Samson

by Marie James

  She can’t be gone. She was a vibrant, constant piece of my life. The world is dimmer without her.

  I don’t realize a sob escapes from my throat until I feel my father’s hand rest on top of mine as they tangle in my lap. His eyes are wet with unshed tears, and I don’t have the words for him. He doesn’t seem to have the words for me either. He just nods his head an inch and turns his attention back to Mr. Troughton to discuss pallbearers.

  Dad stumbles on this one, and it hits me that we don’t have a family. There was me, Mom, and Dad. That’s it. I’m an only child, and so were both of them. My grandparents on both sides have been gone for years.

  “I’ll get back to you on that,” he assures the funeral director, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

  When his phone rings for the umpteenth time, Dad hands his phone over to me. After excusing myself, I step into the hall and answer.

  While on the phone with a doctor from the hospital thanking him for his condolences and assuring him we’ll let everyone know the service details when we have them, I realize I have no idea where my own phone is. It’s all for the best anyhow since I know Samson has probably called a dozen times. One of the calls I fielded earlier was from Jaxon Donovan, Samson’s dad. My lover wasn’t mentioned, and it shocked me enough to wonder if Samson has even mentioned me to his family outside of the people we went to Colorado Springs with. I hadn’t told my parents about dating him.

  Another sob catches in my throat remembering our lazy day together yesterday and the way he watched me get into my Jeep to head to work for the evening. He was so attentive and full of hope.

  Three hours later, my mother would be dead, and so would be the hopes of having anything real with him. I haven’t prioritized my life. I’ve let a man with strong thighs and a wicked smile distract me from what’s the most important in my life.

  My sobs come freely now. Losing him and losing my mother at the same time is too much to bear.

  But staying with him is an impossibility, a reminder that I chose him over my mother.

  Dad’s phone rings again, but I don’t have the strength to answer it or any others for that matter. Switching the phone to silent, I let my weight drag me down the wall I’m standing against and sink to the floor. That’s exactly where Dad finds me sometime later.

  “We’re pick—” His words are stuck in his throat, and when he coughs to clear it, he sounds like the devastated man he is. “Caskets. We have to pick a casket.”

  I nod, dashing the tears from my face before looking up. Guilt keeps me from looking him in the eye as he helps me stand. His hand trembles, as does mine, while we follow Mr. Troughton through a door to a large room filled with open caskets on display. I grip him back when his hand flexes in mine.

  I can’t even picture it. My mind won’t allow thoughts of my mother in one of these boxes, no matter how shiny and luxurious Mr. Troughton describes them.

  “She wants—wanted something simple,” Dad reminds him as he pushes us to take a look at one he calls a deluxe model.

  “This one matches the color of her eyes,” I tell Dad, pointing to a mahogany casket trimmed in brushed metallic handles. “I’m sorry.”

  I release his hand and walk quickly out of the room. Matching her eyes is pointless. They no longer see. They can no longer shine bright when opening presents at Christmas or shed tears when a sappy commercial comes on the TV. She can no longer smile at me when I do something that makes her proud.

  She’s gone. She’s no longer around. She left our world with my dinner rejection as the last time we spoke. Our conversation has been on repeat in my head, but each time I will the memory to change, it doesn’t.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  My father finds me pacing in the open area of the funeral home, and once again, I can’t meet his eyes. I deserted him, left him to fend for himself while picking out the enclosure we’ll lay my mother to rest in. He deserves better. She deserved better from me than what she got.

  “I got the one you liked.”

  He clears his throat again before giving my hand a final squeeze. Then he walks out of the funeral home with his back straight and his head held high. I know the strength it has to take for him to do that. I know he wants to crumble to the ground and let the earth swallow him whole, but he won’t. He can’t because, after my mother, I’m his priority. He has to be strong when I can’t be.

  After a quick stop in the restroom to wash my face, I do just as my father did. I straighten my back and walk out of the funeral home, trying and failing to be strong. I cry mostly silent tears on the way home, keeping my head down and angled to the door while Dad drives. I’m so weak, and I hate myself for it.

  “Do you want me to stop anywhere to get something to eat?”

  “We have those casseroles at the house,” I remind him.

  The humorless chuckle that he releases forces my head up.

  “That’s something your mom would say.” I’m awarded a quick smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before he’s focusing back on the road.

  “Anna is coming over this afternoon. I told her she didn’t have to, but she insisted.” He continues making small talk as he drives. I think it helps him, and he’s the only thing that matters, so I nod as he speaks.

  “She can help find storage for all the food.”

  Anna is—was my mom’s best friend. She lost her husband four years ago after a brutal battle with cancer.

  “She said family needs to stick together.”

  Another wave of guilt hits me. Anna and Timothy were fixtures in our house when I was growing up, as we were in theirs. They’re also Rocco Benelli’s parents. We’re pulling up to the house as I’m beating myself up for being a horrible daughter and a horrible friend. I can’t imagine what it was like for Rocco to lose his dad and not be able to tell him goodbye.

