyes met mine, and instantly, his expression shifted—from casual to concerned.
I looked away too quickly. I knew if I let him hold my gaze, he’d see everything. The fear. The desperation. The helplessness I couldn’t afford to feel.
"Hey, sweetie," I said, pushing the letter onto the counter, out of sight. "How was school?" Evan had started picking her up after school any day he wasn’t on shift at the station. She loved every second of it.
"Good!" Sophia beamed, oblivious. "Lola helped me with my math again, and I think I actually get it now."
"That's great," I murmured, barely processing her words. “Can you grab your laundry for me?” I needed her distracted until I could get myself under control.
Evan didn’t speak right away, but I felt him watching me. He wasn’t the kind of man you could fool for long.
"Sam?" His voice was low, careful.
I busied myself grabbing a glass from the cabinet. "What?"
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," I said too quickly, too clipped. I could almost hear the way his jaw tightened at the obvious lie.
I turned to the sink, pretending to fill the glass, but in the next second, I felt the warmth of his presence just behind me.
"Talk to me," he said, quieter this time.
I hesitated, my fingers gripping the counter. He was the last person I wanted to admit this to. Because if I said it out loud, it became real. And if he offered to fix it… I wasn’t sure I could handle that, either.
I mustered every ounce of strength and spoke with a firmness I didn’t feel. “I said it’s nothing. I don’t owe you every little detail about my life, Evan.”
“This isn’t about owing me anything. You’re upset, and I—”
“You what ?” I cut in, turning to face him fully. The frustration, the fear, the sheer weight of it all finally cracked through. “You swoop in when it’s convenient? You get to decide when you care?” My voice wavered at the end, betraying me. I hadn’t meant to let that slip out.
Evan flinched, just barely, but I saw it. A flicker of something—hurt, regret, maybe even guilt—before his expression steeled over. “That’s not fair,” he said, his voice low and controlled, but not cold.
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Fair?” I shook my head. “You don’t get to come in here, acting like you suddenly have a say in my life just because you’re around now. I’ve done everything on my own for fourteen years. I don’t need you.”
A tense silence stretched between us.
“I’m not trying to take over your life,” he said finally, quieter now. “But I care about Sophia. And whether you want me to or not, I care about you.”
I sucked in a breath, my heart stumbling over itself.
Evan exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t have to do everything alone, Sam.” His voice softened, but his eyes never left mine. “You don’t .”
The fight drained out of me, leaving only exhaustion in its place. I pressed my fingers to my temple, willing the pressure in my head to ease. “It’s time for you to go home, Evan.”
Evan didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locked onto mine, steady and unreadable. “Sam—”
“I mean it.” My voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “Go home.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. For a second, I thought he might argue, might push back the way he always did. But then he exhaled sharply, nodded once, and stepped back. “Alright.”
He moved toward the door, but before he reached it, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “This isn’t over.”
Something in my chest tightened. “Evan—”
“I don’t give up that easy,” he said, his voice firmer this time. And then, without waiting for a response, he walked out. But not without saying a quick goodbye to Sophia before he did.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving behind an absence I felt far too deeply. I exhaled, pressing my fingers against my temples. I couldn’t let him bulldoze his way into my life, into my problems.
But Evan Mercer had never been the type to back down.
And, apparently, neither was I.
The next afternoon, I shrugged into my coat behind the library desk. Just a few more minutes before I could leave. I hadn’t even noticed Evan approaching until his stack of books hit the counter with a dull thud.
I startled, looking up to find him standing there, his expression somewhere between confident and unsure—like he hadn’t quite decided which way to play this yet. “Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“Just wrapping up. Sophia went to Kelly’s house after school.” I glanced down at the books he’d set down, my fingers tightening slightly on my purse strap. The Single Dad’s Survival Guide. Understanding Your Preteen. Connecting with Your Child After Lost Time.
A lump formed in my throat before I could stop it. He wasn’t just saying he wanted to be involved—he was trying. Studying, even. And for a man like Evan Mercer, who probably made every decision on instinct, that meant something.
I swallowed, forcing my voice into something light. “Light reading?”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, looking almost… sheepish. Evan Mercer, sheepish. That was new. “Yeah, well… figured I should at least try to get it right.”
Something in me cracked at the quiet vulnerability in his tone. This was the same man who had stood in my kitchen last night, pushing and prying, frustrating me to no end. And yet, here he was, not demanding but learning. And it undid me just a little.
I could have made a joke. Could have brushed it off. Instead, I just swallowed and reached for the first book, scanning it and sliding it back to him. “It’s a really good start.”
His eyes flicked to mine, something quiet in them. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I replied with a thready voice.
The tension stretched between us, heavy but not quite uncomfortable.
“I’m really sorry about last night,” he said. “You were right. You don’t owe me anything when it comes to your private life. I just… I want you to know that I’m here for you. Both of you.”
The sincerity in his voice cracked something in me, just a little. I traced the edge of the counter with my fingertips, avoiding his gaze even as my heart pounded in my chest. Both of you. It shouldn’t have made my throat tighten the way it did, shouldn’t have sent a warmth curling through me that I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay.” It was all I could manage. Not quite acceptance, not quite rejection—just a small step toward something I still didn’t know how to define.
