I want to set her at ease, but she's right of course. "They probably are," I admit. The truth is I don't mind letting them think that. Reminding them that even if we're not together, Rory's still taken. "I could say you're sick or something. But people will think what they think. I—" I push my hand through my hair again. I hate the thought of making her uncomfortable.
Her fingers clasp around my bicep. "It's okay," she says. "I guess it doesn't really matter what anyone thinks. Anyway, they could say worse things about me than that I'm hookin' up with the Cap," she teases.
God, this girl is amazing. She's fucking teasing me right now. I think maybe the Forbes girl pissed me off more than she did her. I didn't think a smile would mark my lips right now for anything, but here it is, and I let it lift my spirits as I take her hand and lead her into a cab.
She lets me comfort her, and even though I know we're just friends, with my arm around her and her head resting on my shoulder, I let myself pretend she's mine again. It's a beautiful kind of torture.
We get back uptown pretty quickly thanks to the late hour, and we're in my car heading through the Midtown Tunnel by one a.m.
Rory tunes the radio to a classic rock station, and neither of us says much for the duration of the ride. There's nothing to say. Or there's too much to say.
The last real conversation we had she was asking me to give us another shot, and though I was sure—am sure—that it was a reaction to my abhorrent decision to push her away, and then my flirting with that girl right in front of her the night before, I can't help but wonder if maybe it was real. If maybe it is real.
But I meant it when I said that she needed to be completely sure about what she wants before we can even consider a relationship again. We have too much to lose. It was an incredible realization. That even as I felt as if life couldn't get any worse, that it could. That we could hurt each other even more. That she could utterly destroy me.
Would I take the chance? Hell yes I would. But only if she meant it. Only if she was sure. Because if I'm going to risk losing our friendship—which is exactly what another breakup could mean—then it's going to be for a real shot at the something more I'd thought we had in Miami.
So I told her to take until Monday. And here we are, on Saturday night, in some kind of limbo of hope and fear. But I'll take it, because I'm pretty damn sure that Monday will bring with it a hell full of renewed heartbreak and disappointment.
We reach her house too quickly and neither of us moves when I pull up in front of it. I'm not ready to let her go. I'm still shaken from the way the night turned, and though Rory is being her badass, tough-girl self, the way she fidgets with the threads from the rip in her jeans and the subtle tremor of her fingers gives her away.
I just want to fucking hold her. But what I don't want? I don't want to pretend like everything is fine. I don't want her to feel like she has to wear her mask—the one she didn't want to put on to go back into the club—for me.
"That was fucked up tonight, Ror. I—" I cut myself off from apologizing again, knowing she'd only reject it. "I hate that you have to go through shit like that," I say instead.
Rory offers me a small smile. "Thanks, Sam. But I'm okay. It was just a shock, I guess," she admits. Her smile fades as she watches me. "Looks like you've been put through it, too," she hedges.
Nothing gets past her with me. Nothing ever did. I don't bother denying it. I nod. "I… care about you. You know that. Makes me crazy to see you under attack like that."
She reaches over and takes my hand. I hold on for dear life. "Thank you for that," she says meaningfully.
My free hand finds it's way back to her cheek in a soft caress. A loving caress. I just can’t stop touching her.
I care about you. It's the understatement of the century. But what else could I say right now? The truth? I fucking love you more than my own life?
I can't help letting my gaze fall to her perfect pink lips. I want to kiss her more than anything, but, of course, I can't. I meant it when I told her I wanted her to be sure about what she wants from us, and the ball is solely in her court. And the last thing I want is to cloud her judgment with the lust I know I can stir in her—much to my satisfaction.
Rory's lips part and her eyes close in a yawn. She's still not getting enough sleep. Fuck, and how will she sleep tonight? After seeing that bitch who tormented her for months?
"You need to sleep, baby girl," I tell her, letting the endearment slip from my lips for the second time tonight.
Again, she lets it go, or perhaps, she even revels in it. Or maybe I'm fooling myself.