  “I think you have a visitor.” Dad angles his head to the front door where Samson is sitting on the front step.

  “Can you tell him to leave? I don’t want to see him.”

  “Now isn’t the time to close yourself off, Camryn. Plus, word around the hospital is that you guys are pretty serious.” He gives me another half-hearted smile before climbing out of the car.

  I couldn’t even be bothered to tell my mom and dad about my relationship. They had to hear it from people at work. I’d ask if this day could get any worse, but I’m fearful of a well-aimed lightning strike.

  I pause a few feet back while Samson shakes my father’s hand and tells him he’s sorry for his loss. My dad gives him a quick nod before disappearing into the house.

  “Baby, come here.” His arms are open wide, but I don’t move a muscle. If I end up in his arms, I may not have the strength to walk away from him.

  He doesn’t let me stand there and debate my choice. He closes the distance and wraps himself around me.

  Chapter 35

  Samson

  The sight of her red puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks nearly bring me to my knees. I’m splayed open when she refuses to walk into my arms. I don’t know what to say, or how to make this better, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do anything and everything in my power until I do.

  She’s stiff in my arms when I encircle her, but it doesn’t last long. It’s maybe a handful of breaths before she sinks against me and her sobs begin. I cradle her like a heart-broken kid against my body and sit on the front step with her on my lap.

  One hand runs down her back while the other is clutched in her own hands. When she refuses to look up at me, it only makes me hold her tighter. I have no experience with death other than Cerberus losing a guy in the field a few years ago. He was a great guy, but that loss for me doesn’t even compare to the loss she’s suffering right now.

  On the drive over, and the two hours I’ve been sitting on her parents’ porch, I ran through all the reasons she could have for not reaching out to me. Charli was at the hospital, having switched to days when Cam started on nights and told me she was a
t the funeral home. It took everything I had not to track her down there. Her phone goes straight to voicemail which I called no less than a half-dozen times while frantic and unable to locate her.

  Sitting here, I realized exactly why she didn’t reach out to me. It’s guilt. From what I know, the conversation she had with her mom the other night was the last one she had. She turned down an offer for dinner to spend time with me. Then her mother was gone.

  Regret and guilt are what kept her from calling. It’s what kept her from walking into my arms when she came up. It’s why she’s pushing against my chest now and struggling to get away.

  “Don’t.” The word is harsher than what I intend, but the command is there, nonetheless.

  “I need to go inside.” The harder she pushes the closer I hold her. After another round of sobs, she pulls her face from my chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “This is exactly where I belong.”

  “This is a family matter.”

  “Exactly.”

  I find her eyes, hating that hers are darting anywhere but mine.

  “You’re my family, and I’m going to be wherever you are, wherever you need me until you can manage on your own.”

  “I’m not helpless,” she spits with vitriol I pray she doesn’t really feel.

  I expected this. Cam doesn’t want to be seen as weak, even after the loss of her mother. I’m certain she got it from her father, especially after seeing his stoic posture when he approached me earlier.

  “I’ll never describe you as helpless,” I assure her. “But I’m not leaving you alone in this.”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  I know she feels that way now, but I’d never forgive myself if I let her push me away right now. If I leave all that does is give her more strength to keep me at arm’s length going forward, and I refuse to lose her over this.

  “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

  “I highly doubt that.” She’s given up trying to physically push me away, but her rejection is clear in the way she just sits in my lap. She’s no longer clinging to me. Now that her tears are gone, she doesn’t see a need for me any longer.

  “You chose to stay with me the other night rather than going to dinner with your parents. You’re being eaten up with guilt over that. If I had never come into your life, you would’ve had one more memory with your mom rather than the last time speaking with her was you lying about cleaning and laundry, so you could spend more time with me. The words you used the other night were ‘I can have a meal with them anytime.’ Now that’s not possible, and you’re dying inside because of it. I expect you to feel guilty for a long time, baby, but you’ll do it with me right by your side. I won’t let you face this alone.”

  “I can’t do this right now.” Tears clog her throat and holding this beautiful crying woman is testing my own strength. I’d take her pain and make it mine if I could.

  “You don’t have to do anything, baby. Just let me hold you.”

  And she does. After thirty or so minutes of sitting with her on the porch, she eventually wraps her arms around me and holds me. No words are spoken. I don’t make empty promises or tell her that everything will be okay because I know it won’t be for her, not for a long time.

  When her stomach grumbles, I carry her into the house and force her to sit at the dining room table. I make two plates of food, but my attempt to coax Dr. Davison from his study is unsuccessful until a woman about his age named Anna shows up and gives him hell until he joins us at the table.

  The solemn meal seems to last for days. Cam doesn’t even eat half of what I put on her plate, but even a few bites at this point is a level of success I’d only hoped for.

  I’m in the kitchen helping find places in the fridge for food that just seems to be pouring in when I overhear a conversation with her father.

  “Will they have people to do that? I imagine we can’t be the only small family who doesn’t have anyone.”