I finished checking out his books and pushed them toward him. “Here you go. You heading out?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll walk you to your car.”
It wasn’t a question.
I hesitated, my instinct to say I didn’t need him to. But that wasn’t the point, was it? He wanted to.
So, instead, I just nodded, pulling my bag over my shoulder and heading toward the door, Evan falling into step beside me.
And for the first time in weeks, we weren’t arguing. Weren’t throwing up walls between us.
We were just… walking. Together.
"Would you tell me about Sophia when she was little?" he said suddenly, his voice carrying a warmth that melted into the surrounding silence.
The question caught me off guard, my steps faltering just slightly on the pavement outside the library.
I glanced up at him, searching his face. His expression was open—hopeful, even—but there was a hesitation in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask.
Would I tell him about Sophia when she was little?
The weight of the question settled somewhere deep in my chest.
For so long, her childhood had belonged to just me. Every late-night feeding, every scraped knee, every first word, every giggle-filled game of hide-and-seek. I’d memorized those moments, stored them away like treasures. And now… he was asking for them.
My first instinct was to keep them close. To remind him that he hadn’t been there, that he hadn’t earned them. But hadn’t I just told myself I wanted to let go of the anger?
I exhaled slowly, my breath turning to mist in the evening air.
“She hated naps,” I said finally, my voice quiet with nostalgia. “Even as a baby. I used to drive her around the block just to get her to fall asleep.”
Evan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Sounds about right.”
I smiled, just a little. “She also loved music. I’d sing the same lullaby every night, and she’d hum along—before she could even talk.”
His steps slowed. “What did you sing?”
Something in my chest tightened. “Cecelia and the Satellite,” I admitted. The song had played nonstop on the radio the year we’d gone to Florida. I could still hear it playing from the tiny Bluetooth speaker on a beach towel.
I glanced over at him, at the way his grip had tightened slightly on the books in his hand. He looked… wistful. Like he was trying to piece together a past he hadn’t been given.
“I sang her name in place of Cecelia,” I explained. The lyrics drifted through my mind and I hummed a few bars.
For all the things my eyes have seen
The best by far is you.
I froze when Evan’s voice crackled to life and he softly sang the last lines of the chorus. “ I’d keep you safe, I’d keep you dry. Don’t be afraid, Sophia, I’m the satellite. And you’re the sky. ”
And for the first time, I let myself feel it—not just the resentment, but the ache. The sadness that he hadn’t been there. I swiped at my eyes, wishing I could prevent the tears from falling.
“She took her first steps holding onto the coffee table,” I found myself saying. “Then let go and ran straight into my arms.”
Evan swallowed hard.
For a few steps, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt different—as if we’d stepped into uncharted territory and neither of us quite knew what to do with it.
"Did she ever go through a tomboy phase?" Evan asked, pulling me out of my reverie.
"Sort of," I answered, trying to steady my voice. "She was definitely more into climbing trees than playing with dolls. Always giving me mini heart attacks."
"She takes after her mom. Strong and determined."
The compliment caught me off guard, and for a split second, I wondered if his words were meant for me or just another extension of his affection for Sophia. It was a tightrope walk inside my mind, balancing between the desire to lean into this new dynamic with Evan and the instinct to keep him at arm's length. Was his growing attachment a sign of something more, or was I simply the gatekeeper to his daughter's world?
"Thank you, Evan," I said, my voice shaky with emotion. "But honestly, I think she's a lot braver than I am."
"Bravery comes in many forms, Samantha," he replied, his gaze never wavering. "And sometimes, it's a single mother doing whatever it takes for her child."
My breath caught in my throat at his words, resonating with a truth I often tried to ignore. Evan's unwavering attention told me he saw beyond the facade of the composed professional, into the depths of someone who fiercely loved her daughter but feared what opening up could mean. Could I let him in, allow those barriers to fall? Or would the act of trusting him prove to be my greatest vulnerability yet?
Then, finally, he cleared his throat. “Thanks for telling me,” he said, his voice quieter now.
I nodded, hugging my coat tighter around myself as we reached my car.
He stopped beside me, shifting his weight like he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. “I know I missed a lot,” he said. “I can’t change that. But I want to be here now.”
I hesitated, my fingers tightening on my keys.
I wanted to believe him. I really did. And yet, the doubt gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, sharp and insistent.
Of course he wanted to be here now . Now that he knew about Sophia. Now that he had a tangible reason to stay. But what if that was all it was? What if, without her, there would be no reason for him to stand outside my car, looking at me like I mattered?
I swallowed against the lump in my throat, my grip on my keys so tight the metal edges dug into my palm. “I know you do.” My voice came out softer than I intended.
His gaze searched mine, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”
I forced a smile, but it felt brittle. “It does.” And maybe that was true. Maybe it counted for a lot. But it didn’t change the fear curling in my stomach, the fear that if it weren’t for Sophia, he wouldn’t be standing here at all.
I took a small step back, needing space, needing air. “I should go.”
For a second, he looked like he might say something else, might push a little further. But then he nodded. “Yeah. Drive safe.”
I slid into my car, shutting the door between us before my resolve could waver. As I pulled away, I caught one last glimpse of him in my rearview mirror—hands on his hips, head tilted slightly, like he was still trying to figure me out.
I wished him luck. I wasn’t sure I even knew the answer myself.