The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  What the hell?

  He flipped on the coffee pot, grabbed a granola bar and watched his phone.

  One fifteen.

  At one sixteen the screen lit up.

  Seeing that phone call made everything in the world right again.

  “Hi, Sam.” He smiled at nothing, imagining her face. The sleek way she styled her hair. The way she looked at him when he was being ridiculous.

  She blew out a breath, rustling over the microphone, but didn’t say anything.

  Sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes they talked. He’d take whatever he could get, because he loved her. And he’d always be there for her. Even if she never came back to him.

  “I went by the brownstone yesterday like you asked. Lily has most everything out of there. The movers got the furniture packed up. It should be listed in another week.” It’d killed him when she’d asked for his help this way, but she wasn’t ready to come home. Maybe she never would be, and he’d have to live with that.

  Sam didn’t speak. She didn’t offer a comment or ask a question.

  “So, that’s almost done. Your parents miss you. Dad sends his love. Wants to know if you’re coming for Christmas? I figure you’ll tell us later. I started season two of Doctor Who. It’s weird. I figure I’ll get it eventually, right? Nightmares are better. Work’s…tricky. Heading to Israel next week, and Germany the week after. I’ll message you the time differences, if you like. Not sure what my schedule will be.”

  In Sam’s absence, Oliver and Timothy were closer than ever, both personally and at work. After all, they were the only two people who knew the truth.

  He waited a moment, giving her time to speak, to throw out a statement, but tonight she wasn’t talking. And that was okay. She’d still called. Still needed him in some capacity. He’d take it.

  Oliver kept talking. About his day, the creamer he’d forgotten to buy, random thoughts in his head. He’d gone two weeks from her picking up and moving without hearing from her, not knowing if she was okay, and he never wanted to go through that hell again. He talked until his throat was dry and the morning sun leaked through the cracks between the curtains.

  “You have to get ready for work now.” He hated saying those words, but if he didn’t, he’d talk all day. “Have a good day, Sam.”

  I love you.

  He hung up even though it killed him a little. Would they ever get beyond this? Or was this his life now?

  At least Sam was in it.

  Two weeks later…

  Sam sat up, not quite awake yet, grasping for the phone.

  The sleeping pills hadn’t done the trick, and neither had the prescription from the psychiatrist Rashae had convinced her to see. The only thing that helped was Oliver’s voice.

  She hadn’t slept, not truly, since he’d been away to Germany. His schedule had been too full for their regular calls, and she needed to hear his voice. Needed him to be on the other end of the line.

  By her estimation, he’d gotten home late, maybe slept. She’d considered calling him earlier, but…this was their routine now.

  One a.m. calls and lots of quiet.

  The phone hardly even rang.

  “Hey,” Oliver’s voice was heavier than usual.

  “Did things go well?” She hadn’t a clue why they’d been to Germany, she avoided the national news if at all possible. All that mattered was that he was there.

  “Yes, and no. I’m so jetlagged I don’t even know what time it is.” He yawned.

  “Do you need to sleep?” The pang of anxiety made her want to snatch the words back, but that was selfish. Oliver was more than her security blanket he was…

  Her brain shied away from the rest of that statement.

  “I can’t sleep, that’s the problem. Talk to me. Please?”

  Five days without his voice, and all she wanted to do was talk.

  She told him about her new job. It wasn’t as important as the work she’d done in DC, but she enjoyed it. The magazine was more of a digital venture that covered fashion and lifestyle. Sam worked with marketing and branding. She was completely out of her depth, but Rashae propped her up quite a bit.

  He told her about trading his car in, meeting the new tenants renting her home, but he never asked her when she was coming back. He never did, though she often heard the question just under the surface.

  She didn’t know if she wanted to hear those words or not.

  It wasn’t like she had an answer.

  She was building a life here. Granted, she was borrowing liberally from Rashae’s circle of friends to create her own, but it was still a life. They went to the theater to see Rashae’s costumes on stage. Out to her board gaming nights. Met with a couple of New York cosplay clubs. Sam even went on a weekend trip to see Rashae’s friends. It wasn’t the same kind of life she’d had before, but it was one. Without Oliver. And that scared her. He’d been part of her world, either directly or on the fringes, for so long she didn’t know what to do without him. But she didn’t know how to move on with him, either.

  They were stuck, with no way forward or backward, but at least they had one a.m.

  20.

  December…

  Samantha pushed the quinoa around in her bowl. Meals at Rashae’s were a lot healthier and less fun than when Sam was on her own. After her first few binge feasts on pizza and Chinese take-out, Rashae had put her foot down about all the unhealthy food.

  Rashae was such a spoil sport.

  Now, if Sam wanted a splurge, she had to hide it. The other day, she’d literally hidden in the bathroom to eat a candy bar and nurse her bruised feelings. Rashae took food and her health so seriously it was annoying and endearing, but Sam could understand. Where Sam had taken after their mother, Rashae was the spitting image of their father and aunt, who’d passed away. Many of their health issues were traced back to the types of food they ate. Like bacon every day. Junk food. The bad stuff that Sam wanted to wallow in.