She slips on another small, ironic smile. "Not likely, Sam. But I should get to bed anyway."
She makes to pull her hand from mine, but I tighten my grip. "Let me hold you." The words fly from my mouth without a thought. But I don't take them back. She needs to sleep and I can keep her nightmares away. I know I can.
Her brows pinch together again, as if she doesn't understand what I'm asking. "What—"
"Let me come inside, and just hold you. Just so you can sleep." I'm practically begging her, but I don't care. That's how desperate I am for her to give me this.
"Sam, I…" She looks at me with such emotion that I know she wants this too. That she knows I'm right. But then she deflates, and her eyes trail down to our joined hands. "My mom's home. How can you… you can't just sleep over." But her tone tells me she wishes I could. And I can.
"Just sneak me in. It's late. She won't wake up. I'll leave before dawn. She'll never know. And I mean it—I just want to hold you. No funny business, I promise, Ror."
That small smile plays back upon her lips. "Funny business?"
I bite my lip. Yeah, funny business. Like the last time we slept in the same bed. But I don't say it, because I have no intention of letting it happen again. No casual sex for us. I meant what I said. It's got to be all or nothing.
But I can hold her. I can help her get some sleep. I fucking need to.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," I say instead, smirking wryly at her, and she flushes a gorgeous shade of pink.
She shakes her head. "You're going to get me in so much trouble," she grumbles.
Yeah. Right back at you, baby girl.
But I take it as her acquiescence and I turn off my engine and walk around to open the passenger door, but she's already getting out. I take her hand again, because I can, and I follow her lead as she lets us in and tiptoes up the stairs.
Her mother's bedroom door is shut tight and Rory sends her a text saying she's home safe—their rule when she comes home after her mom goes to bed apparently, and she grabs some pajamas from a drawer and creeps across the hall to the bathroom.
She's back a few minutes later, all washed up and fresh faced, in tiny little shorts and a skin tight tank top. It's like she's torturing me on purpose. Like she took my no funny business promise and decided to test my self-restraint.
Well that's just fine. Because as much as I remember how mind-blowing hooking up with Rory is, I can't forget how devastating it was to hear her call me nothing more than a friend just minutes after we were done. And I won't relive it. Ever.
But I can't stop myself from raking her perfect form with my gaze, taking in every curve, every visible inch of her flushed skin in the dim moonlight. She notices, I know she does, because she flushes even more. But there's no discomfort. Of course, she's probably used to the way I look at her by now, friend or not.
"I, uh, left a new toothbrush on the sink for you… if you want. Just, you know, take it with you after. I don't want my mom seein' it," she murmurs. Southern Rory's peeking out. She's nervous. But not in a bad way. And I relish it.
My lips curl up into a smile as I rise from the bed and make my way around her to head to the bathroom. I wash up, and when I get back to her room, she's already tucked into bed. I start unbuttoning my shirt and I take note of the fact that she watches with sharp interest. I unbutton the fly of my jeans, but then I hesitate.
"It's okay, Sam. I want you to be comfortable," she whispers.
I exhale deeply. Me too. But that isn't really possible. It's just a matter of choosing my discomfort—sleeping in jeans, or losing a protective layer of barrier between us. I sigh and shove down the jeans, flinging them over the back of her desk chair to join my shirt, and I stand there in just my boxer briefs. I hesitate as I look down at her, all snuggled up under her comforter. This is all wrong and so right all at the same time. I should be in bed with her holding her at night. Every night. But it shouldn't be platonic. There shouldn't be these boundaries. But here they are nonetheless, at least for now, and probably forever.
Rory senses my hesitation and she flips open the comforter behind her in a silent invitation to do what I asked for—just to hold her. And God do I want that.
I slide in beside her and we slip right into our natural position—Rory's head pillowed on my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around her. I pretend it's all just friendly. I pretend I'm not hard as steel beneath the cotton of my underwear, and I ignore the way she breathes in the scent of my skin.
