Chapter seventeen
The Level, Canary Wharf
Connor
Russell had been in the hospital for a week when Dr. Rivera decided he could return home.
The time spent inside seemed extreme, but with the events that led up to his admission, his not being here had been a welcome relief.
Samantha is off work today, and we’ll go to Varley Medical together to bring him back to The Level.
She was unsure when I suggested we do this, but as this situation will be our new standard for a while, we need to try to normalize it as much as possible.
I truly believe the only way to get this girl is to allow her the space to choose me.
If life has taught me anything, it’s that when you push so hard the image becomes blurred, you often lose what you want.
In any aspect, when you start to hold too tight, people automatically pull away.
It’s a defense mechanism. We as humans are prey, so when we feel threatened, our instinct is to run.
The last thing in this world I want is Samantha to run from me, so if giving her this time to consider what she desires means she will be mine in the end, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
The morning after Russell fell from the roof, I sat at my kitchen counter with my coffee and considered everything that had happened, both the night before and in the months previous to it.
I’d missed all the red flags. My brother is someone I know possibly even better than myself; it hadn’t gone unnoticed that he was acting different.
The time gaps where I didn’t know where he was, I accept now—I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know.
There was a relief in learning his interest in Samantha was an obsession that hadn’t gone beyond him watching and her enjoying the attention.
Strangely, it had shown a sort of respect for me, which I didn’t expect.
It was like they were feeding a need without acting on it.
Taking what they could, while not overstepping an invisible line.
That morning, my apartment was empty without her.
She had been spending more time in my home, and I was becoming used to the company—the familiarity of having her here either waiting for me when I returned from the office, or her slipping into my bed in the middle of the night.
I’d questioned how I wanted to tackle the revelations of her and my brother.
Did I want to draw a line and move on? Did I want to walk away but demand they stay apart?
Or did I cut ties with my brother and her?
Every option that flitted through my mind seemed wrong.
Each situation was one I couldn’t see myself living.
As hurt as I was that she could want someone other than me, my need for her was greater.
I had to find an alternative solution. One which meant I could keep her, but not trap her.
One where I didn’t ultimately lose my best friend, the man who has protected me his whole life.
The man I truly want to see happier than anyone in the world.
The sad reality is that I had to accept that what could make him happy is also the one thing essential to me: Samantha.
***
Damon had appeared unexpectedly the morning after Russell fell, knocking at ten a.m. When I opened the door, he gave me a sympathetic smile and then asked to come in.
I stayed mute but allowed him entry in answer, and he stepped into my home.
We wandered through to the living space, and I fired up the coffee machine as he took a seat at my table opposite where my own mug sat.
“How are you?” he asked simply. I didn’t answer immediately, focused on my task of pulling a mug and the necessary items from the cupboard. Even though I didn’t meet his gaze, I knew he was staring at me with intense eyes, willing me to speak.
“Confused,” I said eventually.
“That’s understandable.” I braved a glance in his direction.
I’d expected to see pity, but all that was apparent on his features was concern.
My friend, who was dealing with his own struggles in his relationship, had shown up today for me because he was troubled over how last night transpired.
“I would imagine the whole fiasco would be a shock.”
I laughed out loud, and he raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“Understatement of the century,” I told him.
The coffee machine signaled it was ready to use, and I placed the mug under the tap.
The hot, dark beverage spilled into the cup, and the rich aroma filled my nostrils.
I breathed deeply, enjoying the simple pleasure.
After it was done, I lifted the mug and the plate with sugar, milk, and a small biscuit I’d prepared.
I never used to have biscuits in the house, but Samantha loves a little treat with her hot drinks.
They became a necessary purchase on my shopping list.
The doubt flickered again, the hurt that she might not want me. And how much I’d miss her if it ended here.
I moved to the table, placing Damon’s drink in front of him then returning to my seat.
My half-drunk coffee sat where I left it, and I wrapped my fingers around the handle but didn’t take a sip.
We sat in silence for a few minutes as he added the sugar and milk, then stirred his drink with the small silver spoon I left on the plate.
