“Fuck you,” Mike snarls, and I silently cheer him on. “Who the hell do you think you are? My fucking mother? You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
The sound of what I assume is a fist against the side of the house makes me jump, and my hand flies up to cover my mouth.
“End it or I tell everyone.” Reilly’s voice is so hard, so angry I’m scared he might hurt Mike. Or maybe he already had. I’m prepared to fling the door open when I hear footsteps descending the porch steps.
“Okay, fine . . . wait.” I’m surprised to hear Mike’s plea and the footsteps cease. “Just give me a minute to think, would ya?”
Tell everyone what?
There are what feel like entire minutes of silence, my mind flooding with fear that Mike will listen to Reilly and rage that Reilly is meddling where he doesn’t belong . . . he’s just trying to hurt me back. I knew he wasn’t going to be happy when he found out I was dating Mike, but I didn’t think he’d take anything this far. He’s the one who left me.
“When did you decide to become such a dick, Reilly?” Mike spits out at him.
“When you decided to steal my girlfriend.”
Mike lets out an empty laugh. “What the hell does it matter to you, anyway? You don’t even live here anymore.”
Reilly says nothing, at least not that I can hear above my drumming heartbeat that booms in my ears and the shaking that rattles my body.
“End it,” Reilly demands.
Hearing movement, I take a few steps back. I fumble and grip the coatrack I back into.
Then, Mike flings the door open and finds me standing there, though he seems less surprised than I expected.
Reilly’s standing behind him. His scowl softens for an instant before he scans me up and down and his expression hardens into place again.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, my anger all but forgotten as my thoughts race. My heart nearly swells to see him standing there. It’s been months since—
“Should I leave you two alone?” Mike sneers, but I’m still stunned to see that Reilly’s home. “Why are you—what are you doing here?” I repeat. Then Reilly’s words replay in my mind, over and over. “Since you stole my girlfriend.” This is a punishment? “I can’t believe you,” I seethe and brush past Mike, slamming the door in Reilly’s face.
Mike is still staring at me when I look up at him. “What?” I ask. “Why are you glaring at me? You’re the one that agreed to that crap.”
Mike straightens. His eyes are harder than I’ve ever seen them, cold and foreign to me. “You still love him,” he says and shakes his head.
“What? No I don’t!” I take a step toward him.
“That was more than surprise on your face, that was longing.” Mike laughs bitterly. “Go ahead, run back to him. We’re through, anyway.”
“I don’t want him!” I take a step toward Mike. All I can feel is everything spinning out of control. “I left him for you.” I want to be angry, but desperation takes over at the thought of losing Mike—at the thought that he might actually be serious. The mere thought of not having him—of being alone—petrifies me. I try to steady my breathing, to exhale out my nose and curl my toes to anchor me to the floor, but something that feels like hysteria is coming alive inside me.
“You’re getting too attached, anyway. It should stop.”
“Too attached? It’s been over a year, of course I’m attached. What’s changed? What’s he holding over you that would make you even consider listening to him?”
Mike looks bored. “I’ve outgrown us—”
“Outgrown us? When? When you were buying me this bracelet?” I ask. Anger grabs hold of me and bolsters my every word. “In between fucking me in your bedroom? On the couch—twice? Is that when you were outgrowing me?” I shake my head. “You’re not making any sense—”
“There are others, Sam!” he shouts, and I’m taken aback. “God, how can you not see that? I thought it was cute at first, sweet that you’re so naïve, and I wanted to play your little game, but it’s not cute anymore.”
My heart cracks and bleeds and burns more and more with every word.
“What did you think, that we’d live happily ever after? You’re just a pastime, Sam. One of many. There is no future for us. Why do you think I travel so much? I hate this godforsaken town. I have no idea why my parents even wanted to build a house here, so why would I ever settle down here? You work on a ranch, for Christ’s sake.”