"Goodnight, Sam," she whispers.
It wasn't. A good night, I mean. But it is now. It's a wonderful night. The best fucking night.
"'Night, baby girl."
She falls asleep almost immediately, and though I could too, I don't let myself. I stay awake as long as possible, just feeling her warm breath against the skin of my chest, watching the rise and fall of her own. I stroke her hair away from her face and just stare down at her. I am overwhelmed by her beauty. She has such luminous skin, and the way her thick lashes fan out over her cheeks casts small shadows upon them… it's just captivating. So I watch her, staring. Staring and watching. When she turns, repositioning herself, I turn with her, covering her body like a spoon, my hand splayed over her flat stomach, holding her tightly against me, torturing myself even more, completely in heaven.
Eventually I drift off, and when I wake around five in the morning, Rory is still fast asleep. It's still dark as I slip out of her warm bed, forcibly prying myself from the only place in the world I want to be. But I made her a promise, and I keep my promises. Especially to her.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam is gone when I awaken and though I know it was because of my concern about my mother, it still leaves me disappointed. His scent still clings to my bed sheets, and I roll over and press my face to them, breathing him in.
The sight of Lacey Forbes on the sidewalk of that cobblestoned Manhattan street last night assaults my memory. It was a shock to say the least. The realization that Chelsea tracked her down God even knows how long ago—that all this time she's been pretending to have moved on from her weird obsession with me, she's been working on Plan B.
I don't know what her end game was. Whether she meant to have Lacey accuse me of all the old stories in front of all my new friends, or if she only cared about convincing one person—Sam. But Sam would never have listened to any of it. That I know without question. And it's a heartening thing. To have no doubts about a person's loyalty. It's love. One I almost threw away.
No, not almost. One I did throw away. But one I have to get back.
I slept well last night. Not only while Sam was here, either, but the whole night.
When I come downstairs my mother is sitting at the kitchen table reading the news on her iPad and drinking coffee. I make myself a cup and sit across from her. I hate feeling like I'm hiding something from her after everything that's happened. I don't want to do it.
My mother puts down her tablet and offers me a smile, surely about to ask me about my night.
"Sam slept over last night," I blurt out.
Her jaw drops, and she puts down her mug with unsteady fingers, but she doesn't say anything, obviously trying to process her reaction.
"Nothing happened," I tell her. "We just… it was a weird night and he just wanted to hold me. So I wouldn't have nightmares."
My mother lifts her mug to her lips, sipping her coffee while she thinks of her next words. "And did you? Have nightmares?"
I shake my head.
She nods. She doesn't seem to be mad, which is a huge relief to me. "Well that's good then, I suppose," she murmurs, almost to herself. "I was up early. He wasn't here…"
"No, he left before dawn. I… didn't want you to freak out," I admit.
She nods again. "What was weird about it?'
I furrow my brow in question.
"Your night. You said it was a weird night."
Oh. "Yeah. Did you know Lacey was going to college in New York?" I ask her.
Her eyes widen in surprise. "Really? No, of course I didn't know that. Not NYU, though?"
She's nervous for me. "No, FIT."
My mother sighs. "Well, isn't that just wonderful." The sarcasm drips from her words.
"Well, Chelsea—you know—"
"The girl who attacked you in the bathroom and later apologized. Yes, I remember, Rory." Still with the sarcasm.
I roll my eyes at her. "Well, the apology was fake, and she wasn't done apparently..."
My mother raises her eyebrows and I tell her all about Chelsea's plan and the confrontation of the night before. My mother is horrified.
"So Sam drove me home…"
"And wanted to hold you…"
I look down, blushing. "Yeah."
"But you're still just friends?"
"I—uh… I'm not sure." I sigh. "I don't know, Mom. I miss him. I want him back. I told him so the other day, but…"
"But? That boy is in love with you, don't try and tell me any different," she hedges.