Although I consider Damon a friend, and a close one—he is a man I trust with my life—our relationship has always been more toward business than friendship.
He’s much closer with Harrison than Russell or myself, which isn’t surprising considering I’ve always had my brother to lean on. It made me wonder why he was here.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” I said, trying to open up some dialogue. “I’d have thought you’d be at home with Annie.”
“Mrs. D is on babysitting duty,” he replied.
“Annie hasn’t been sleeping as well since…”
He paused, and his eyes dropped to the biscuit he was now unwrapping.
He looked to compose himself by taking a deep breath before continuing with what he was going to say.
“Annie hasn’t slept well these past months since Emma left. Mrs. D told me not to come home too early and risk waking her. So I slept in Harrison’s spare room.”
“Did you get any sleep in that mad house?” I asked with a chuckle. My niece, Evie, doesn’t sleep at all. My sister is forever complaining about being exhausted.
“Very little, but at least it's not my baby that kept me up.” He sighed. “I should be going home to a smiley little girl, at least. She’s a fiend after a bad night. Who knew a one-year-old could be so testing.”
“I am pretty sure testing their parents is in the contract when they’re born.”
The conversation continued loosely around the children for a while—his daughter and my little niece, who came into our lives a matter of weeks ago and whom we’re all crazy about. It was relaxing speaking to someone who knew the situation I am in but wasn’t tightly connected to the confusion.
“How are you really?” he said, taking the opportunity to bring the focus to me during a lull in our conversation.
“I told you, confused.”
“Last night you were ending things,” he said, and I shrugged. “Is that what you want? Do you feel cheated?” I shook my head. Of all the things I felt, the last of them was cheated in any way. At the end of the day, it was me who had experienced Samantha fully, not my brother.
“I lashed out. I panicked.”
He picked up his mug and drank deep before placing it back down on the table.
“I can offer you some sort of explanation,” he suggested, surprising me. “Well, not an explanation per se, but perhaps a different perspective on what’s happened.”
“Please do.” I sat back in my chair, interested in what he had to say. A pep talk hadn’t been something I was expecting when he appeared. I assumed he’d been sent to check on me by my sister; now it seemed he was here under his own steam.
“It’s possible to care about and be in love with two people at the same time.” The statement was candid and to the point. Internally, I winced with the directness. The harsh reality that love isn’t always like in the storybooks. “I am.”
“With all due respect, it’s not the same situation.”
“No, but there are similarities. But because I’m an idiot, I’ve ended up on my own. Emma left because I refused to let go of the past. Actions and reactions always have consequences. In my situation, I was the one in the middle between a future I could have and the past I once had.
I acted irrationally, struggling with the guilt and morality of it all.”
“Do you not think you could fix things with Emma?”
He sighed, his chest rising and falling in defeat.
The stubbornness that got him here showed through the cracks.
“I doubt she would want to. What I am saying is, Samantha was devastated last night with both the thought of hurting you, and losing you. She cares, Connor, a lot. And I heard you tell her you love her. Those words weren’t said frivolously. Don’t let a snap decision risk what you have.
Don’t make the same mistake I have. It’s a lonely place to be.”
“What if she leaves? What if she chooses him?”
The real fear surfaced again, the idea that she would prefer my brother over me.
The niggling worry that Russell will be able to provide what she needs more than I can, that in some way they’re more suited.
My self-doubt screams at me to end it now and not leave myself open to the devastation of being the one not chosen.
“Then you will know she isn’t the right girl for you.”
He finished his drink and rose from his chair.
“All I am saying is, investigate every avenue before you throw away what could be. Have the conversation.”
He walked around my table, and I stood to face him.
His hand shot out and grabbed mine, shaking it firmly, before he pulled me into a hug.
“You’re one of the most genuine men I know. You deserve happiness but that doesn’t come with an instruction manual. If you suspect this girl is the one, do what you can to keep her.”
***
Another knock at the door interrupts the memory of my conversation with Damon and, ultimately, why I decided to suggest Samantha see both of us.