Cold sweat permeates my skin as all warmth drains from my body. “I can’t breathe,” I say, and I nearly collapse to the ground. Mike reaches for his phone in his pocket, oblivious to my world falling apart around me. “You’re”—I swallow—“you’re breaking up with me . . . because of him.” This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening . . . not like this.
Mike shows me his phone as it flashes. Bethany’s name is on the screen, a photo of her cleavage as her contact picture. “See.”
Somehow I’ve made it to the stairs, and I lower myself down to the first step. I rub my hands over my thighs repeatedly, trying to keep the impending cold and numbness at bay. Branches scrape against the windows as a gust of wind rushes by the house.
I stare up at him, vision blurred by tears. “But you said you loved me, you always tell me you love me . . .”
Mike ignores me and answers Bethany’s call. “Hey,” he says without any scruples. “Nothing important. Yeah. Okay.” He rips his jacket off the coatrack, making it clank to the floor.
He’s actually leaving me here. Anguish seizes my heart and my head pounds with disbelief as I finally start to believe him. I’m a thing he wanted, a toy.
This isn’t real.
Mike shoves his phone back into his pocket. “You should go home,” he says, exasperated, and walks out. He slams the door behind him, leaving me to sit on the stairs in his foyer, alone and sobbing.
For a minute, I think ignorance is better than feeling like this. We were happy. I was happy.
Reilly did this. We were fine until he showed up.
There’s a crash outside as the wind picks up again. I don’t want to stay here alone, I can’t bear it. This house is tainted, blaringly empty and taunting me. I suddenly can’t even stand to be in my own skin.
I have no choice. Mac is gone and Nick is drunk. There’s another crash outside accompanying the wind.
I have to call Papa.
Five
Sam
Just as I’m about to power through the final traffic light and head back up the mountain, I hit my palm on the steering wheel. Ibuprofen. I forgot to buy Alison’s damn ibuprofen at the grocery store—her final request as I’d been walking out the front door.
“Crap.” I groan and let my foot off the accelerator. I know I only have one option, and going home empty-handed isn’t it; Alison doesn’t need another reason to resent me today.
So, postponing my long, twisty trek back to the ranch, I pull into Jack’s Save Mart and Gas, situated conveniently at the bottom of the hill. I have to make this quick if I don’t want the dairy products in my grocery bags to go bad, since it’s such a hot day.
Turning my music down, I roll the truck to a stop in one of the parking spaces on the side of the Save Mart and shut off the engine. Once again, I climb down out of my truck and hurry toward the door. I fan myself like it might help the sweat I can feel collecting on my brow. A dip in the lake sounds nice right about now.
The nearer I get, I notice the store’s neon sign is discolored and cobwebbed, probably similar to the inside of the place. Papa rarely stopped here when I was young, claiming that everything Jack had on his shelves was not only expired but overpriced. And I guess out of habit, I never came in here either. But today would have to be an exception.
With a little extra elbow grease, I push open the Save Mart door. Good ol’ Jack is behind the counter, wrinkly and bald as ever. I can’t recall him ever looking any different, no matter how much time goes by.
“He
y, Jack,” I say, offering him a half-smile as I step inside.
“Well, I’ll be… If it isn’t little Samantha,” Jack greets me in his old, shaky voice that sounds like he’s been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day all his life. He tips the brim of his cowboy hat. “Fillin’ her up today?”
“Not today,” I say, and I scan the aisles ahead of me, looking for hygiene products or first aid or anything that might guide me in the right direction. Spotting a row of deodorant and medicines, I meander down the aisle. There’s only one small bottle of ibuprofen, and I pick it up to examine.
Turning it in my palm, I balk at the price tag. “Jack, you’re killing me with these prices.” Almost ten dollars for an off brand seems excessive.
Hearing the doorbell jingle once, then twice as other customers step into the store, I decide to make my peace with the price tag and get in line. Just as I turn around, my body rams into a larger, firmer one.