I shrug. "He told me I needed to be sure and to think about it over the weekend. That we'd talk Monday."
My mother's lips slip up into a wry smile. "That would be tomorrow."
No kidding.
"So, Rory, are you sure?"
The million dollar question.
****
When I return home later that night from running errands my mother is in a far different mood than when I left her. I'm feeling exhilarated, ready to take back control of my life, but the stress lines around her eyes as she pores over legal files in the living room give me pause.
"Mom?"
She looks up, startled, and I'm instantly anxious. She removes her reading glasses and starts rubbing her temples. I sit beside her.
"What is it?" But as soon as I look down at the papers, I know it's about Robin. "The hearing?"
My mother nods. "I've been speaking to the prosecutor all day, honey. I think we'll be okay. It's just, the Injunction for Protection is our best card, but if they dismiss the violation charge…"
"But how? I mean, he was there. They know he was there." My pulse races, and I force myself to take deep breaths. My mother is so out of sorts that she doesn't even notice my distress.
"You were in Miami. The Order specified where you live, your school, but Robin claims he had no idea you'd be in Miami, and we can't prove otherwise—"
"But of course he did! He said he knew! Dad is the one who told him…" And then I understand. My father has no intention of testifying on my behalf. Of course, he's done everything in his power to help Robin from the beginning, so why would I ever expect anything less from him?
Robin is going to get away with violating his restraining order.
My mother finally notices my horrified expression. "Look, honey, if they believe the assault happened, then that's a violation in of itself. We were just hoping that him being there at all…" she trails off.
I know all this. We were hoping that would be the slam dunk. The point that would prove the rest. That I was the one telling the truth. That I didn't come on to Robin and then fly off the handle and start fighting with him. But now we have to prove the assault to prove the violation.
I push back my chair and stand up.
"Rory—"
"I'm fine, Mom." I'm not. I'm sweating profusely and I can barely control my breathing. But I need to get the hell o
ut of here. I don't want to think about this right now. I can't. "I'm just gonna go take a shower," I tell her, and then flee upstairs.
I take a pill. I haven't taken one in a while and it feels like defeat. But it's happening. I know it is. This is the beginning of the Forbes' strategy—of Robin getting away with it.
I sit down on my bed and pull the shirt from my bag. I hold the cotton to my nose and inhale deeply. I won't think about Robin now. I'll think about tomorrow. Because tomorrow is Senior Monday, and it's the day I'm getting Sam back. For good this time.
****
I get to school early, nervous as all hell. I'm one of the first people waiting outside room 313, lightly sweating in my zip-up hoodie. Carl arrives before Sam, decked out in Tucker's varsity football tee shirt, which she's tied stylishly at her waist. She smirks at me when she asks what made me run off so early Saturday night, openly suspicious of my leaving with Sam. She has no idea what really went down and I'm in no mood to tell her.
It isn't long before she asks if I'm alright, obviously catching on to my jittery state, but I blow her off. Because it's that moment that Sam rounds the corner, and he pauses when his eyes meet mine. We didn't say we'd talk about us first thing in the morning, but it's obviously on the forefront of both of our minds.
"Hello?" Carl elbows me to get my attention before she follows my gaze, and her smirk returns.
"I need to talk to him," I tell her. There are only a few minutes left before class, and most of our classmates have already filed into their homerooms.
Carl smirks again. "Don't blow it," she sings teasingly.
Yeah.
Okay, nervous has shifted to terrified. I don't know what made me so ballsy yesterday. Why I felt so confident that I could put myself out on a limb like this. I should have just waited to talk to him. To see how he feels. I still could, of course. I could chicken out.
But I don't want to be that girl. Not anymore.
Sam approaches me with a soft smile. He doesn't have any books with him. Finals are over and tomorrow will be our last day. Today the seniors have a long assembly where they'll give out all sorts of awards and make speeches, and all I have to do is hand in a term paper for Government. Well, that and get my life back.
Okay Page 23