I walk over and open it to find her on the other side.
We haven’t spent much time together this week; she’s stayed in her apartment while I stayed in mine.
Apart from brief messages and catching up for coffee one day, I haven’t seen her since the discussion in Russell’s hospital room.
“Hi,” she says, her cheeks turning the most stunning shade of pink.
“You’re early.” Her face falls at my reaction, and I chastise myself for being an ass.
“I can go. We could meet at the hospital.” She moves to turn away, and I reach for her hand. Our fingers connect, and she stills but doesn’t look at me. The pain those two simple words inflicted emanates from her. She’s taken my statement as a rejection.
“No, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it to be you. You have a key, why didn’t you use it?”
Her head pivots in my direction, causing the blonde hair I love wrapped in my fingers to sway.
Dressed simply in jeans and a long-sleeved red top, she’s every inch the girl next door—the woman I could see spending my life with.
A delicate hand slips into her pocket and pulls out my key; she offers it to me.
“I’m not sure it’s appropriate that I have access to your home,” she says sadly. “After everything I’ve done, you have every right to draw back or away completely.”
“I meant what I said,” I tell her. “I want this to work, but I won’t beg you to be with me. You have to make that decision on your own.”
I wrap my hand around hers, and in this moment, it feels as though the key that she’s holding is the key to my heart as well.
I squeeze her fingers closed so her skin encases the cool metal.
“Keep it. I want you to be here when you want to be.”
We stand on either side of the threshold to my home, my hand holding hers and a key that signifies what could be between us.
Only a week ago, our relationship was incredibly simple in my eyes, and moving forward in a way I expect it does for those who live normal lives.
Now, we’re navigating something completely different, neither of us knowing fully where this will end up.
“I’ve missed you,” she says, shyly.
“I’ve missed you too.” My fingers tighten, and I pull her to me, holding her against my chest. She wraps her arms around my back and begins to cry, low, soft sobs as she buries her face into my shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasps out as she comes up for breath.
“This insanity doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I don’t want you thinking that.”
I place my hands on her shoulders, pushing so I can look down at the woman who holds my heart in her hands, and I try with all my might to smile. Her pain is something I can't bear.
“Sam, I may not understand what you feel, because the way I feel about you leaves no room for someone else.”
She bites her lip nervously, but I need to be honest.
“What I’ve suggested is a temporary measure. This is me giving you a chance to explore what you want. It isn’t permission for you to sample any desire for years to come.”
“I would never…”
I lift a finger to her lips to stop her from speaking.
“Perhaps not, but the only reason I ever suggested this was because I love you, and I want you to be mine forever. I love my brother too, and if you’re meant for him, then I want you both to be happy.”
I pull her to me again, resting my chin on the top of her head.
“But as much as I love him, I hope your heart lands firmly with me.”
She starts to cry again, and I maneuver her into my apartment, still holding her to me before sitting on the sofa beside her. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and she leans in against my chest.
“How do you see this working?” she asks, not looking at me. She moves to sit forward on her chair, placing her hands on her knees and playing with the material of her jeans. There’s a small rip. She pulls at the threads viciously, tugging until the gap widens.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I hope we will find some kind of natural rhythm. That our relationship will continue to move forward while you explore what you think is missing.”
I place my hand on the small of her back, and she breathes deep, her body expanding and contracting.
The bones of her spine protrude through her top, and I note she’s lost weight in this past week.
“I never said our relationship was missing anything,” she mumbles into her fingers.
“Perhaps not in our relationship, but in your life, maybe.” She sits up leaning against my palm, and I drum on her back in an attempt to console her. “Sam, I don’t need anything but you. But we’re all different, and you have to find what you need.”
“I want you,” she tells me, turning to face me and then climbing up onto my lap. Her lips crash into mine as the tears that have continued to fall wet my cheeks. Her hands move to my hair, pulling me to her as she explores my mouth. “I’ve missed this so fucking much.”
“Me too,” I whisper against wet salty lips. “Me too.” Now, I need to pray she wants me enough to stay once all the options are on the table.