  “What’s wrong, boo?” Rashae sat curled up on her side on one half of the sofa. Neither of them were actually watching TV, but it was on anyway.

  Sam glanced at her sister’s feet, lying on top of her pillow. The pillow Sam would put her head on in a few hours to pretend she was going to sleep. Rashae likely didn’t even notice it, she’d sort of slowly sprawled into a lounging position, but Sam saw it. She was so grateful to Rashae for letting her crash here, for catching her with zero warning or offer. But sometimes, all Sam really wanted was a bit of space to call her own. She wanted a door to close out the whole world, but she’d settle for her own mattress and pillows. Someplace that would be feet-free when she went to crash for the night. A bed would be great, but there wasn’t anywhere to put one in the studio-slash-apartment.

  She had an idea.

  Rashae wasn’t going to like it.

  But Sam had to try. She was making an effort, and that was the important part. That was what the counselor Rashae had strong-armed her into seeing every week stressed. Sam taking charge of her life. Stop being reactionary. Deal with her shit. Face the past. Make a real future and stop borrowing from Rashae.

  Sam knew she was holding back. That she was stuck. But going forward meant giving up late night calls with Oliver. They couldn’t keep doing that, but she wasn’t ready to let him go. Her heart—and head—were too wrapped up in him. And that was why she needed to do this. To make this suggestion.

  “One of the girls at work is apartment hunting.” Sam set her bowl down. Maybe she needed to reheat the steamed veggies and throw some hot sauce on the whole mix to make it taste interesting. “I snagged a few of the listings she didn’t like. They might be worth looking at.”

  “You’re thinking of getting a place?” Rashae’s brows rose.

  “No. For us. You need more space.” Sam gestured to the studio, that also served as the living room, dining area and kitchen, plus Sam’s bedroom. The last bit was totally selfish.

  “Hm.” Rashae shrugged.

  “You’d hav
e room to hire someone to help cut. I know you mentioned wanting to do that.”

  “Maybe someone part time. We don’t really have enough business to support four people. Yet.”

  “Yet. But if you have a fourth person, maybe you would?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Plus, I know you’d like to keep my stuff more out of the way.”

  They’d come to words a few times over Sam’s things being left spread out during Rashae’s work day. Usually on a morning Sam had to rush out the door without picking up her things. She’d been late enough to work that if she had to choose between leaving her pajamas over the arm of the sofa and making it to the metro on time, she was going out that door and not looking back.

  “Yeah, but I’m not moving during the winter. It’s too cold out there!” Rashae gestured at the balcony doors. They’d finally given up and tacked a couple quilts to the wall to keep the draft out. It was only bad if they were on the sofa, otherwise they hardly noticed. Except Sam. Who slept on the sofa. She noticed it every flipping night.

  A gust of cold December wind rattled the windows right on cue.

  “Well, when it gets warmer?” Sam could put up with a lot for a little while, but not indefinitely.

  “Seriously, Sam?” Rashae leveled a glare at her.

  “What?”

  “Do you really expect to be sleeping on my couch come springtime?” Rashae leaned forward, dinner forgotten.

  “If we don’t get a bigger place, yeah.”

  “Come on, Sam. Really?”

  “What?”

  “How’s Oliver doing?”

  “Okay.” She scrunched up her face. “He’s….”

  How did she know Sam was still talking to Oliver?

  She hadn’t told Rashae, not in the months she’d couch surfed. She’d never asked.

  “You get up, every night, and talk to him. I hear you. I know you’re still something to each other. Are you really going to run away from that?” Rashae sat back, looking far too smug.

  “You don’t know anything.” Sam got up and stalked into the kitchen with her bowl.

  Fuck the stupid quinoa.

  She wanted pizza.

  A whole pizza, to herself.

  She was trying to figure out how to live her life after…after—

  Sam braced her hands on the counter and sucked down a deep breath.

  She was okay.

  She was alive.

  Oliver was fine.

  That’s what she had to remember. Not those terrifying hours in that warehouse or being covered in a man’s blood.

  “You know you’re going to have to see him at Christmas?” Rashae followed her, scraping both bowls and placing them in the dishwasher.

  Sam gripped the counter tighter.

  In the back of her mind, she’d known, but she hadn’t thought about it. She’d escaped going home for Thanksgiving because Mom and Dad were doing official state things and she and Rashae would just be in the way. It’d been a relief. But there was no putting off the inevitable. Christmas was a family affair. A whole, big party. That included Oliver. Because he was pseudo-family. But to her he was still more. She didn’t know what they were to each other anymore, but they were something.

  “Why don’t you talk to me about him?” Rashae leaned against the counter.

  “What? I do.”

  “In impersonal ways. You haven’t talked about what happened…you know.”

  “Because what is there to say?”

  “Considering I don’t know anything besides you two hooked up, there’s some fuzzy feelings going on, and you had to pretend to be engaged—not a lot. You’ve come a long way, but I’m still worried about you, Sam. I’m worried that you’re going to let a great guy go because…what? Some people might have a bad opinion of you two? Because you got kidnapped?”

