by Elodie Colt
“And Mom?”
“Yes?”
I drag my lip through my teeth. “Thank you.”
“No need, honey. Talk to you soon.”
The line goes dead, and I press the button three times to be able to take the next call. God, I can’t wait to get myself a new phone with an intact screen.
“Samantha Kent, hello?”
“Hello, Ms. Kent, this is Sofia Castillo speaking,” comes a warm, slightly accented voice through the speaker. Her name doesn’t ring a bell. “I am Matthew Mallory’s assistant. Do you have a minute?”
Her tone is apprehensive and awfully tense in a way that makes me straighten in alert. A hundred scenarios start to play in my mind. This woman calling me can only mean one thing—something happened. Something bad. Please, don’t tell me he was so plastered, he drove his truck into a tree.
“Uh, yes, sure. What can I do for you, Ms. Castillo?”
A shaky sigh escapes her. I can hear she’s trying hard to suppress a sob. “I’m calling you to let you know that Matthew’s father passed away two days ago.”
She pauses to let me process the news. I sag back in my chair, pressing the palm of my hand into my eye. “Oh my God, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry. How is he?”
“Bad. It’s not that he didn’t know his father’s days were numbered, but to be honest, his death hit him harder than expected.”
Tears well up behind my eyelids. What must he be going through now? He lost everything. His father, his plantation, me…
“Ms. Kent, I—”
“Please, call me Sam.”
The faintest smile wavers in her voice when she goes on. “Sam, then. This might sound strange, but I was hoping for your help. Matthew hasn’t been the same since he came back. He’s been working his ass off day and night and hasn’t touched one drop of alcohol, but he’s shut down to the point I fear he will never be the same. Harry’s death crushed him. He hasn’t spoken one word since Saturday, nor has he eaten anything. He even slept on the plantation the last two nights. I can’t get through to him. He’s fallen into a deep, dark hole, and I don’t know how to get him out.”
She’s full-blown crying now, her sobs shooting through the speaker and straight into my heart. A rustle resounds as she wipes her nose with a tissue.
“Matthew doesn’t know about this call,” she croaks. “He hasn’t even told me your name. I found letters in his trash addressed to you. He never finished them but started every single one with the words ‘I love you.’”
Now, I’m crying, too, wiping my tears with the hem of my shirt.
“Sam, I could tell you what he wrote in those letters, but it’s not my place, and I hope you will give the boy a chance to tell you in person. Hear him out, that’s all I ask of you. I don’t know what happened between you two, but believe me when I say, he has never felt that way for anyone. And I know in my heart that you are the only one who can save him.”
I don’t need to hear him out. I don’t need any more apologies. I don’t need any more fucking words.
I just need him. In my arms, in my skin, in my soul.
“Send me the address.” I launch to my feet and grab my bag. “I’m on my way.”
Twenty-Six
Samantha
The drive to Tampa takes me four nerve-wracking hours. A van slammed into the guard rail on the interstate and caused a five-mile traffic jam. I spend ninety percent of the time cursing behind the windshield like a maniac and punching the steering wheel to the point I’m sure to suffer a sore hand tomorrow.
While I wait for the millions of cars to crawl into motion, Mom shoots me a string of texts telling me that she’s sorry she wasn’t there for me all this time, and that she hopes we can meet at least twice a year from now on. The kissing emojis at the end place a smile onto my face I desperately need. I make a mental note to ask Matthew if he wants to visit Kenya this summer.
Assuming he hasn’t written you off yet.
But if I can trust Sofia’s words, there’s still hope for us.
I spot Matthew’s turquoise pick-up before my navigation app announces in a robotic voice that I’ve reached my destination. It stands in front of a huge, timeless, ranch style house, boasting freshly painted shutters and a cozy farm charm.
A small, olive-skinned woman wearing a red polka-dot blouse, a blue apron on her waist, and a thick mop of dark hair scuttles in my direction the moment I slide my Chevy next to Matthew’s truck.
“Sam?” she asks when I step out.