“Shit!” I hiss, nearly stumbling. I catch the bottle I almost drop, then realize the back label is so faded I can barely read it. “Sorry,” I say, turning the bottle upside down.
“My fault,” a deeper voice says as I head up to the counter. I only wave.
“I should’ve known,” I mutter. The bottle expired six months ago, but all I can think about is the food in the sun in the back of the truck, and I just hope Alison doesn’t notice.
“You okay, Samantha?” Jack calls out as I walk up to the counter.
I scowl at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Waiting in line proves to be another test. I’m behind a short, brown-haired little girl holding a soda and two candy bars at the counter. She has a wad of ones and quarters she’s slowly counting out, no doubt the money she raided the couch looking for.
After counting and recounting her money for Jack since he can’t seem to see if the weathered bill is a one or a ten, the little girl takes her receipt, though she doesn’t know what to do with it, and says she doesn’t need a bag before she skips out.
When I step up to the counter, Jack’s existing smile warms. “Did you find what you needed?” For the first time, I notice Jack’s missing one of his front teeth. My smile widens, more genuinely this time. At least for a minute. I hold up the white plastic bottle. “These are expired, Jack,” I say, just in case he has no idea, though I doubt it.
Jack’s brow furrows. “They’re still good,” he says. “That’s just the sell-by date.”
Wondering if it’s illegal to sell expired meds in a public store, over-the-counter or not, I relent. It’s easy enough to convince myself the expired pills can’t do much more damage to Alison’s body than her excessive drinking already does.
Jack scans the container, and after a beep and the press of a button, he says, “That’ll be $10.96, please.”
“This container”—I lift it up—“that has twenty capsules in it is eleven dollars? And it’s expired,” I grumble. “Fantastic.”
“You forgot about the tax,” Jack replies, his eyebrows waggling. I’m glad he finds this whole thing so amusing.
I reach for my debit card in my back pocket. “You’re killing me, Jack. In fact, I’m sure this is extortion—shit.” I pat all my pockets, only finding my keys in one. I left my debit card in the truck.
“Here,” an eerily recognizable voice rumbles from behind me. “I’ll get it.”
I turn around to find a familiar, dark-featured face staring back at me. Reilly pulls out a few loose bills from his wallet that I pay little attention to. I’m shocked to see him, though I know I shouldn’t be. I’ve known all week I’d run into him eventually.
Dumb and frozen, I take in the sight of him. He’s . . . different than I remember, but I do still see Reilly in there somewhere. His brown hair is cropped shorter than before, with only a couple weeks’ worth of growth. He even smells different—clean and freshly pressed, like he just stepped out of a shower, though the day-old stubble on his face tells me otherwise. He looks older, tougher, and more severe than I remember. And the sheer strength his body exudes makes him seem a tad more imposing than I’m sure I’m comfortable with. He looks physically honed to fight—to survive.
My body warms and my stomach coils a bit as I process the magnitude of him standing there, of him being back. I briefly wonder if I might throw up.
“Add these, would you?” Reilly says, and he holds up a bottle of iced tea and pack of spearmint gum. His voice is just as steady and kind as I remember, and the thrum it elicits sparks a fire in my chest I’m not expecting and definitely don’t appreciate.
Finally, his eyes meet mine. I take a step back, almost stumbling, and lick my lips. His lapis gaze is different than the one I remember, this one an expression that seems matured by sights and experience only a harsh life can bring.
With too many emotions to process, all I can do is stand beside him, speechless.
Jack grumbles something, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m following Reilly out the door.
“Here,” he says, holding out the pill bottle. We stop just outside the building. “Have a headache?”
I shake my head. “It’s for a hangover,” I say, and immediately regret it. “I mean, it’s for Alison. She has a hangover—err, headache.” I inhale a shaky breath. “Thank you for doing that, you didn’t have to.”
A disbelieving smile stretches across his lips. “Are you sure? It seemed like you’d forgotten something.”