  Sam stared at the floor, the light reflecting off the dark tile looked a bit like the moon. Her memory filled in a pool of blood, and dark, lifeless eyes.

  “People died because of us, Rashae—”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes. It was. Don’t you understand? If we hadn’t…if we’d just stayed the same, if we wouldn’t have lied, if we hadn’t made a dozen choices, none of this would happen.”

  “And there’d be two more bad guys out there. I saw their criminal records, just like you did. You know what they were capable of.”

  “But—”

  “Look, I can’t change your mind, and I won’t try to. I just hope you’re not letting fear and guilt push you into making a mistake. Come here. Give me a hug.”

  Rashae pulled Sam into her arms, squeezing her tightly.

  Rashae was right, though. Sam would have to face Oliver at Christmas, and there was no way around it. Mom and Dad had mentioned several times, probably to prepare Sam, that he’d be with their family as usual. They weren’t pushing him out, because family didn’t do that. Oliver hadn’t mentioned the holidays during their ritual phone calls. Or seeing each other again. Yet. It was a matter of time. There were less than fifteen days until they flew home for the annual circus of relatives, and then it would be out of her hands.

  “I’m going to call Oliver,” Sam said before she could think better of it.

  “You sure?” Rashae held her at arm’s length.

  “No. Don’t ask me that. I have to do this now before…before I lose my nerve.”

  “Okay. I’ll go put laundry away so you can have some privacy.”

  Rashae crossed to her bedroom and closed the door with a quiet snick.

  Maybe Sam could just order a pizza instead and talk to herself…

  She sighed.

  No. She’d said she was going to do this, so she needed to.

  Two weeks. She needed to be prepared.

  Sam pulled her cell phone out of her purse and hit the speed dial that’d become Oliver’s.

  The line rang. And rang.

  What the hell? He always answered after the first ring or two.

  Was he…?

  What if…?

  Her stomach churned.

  “M-hello? Sam?” Oliver’s voice was weird, rough, sort of slurred.

  “Oliver?” Was that him?

  “Hey. What time—is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, is this a bad time?” she asked slowly.

  “Sleeping. Pills make me groggy.”

  “It’s seven.”

  “Gotta sleep sometime.” He laughed, a deep husky sound she missed. “Figure I wake up at one and don’t go back to sleep.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll—”

  “Don’t be.” He sighed and the sound of sheets rustling filled the background. “I like hearing your voice. Something up? You’re okay?”

  “You asked me that. And yeah. Everything’s okay. I just…” She swallowed. “Christmas?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “We’re going to see each other.”

  “If you want.”

  “Oliver—”

  “I’m only going to Georgia if you want me to.”

  Sam opened and closed her mouth. That was…

  Her heart ached. Oliver had broken off ties with his relatives for the most part. Especially his father. All he had was her family. Without them…

  “That’s…that’s silly, Oliver. You’re going. We’re going to see each other…” Her hands shook and anxiety buzzed within her. She began pacing the studio. She both wanted and dreaded seeing him. “I’d prefer to see you alone first. So we can talk. I feel like there’s some stuff we just can’t talk about over the phone. I need…I need to see you.”

  “Okay. I’d like to see you. But…I had a thought. It’s gone.”

  “You’re half asleep. Let’s talk about it later.”

  “Couple of hours?”

  “No, you need your sleep.” Those were the right words to say, but she couldn’t deny that she wanted their habit.

  “Couple of hours.”

  “Sleep
tight.”

  She hung up the phone, both excited and terrified.

  Two weeks later…

  Oliver paced his living room.

  He hadn’t slept since hanging up with Sam that morning.

  Their routine was a comfort in the face of the unknown. They hadn’t talked about what they’d say when they saw each other again, only that there were things they needed to hash out. After today, she’d put him out of his misery. One way or another, things were going to change. And he wasn’t sure he was ready.

  She was in DC.

  She was only a few miles away.

  And any moment now, she’d knock on his front door.

  If she showed.

  He wasn’t sure she would, even after all the time they’d spent deciding where they’d meet and when. The kidnapping, the time in New York, it had changed her. He wasn’t sure how, but it had. They were both different, except he still wanted to be different with her. He wasn’t sure she felt the same way about him. For all their talks, the time they spent together, they might not be who the other needed anymore.

  The knock at the door froze him to the spot.

  Was that her?

  Was this happening? Now?

  He wasn’t ready.

  But he was.

  They were stuck in a loop, going round and round the truth neither of them wanted to admit to.

  He crept toward the door, barely daring to breathe.

  This was it.

  From this moment forward everything would change.

  Oliver grasped the doorknob and pulled it open.

  Sam stood on the other side, bundled up in a coat and scarf so big it nearly hid her whole face. She’d changed her hair. It was natural now, straightened and shining. Snow clung to her boots and stuck to her lashes.

  “Hey. Come in.”

  He stepped back, torn between wanting to hug her, and giving her space. He didn’t know what to do anymore, what was okay. Should he follow his heart or wait for her lead?

  “Sorry I was late. I had to wait for Rashae to leave so we could head out together.”

  Oliver took her coat and scarf.