“Sofia,” I say in a way of greeting.
She sends me a rueful smile that lifts the glasses resting on her nose before she pulls me into a hug. This woman is a stranger, yet our embrace is far from awkward, more like some sort of bonding-over-our-pain thing we both need at the moment.
She breaks away after a soft squeeze, her hands on my shoulders as she gives my face, loose-flowing shirt, and yellow miniskirt a quick once-over.
“Now, would you look at that. Such a pretty girl. He always had a thing for blondes,” she adds with a wink and flicks away a flying strand of hair from my cheek.
I blush, giving her a coy smile before my expression sobers. “Where is he?”
She drops her hands and motions for me to follow her. The scent of oranges permeates the late afternoon air, and I tag along in my sandals as Sofia leads me past the ranch house to the first rows of trees that I’d already spotted in my car from half a mile away.
“Wow, this is amazing.”
My steps slow down as I take in the breathtaking scenery unfolding in front of me. Sofia pats my shoulder as she watches me skimming my wide-eyed gaze over the fields of crops branching down a shallow hill.
“Get ready for a long walk,” Sofia informs me with the hint of a smile and produces a small bottle from her apron of what I assume is freshly pressed orange juice. “You’ll find him at the far end where you have the best view of the sunset.”
I take the bottle. “Thank you.”
She clasps her hands, watching me as I set out to cross the land and follow the straight path in between two endless, neatly aligned rows of fruit-laden trees. I pass a barn, spotting seeders, harvesters, and all other kinds of farm machinery through a pair of wide, open double doors. The setting sun fires golden streaks through the trees’ canopy, creating a picturesque landscape of glowing oranges and glittering leaves. I take deep, calculated breaths with every step made on the plowed soil, letting the sweet scent of unpolluted country air, citrus fruits, and wildflowers calm my senses.
After about half an hour of roaming the plantation and emptying my bottle of juice, a barbed-wire fence comes into view, marking the eastern end of the land and separating it from a pasturage that shows nothing but a vast space of brownish-green grass. The scenery is so idyllic, with the sun setting on the horizon until only half of the glowing orb is visible, tears spring into my eyes.
Taking a shaky breath, I turn my head left and right before I spot a lone figure slumped against a tree trunk, chewing on a blade of grass. I approach him with slow steps, following his gaze to something in his hand sparkling in the sunlight. Oblivious to me coming up from behind him, he lifts his head to glance up at the leaves fluttering above him.
“Do you think she will ever forgive me?” he asks his tree, his voice so wistful, the breath hitches in my throat. “No, she won’t. I failed her.”
“You haven’t failed me.”
His head whirls around, and the sparkling thing drops from his hand.
“S-Sam?” His voice is thick with disbelief as he hurries to pick up the object that landed on the blanket he’s sitting on. He quickly tucks it into his jeans pocket, but not before I catch the blue stones glittering on the jewel.
His mother’s engagement ring.
I pull my gaze up to him. Streaks of dust and soil dot his gray flannel shirt, and his beard is an inch longer than last time. He gapes at me as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m real or not, a pair of puffy, hazel eyes riveted o
n me.
He’s been crying.
And I haven’t been there for him when he needed me the most.
I cut the distance between us, drop my bag, and skid to my knees to pull him into a hug. It only takes him a second to get over the initial shock of my touch, and his arms come up to hold me.
“Sam…” he whispers into my ear, gripping me tighter and pulling me into his lap so I have to straddle his hips.
He buries his head in my neck, breathing me in and keeping me flush against him. Wet drops trickle down my collarbone as he lets his tears flow in silence, all the while holding me in a solid embrace with one arm across my back and the other attached to my nape.
We take our time basking in this moment of peace, and I stroke his hair, keeping him close, too. How I ever found the strength to let this man go and carve out my heart is beyond me.
You never let him go. That’s why you ran back to him.