I don’t like the snideness of his tone, or maybe it’s the ease with which he speaks to me when I’m still grappling to overcome my shock. Regardless, the fact that he’s been back only minutes and I’m already indebted to him is enough to rattle me. He ruined your relationship with Mike out of spite, I remind myself, and I grasp onto that thread of resentment.
When I don’t take the miniature bottle, Reilly pries my fingers open from my clenched fist at my side. He places the ibuprofen in my palm.
My hand tingles in his, making me bristle, and I pull away from him. “I’ll pay you back,” I say, willing complete sentences to form on my tongue.
“You don’t have to pay me back, it was eleven dollars. You can buy me a beer or some—”
“I said I’ll pay you back.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and my grip tightens around the bottle. When I open them again, Reilly’s unguarded air dissolves, and the smile in his eyes dims. He stares at me with pursed lips. “Fine. You can pay me back.”
“Thank you.” I turn away from him, my body a tension-filled mass of nerves and confusion. I can’t get away from him fast enough. I climb into the truck, too much of a coward to look in my rearview window to see if he’s still standing there.
His Chevy rumbles to life, and I expect to feel my shoulders droop and my breathing to even out, but neither of them do. Not even as I watch him pull out of the parking lot and drive up the hill do I feel any better whatsoever.
All the possible run-ins and dreaded spottings swarm around inside my mind, and my vision blurs. I don’t know if I can do this.
Forcing myself to let out a deep breath, I shake my hands, flex my fingers, and grip the steering wheel to root myself in the moment. I push all the bitterness and hurt and confusion deep down to deal with later. Right now I have a truck full of groceries, a grumpy stepmother, and a butt-load of chores to get home to.
Thinking about Reilly will have to wait.
Six
Sam
When I finally get to the ranch, I pull up to the side of the house, honk a few times—which I never do—and pull to a stop in the drive. The screen door swings open as I get out of the cab. I’m not in the mood to deal with Alison’s badgering and complaining, but I fear I have little choice as she takes a haughty step off the porch and joins me by the bed of the truck.
Her perfume wafts around me, sweet and familiar, and when gravity suddenly feels too heavy against my chest, I have to take a shallow breath. I heave the tailgate down, forcing myself to ignore whatever this ridiculous feeling is, and load my arms up with groceries.
“You were gone a long time,” Alison says coolly, not too stern, not too telling, but enough for me to know she’s testing my mood. “I was beginning to worry.” She threads her arm through some of the bag handles to carry inside.
I flash her a placating smile as I head into the house. Her footsteps are quick to keep up behind me. “I told you I was having lunch with Nick and Mac,” I say, trying not to sound as impatient as I am.
She’s quiet for a moment, assessing. “I remember.”
“Sorry to worry you though,” I say and swing the screen open so I can pass through. Alison grunts behind me as the door half closes on her. I tell myself I don’t care, but then guilt flares. A bouquet of flowers rests on the kitchen table, I’m assuming for Papa’s grave.
Alison sets her bags on the counter next to mine, then leans against it, crossing her arms, expectant.
“What’s wrong, Alison?” I ask, and open the fridge to put a gallon of milk inside. Quickly, I survey the bags on the counter, looking for anything urgent that needs to be moved to the fridge or freezer. With a huff, I finally turn to face her.
Alison runs her fingers through her wavy blonde hair and sighs. “You were supposed to be back by 3:00 for that phone conference with the Swansons.”
Shit. I rub my forehead, wishing I’d paid more attention to that nagging feeling that I was forgetting something. I look at her. “Sorry. I’m sure you were able to handle it, though, right?”
She smirks. “I tried, but Jonathan wanted to talk to you, the one who’s most familiar with his horse.”
Suppressing a groan, I turn for the screen door. “I’ll call him back as soon as I’m done with the groceries.” I head back out the door, toward the truck. “There’s a reason I think you should be working with the horses more,” I call over my shoulder when I hear Alison step onto the porch. “Not to mention I could use the help,” I grumble low enough so that she can’t hear.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 6