  It’s none of my damn business, but I don’t care. If she needs something, she’s going to get it. I know it isn’t financial, but their voices lower again, and I can’t hear them any longer. I crane my neck, and when that doesn’t make it easier to hear, I take a step closer to the den. I know I’m caught red-handed when Anna walks out of the pantry and frowns at me eavesdropping.

  “What are they talking about?” I ask Anna. “There’s something they need, but they don’t know how to make it happen? I’ll make anything happen for that woman. She won’t ask me right now, so I’m asking you. What do they need?”

  “You really care for her, huh?” Anna asks.

  “I love that woman with all of my heart,” I confess, and then feel like an asshole for telling this stranger before confessing those words to the one person that matters.

  “Both Angelica and Randall are only children,” she explains. “They don’t have any nieces or nephews, so they’re having a hard time coming up with pallbearers.”

  This is something I can fix, so I do just that. After excusing myself from the kitchen, I head out back and place a two-minute phone call. The problem is solved just as quickly, and when I tell Anna the plan, she seems relieved with the news, assuring me that Dr. Davison will be pleased.

  The conversation with her father ends, and Camryn excuses herself. I know she’s exhausted. I also know she’s going to have a hard time sleeping, and I don’t want her to get lost in her head, so I follow her upstairs.

  “My father doesn’t allow boys in my room,” she mutters with no fire as I close the door with us inside.

  “No boys here.”

  I see half of a smile when she turns her head.

  “Do you want me to help you shower? Run you a bath?”

  “I don’t want to do anything but sleep right now.”

  Without ceremony, she strips out of her clothes, and I offer her a pair of pajamas I found in the top drawer of her dresser.

  “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  “So, I guess it’s time for you to go.” She pulls the pink blanket back on the queen-sized bed and climbs in between the sheets.

  “Baby, I already said I’m not leaving you.”

  “I’m not in the mood to fuck, Samson. You should go home.”

  I take her ire on the chin without a rebuttal, but I strip down to my boxers and climb in beside her.

  “My dad will lose his shit if he knows you’re up here.”

  “I won’t stay. I promise. Only until you fall asleep.”

  Granted, I’ll be back before she wakes up hopefully, but I’m not going to voice that now. I plan to become a fixture in this place until I know that she’s going to be okay. It may take days, weeks, or years, but this woman is my responsibility, and I plan to make myself useful in any way I can.

  “Promise you’ll leave when I fall asleep.” Her voice is hoarse, and I hate that she’s been crying all day, and I wasn’t there to console her. I hate that death is a fickle bitch, and it just reaches down without prejudice and plucks people who are needed, people who are loved, without warning. I can’t argue about fairness. She’s not the first person to lose someone, and she won’t be the last, but damn if I’m not seriously angry for her suffering.

  I hold her against my chest and sigh when her fingers flex against my side. Her breaths grow shallower as she falls asleep.

  “I promise, baby. Whatever you need, I’ll make sure you have it.”

  Chapter 36

  Camryn

  Samson didn’t leave like he promised, and I blame my father.

  When he went down to head out, my dad asked him to stay. He told him he wasn’t strong enough for the both of us right now, and he was grateful that I had someone to be strong for me.

  Then my father broke down, and although Samson couldn’t provide the comfort of strong arms and a chest to pull him against, he did something just as helpful.

  Actually, he’s done a ton of things that were helpful over the last two days as we p
repared to lay my mother to rest. He organized a crew to come clean the house. It wasn’t messy, but my mom found it impossible to keep up with the dusting since they live on a gravel road. The women of the Cerberus MC came in and took over, leaving everything spotless and smelling fresh.

  Samson even arranged for six Cerberus members, the original guys I told Charli about at the Fourth of July party, to serve as pallbearers. I was grateful, all the while worrying why a bunch of bikers volunteered to stand up for my mother. They arrived at the funeral home moments ago, each one in bespoke suits and somber faces. They greeted my dad, speaking in low voices, making it very clear they not only knew my mom but respected and loved her as well.

  “You okay?”

  I shake my head and give Samson a small smile. He knows what I mean. I’m functioning better at this moment than I have been the last couple of days, but I don’t know that I’ll ever be okay again. It’s both a blessing and a curse to see all the people gathering to show their respects to my mother. She was well-loved in the community, and the outpouring of support since people heard about her abrupt passing has been humbling.

  “I’ll be here with you the entire time. If you need a break from it all, just say the word.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  I’m so grateful to him, not just for the help around the house, but for refusing to let me walk away when in my mind that was the best thing for me to do.

  “Here.” I look up, finding my best friend giving me a small smile as she hands over a small packet of tissues.

  I give her a nod as she hands them over, squeezing her hand before she can take a step back. She and Samson have worked together like old friends to make all of this happen. I’ve leaned on both of them more than I ever imagined I’d need to, but there’s nothing that prepares you for something like this. When she takes a step back, Samson is once again at my side.

  “It’s time,” the funeral director says in a low tone after entering the small room just outside of the chapel.

  “Are you ready, baby girl?” My dad offers me his hand, and I place my trembling one in his.