After a deep breath, he pulls back a little, moving his hands up to hold my cheeks and roam my face with a fierce look that pokes the deepest spot in my soul. I know he’s been through hell lately, but this stern, austere expression is new to me. No digs, no pick-up lines, no brash grins, no hazy eyes—just undiluted sobriety.
He meant it when he said he loved you. Every word. That damn look says it all.
I start to fidget under his scrutiny and decide to take a more cheerful route. “Sofia wasn’t kidding when she said it was going to be a long walk down here.” I point to my strappy sandals. “If I’d known I was going on a hike through your plantation, I would have worn boots.”
His lips curl up at the corners to offer me a quivery smile. “Why didn’t you call me? I had no idea you were coming to Tampa.”
I fiddle with my earring. “Me neither. Well, until a few hours ago. Sofia contacted me.” I let the information sink in for a moment, watching as he seems to wonder how Sofia even knew who I was. “She told me about your dad… I’m so sorry, Matthew.”
His chin trembles before he bestows a lingering kiss on my forehead, but he pulls back with a frown, dropping his hands. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to drive all the way up here to tell me this,” he says with an edge to his voice.
For a painful second, I interpret his undertone as irritation for my being here before I realize it’s disappointment. A tang of chagrin stemming from the (not unfounded) belief that I just came here as a friend.
I follow the healed cut trailing down his ear with my forefinger.
“That day you came to me to ask for my forgiveness. Now, I come to you to ask for yours.” I clear my throat. “I know that thing between Jillian and you was never real. She dropped by earlier today to set things straight, and we’ve talked it out. I’m sorry I kicked you out that day. I’m sorry for not accepting your apology for that stupid picture. I mean, it’s just a picture, right?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a hand to silence him.
“That day you came to me to tell me you loved me. Now, I come to you to tell you I love you, too.”
Hope twinkles in his eyes, but I don’t let his puppy look deter my profound speech.
I huff. “Christ, why do you think I’ve been pushing you away for so long? Yes, Jillian was an issue, but for the most part, I wanted to protect my heart. I knew it was too easy to fall for you. I knew that one kiss from you had the power to destroy me, and—”
He yanks my head down and crashes his lips on mine with enough force to rattle my skull, but even if he’d shattered every one of my teeth, I would have sucked in his tongue just the same. The only reason I rip my mouth away is my need for oxygen, and I shudder in a breath.
“Destroy like that?” he asks with a mischievous grin. And the cocky Matthew I know is back.
I pout. “I wasn’t finished.”
“What else did you want to say?”
“I forgot.”
“Too bad.” He flings another grin at me, one that slightly wavers when he adds, “Does that mean you’ll take me back?”
“Depends.” I snake my arms around his neck. “Will you stop taking dirty pictures of me?”
“Fuck, no,” he says with mock surprise. “The last two weeks without that one picture of you were pure torture. I had to pull it up from memory to jack off, can you believe that?”
His blunt words make me bite my lip. “You jacked off to it?”
He blinks at me for a moment before he scoffs with a head shake. “Totally clueless… Sam, in case I haven’t made it abundantly clear yet, let me set this straight. Since that day in the thrift store, there was only one woman on my mind—you. Twenty-four seven. You are the first thing that pops into my head when I wake up, and the last thing I dream about when I fall asleep. So, if you think I ever came in my hand without a naughty fantasy of you, you’re deadly mistaken.”
“Good.” I jut out my chin, trying to appear taller despite the overall feeling of turning into goo in his lap. “Then you can take as many pictures of me as you want from now on.”
A buzz of pleasure shoots up my body when his cock jerks to attention underneath his jeans, nudging my thigh, but I scoot back a little, giving him room. For the first time, we’re completely honest with each other, and I want to use the chance to get every barrier between us out of the way. A growl of protest comes from his throat, but he allows me the movement and adjusts the blanket beneath him so the pebbles don’t poke my knees.
“I’ve got some news, by the way.”
He squeezes my hips. “What?”
“I signed a deal with a publisher.”
His eyes widen, just like his grin. “For real? Damn, sweetheart, congratulations.” He plants a kiss onto my cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”
I nod, but my reluctant smile makes him furrow his eyebrows.
“Why the sad face? I thought this was what you wanted.”
“It is, but… I find it hard to jump for joy when you’re on the verge of losing your plantation…”
Now, it’s my turn to frown when he cracks a smile.
“The plantation is safe. I have enough money to buy new trees and make ends meet until they produce fruit.”
“You do? How come?”
“A gift from Christina. No strings or shady deals this time, don’t worry,” he adds when my eyes grow large in horror. “Just a donation.”
“Wow, you must have made quite an impression.”
He shrugs. “What can I say, I’m a pretty boy.”
“You’d be prettier without dirt on your face.” Chuckling, I wipe a brown streak from his forehead. “Did you really sleep here for the last two days?”
Circling his thumbs over my thighs, he averts his gaze for a moment. “Do you know what Dad said to me an hour before he died?” The question hovers in the calm summer air before his eyes find mine again. “He said he had to leave. To follow the trees until he reached the end where the sun sets. I thought it was just the usual nonsense he babbled all day, but then he…” A hard swallow bobbles his Adam’s apple, and I grip his hands, pushing back tears.
“Anyway,” he goes on after a sigh, “it helped me get a clear head being out here. I called Tegan yesterday, my sister. We had a great chat. She’ll arrive here a day before the funeral, so we can catch up and stuff.”
“That’s nice. Will your mother come, too?”
He snorts. “No. In fact, Tegan told me Mom ran off with a twenty-something lover to live on some unpronounceable island two years ago, which is a weird relief, actually.”
I stay quiet when his eyes take on a far-away look, giving him a moment to get his thoughts in order. When his attention veers back to me, I nod to the empty bottles of water lying in a heap next to him.
“Sofia told me you quit drinking.”
His expression sobers as he follows my gaze. “Haven’t touched a drop since the day I left West Palm Beach.”
“How are you coping?”
He shrugs, but I can tell he’s downplaying in my favor. To be honest, I�
��m surprised he hasn’t caved after the death of his father and all the other shit he has to deal with right now. Not sure if I would have the strength to stay sober if our roles were switched. That day Jillian dropped the picture-bomb and the proposal-grenade right after, I wanted to drink myself into a coma.
“It’s okay.” I place my hands on his cheeks, turning his head back to me. “Whenever the urge overcomes you, you come to me, and I’ll give you a kiss. How does that sound?”
Something rumbles in the back of his throat. “Right now, the urge is unbearable, so please give me a damn kiss before I combust.”
He leans in with pursed lips, but I tease him with a smirk, retreating an inch. Squinting his eyes, he makes a snapping motion with his teeth before he yanks my head down, fusing our mouths.
Things get heated within seconds, and he scrunches up my skirt with hasty movements, pulling me closer. I move my hands down to get to his jeans. The button pops open easily with the pressure building in his boxers before his hard length springs into my hand.
At the same time, his fingers wander to the damp spot that is my thong, eager to touch my most sensitive nerves. Instead of shoving the lacy piece to the side, he just tears it in two with a hard yank. I yelp into his mouth, sensing his smirk as he lifts me and plunges into me so hard, every bone in my body arcs until my ligaments are about to snap.
I wait for him to move, but instead, he waits for me to open my eyes, and when I do, his hungry gaze sets me alight.
“I love you, Samantha Kent.” His voice is an octave deeper now, thick with emotion and a passion that rivals my own.
I know he won’t continue until I say what he wants to hear, so I lean in until he can feel the movements of my lips as they shape the words.
“And I love you, Matthew Mallory.”
With those confessions finally out in the open, we make up for lost time, lost words, and lost touches. The last sun rays of the day caress my back, bathing us in more heat. Nothing is dirty at this moment. Everything is pure, raw, real.
“Close your eyes,” he hums, but I don’t question his odd request. Everything is so intense, my mind can’t keep up with the sensations rocketing sky-high inside me, and my eyes slide closed on their own.