Chip looks at me with sad, compassionate, infinitely familiar brown eyes. He's aged more than the year we've been apart. Tragically losing your best friend will do that to you.
"But I'd give it up to bring him back. Not to be with him. Just… for him to be alive."
It's my darkest confession.
Guilt. It isn't rational, but it's there, consuming me every time I let myself really consider the reality of my life. Of the seemingly small choices, the oversights that change everything, forever.
"Of course you would, Rory girl. That doesn't mean you don't love your man," Chip says soothingly.
I shrug. I know it doesn't mean I don't love him. Because I do love him—I love him more than words can adequately explain. But it does mean I probably don't deserve him.
"He tell you? Sam, I mean. That he loves you? 'Cause he does," Chip says confidently.
I chew the inside of my cheek. Sam hasn't said those words since the last time we were here in Miami.
Chip narrows his eyes. "He should tell you," he says, again, almost to himself. Something in his tone, in his mannerisms is different. It's almost as if he's taken over Cam's protective streak for him. Like he fancies himself my big brother, even though I'm two months older than he is.
It's both refreshing and overwhelming having Chip here to talk to. But this particular day has been far too emotionally draining, and I change the subject before it gets to be too much for me.
"So what about you, Chip? You datin' anyone?" I always thought he and Emmers would get together. She certainly hoped so.
Chip shakes his head. "Not anymore. I was seein' this girl Tully Winters. You remember her?"
"That Bill Winter's daughter?" I ask. "Isn't she kinda young?"
Chip smirks. "Old enough. She was a sophomore this year."
"Didn't work out?"
Chip shrugs. "I'm gonna be in New York in a couple months. She wanted a commitment. Wasn't really up for all that."
"I thought you'd end up with Emmers," I admit.
For the second time tonight Chips features set into a strangely serious expression.
"What?" I ask.
Chip shakes his head incredulously. "Really, Rory girl? After what those bitches pulled with you? You think I was just gonna pretend what? All is forgiven just because you left town?"
I blink at him.
"We don't speak to them. We got your back. Whether you're there or not."
I try not to show my surprise but I'm sure I fail. "We?"
"Uh... Nick, Perry…" he says our childhood friends' names like he can't believe I didn't know who he'd meant. He shakes his head again, but this time it's reproachful. "Did you really think we wouldn't have your back?" He doesn't bother hiding his offense.
And he's right. I shrug. "I guess… I guess I was so desperate to escape that I didn't really think at all. And then, I just figured life went on without me, like before."
I wince at my own words. Of course nothing was like before, not without Cam.
"I didn't mean—I mean I know everything changed, once Cam died." It still feels like a knife to my chest every time I vocalize it. Cam. Dead. Words that should never have gone together, but are now inseverable.
Chip's brow furrows like he's trying to work something out, and then lands back on incredulity as he shakes his head again. "Yeah, Rory. Once Cam died, and then we lost our other best friend, too, remember? We had the rug pulled out from under us—findin' out what he'd been doin' to you. You have any idea what it was like for me that day in the hospital? When you unzipped your hoodie…" He takes a deep breath, his features set as if he's in actual physical pain.
"And then… Look, I get you were going through serious shit. I get that it wasn't about me, but like, we've been friends since we were little, and then suddenly you couldn't even be in the same room with me without hyperventilatin'. Like you were scared of me. We both just lost Cam and—" He swallows his pain and I'm flooded with guilt.
Not for my anxiety; I know I wasn't to blame for that. But I never really considered how much it all affected Chip.
"Shit, Rory. You act like… like you thought your own friends just up and forgot about you. And I don't mean Lacey and those hags. I mean your real friends. The guys you'd known since kindergarten. Us."
"I'm sorry," I murmur.
"No, Rory girl. I'm sorry. I thought you needed distance, so I gave it to you. I thought you'd call me when you were ready. But I never should've let it drag on so long. I should have found a way to get in touch."
"I should have called you." I know I wasn't ready before, but at least since I started talking to Michelle again, I should have tried to call Chip. And Nick and Perry too.
Chip sighs. "Well, we're talkin' now. That's what matters, I guess. But just know, we were always thinkin' of you. We never forgave the people who hurt you." His lip twists up into a small, wry smile. "Not even when Emmers put her hand on my crotch out by the lake and whispered that her mouth would feel even better."
My eyes widen and my last sip of soda spits out with my laughter. "You didn't cave for a blowjob? Well that's real loyalty right there."
His smirk grows. "My will power has gotten much stronger I'll have you know."
"God I'd have loved to see her face," I admit.
"Well, it looked a little somethin' like this." He drops his mouth open and sets his features into indignant shock, batting his eyelashes dramatically.
I giggle uncontrollably.
"Then she told me I didn't know what I was missin'."
"And what'd you say?"
He sighs, his face growing somber once again. "I told her I did. That I was missin' my two best friends. Not head from some skank who helped run one of 'em off."
I blink at him for a full minute before I get up from my chair and wrap my arms around his surprisingly broad shoulders. Chip hugs me back fiercely.
****
The rest of the evening is exponentially lighter. With all of the unsaid between us now finally said, I actually feel like I have my old friend back.
Eventually we call it a night and make plans to meet outside the courthouse at 8:45 the next morning.
Sam isn't in his suite when I get upstairs. He isn't in my room either. My heart plummets. I try calling him, but his cell goes straight to voicemail. But I'm not worried, just disappointed. Because I know he's probably walking the beach clearing his head. And I know it's because of me.
I'm the reason he's here right now, testifying and lying on a witness stand. Listening to me testify about the horrors of that night.
All of his friends are back home, partying, celebrating. Yesterday was the last day of school, Monday is his Athletics Awards dinner, Saturday is our senior Prom, and next Tuesday graduation. These are the things that should be on his mind. Not this.
But there's no help for it. We fell in love. And good or bad, Sam is going to be there for me, I know it, even if he wasn't a witness himself.
I take a long shower, trying to wash away the day, trying to remove the image of Robin's glare, the memory of my father's accusations.
I slip on a camisole and the boxers I stole from Sam on our first night of spring break, and go lay down on the balcony in a chaise lounge. Even though Sam isn't here with me, it feels like he is. I can feel his support, his love.
I'm tired from the long day and from not sleeping last night, and so I let my eyes close for a little while as I wait for him to return from his walk.
I must fall asleep because my hair is dry by the time I become aware of his scent, of his strong arms slipping beneath my knees and back and carrying me to his bed. I don't even open my tired eyes, I just cling to him as he slips into bed beside me, and let myself drift off. In my barely conscious state I'm only vaguely aware of his whispered reassurances, promising me everything is going to be okay. I don't know if it's because I'm half asleep, or if seeing my old friend has affected me, or even if it's just Sam's love finally caressing its way into my psyche, but for the f
irst time, I'm actually starting to believe him.
Chapter Nineteen
"Sam."
I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to coax him awake. Sam's midnight blues lazily blink open to find me leaning over him, my hair hanging around my face like a curtain. He is beautiful when he sleeps. His lashes—too long for a guy, especially one with his rugged features—fan out over his cheeks, accentuating his sculpted bone structure. He's almost angelic, and I'd rather sit here on the bed and watch him sleep than disturb him. For a moment I forget why I even have to wake him.
He brings his hand up and threads his fingers through the hair at my nape pulling me down for a long, slow kiss.
"Mmm," he moans.
God, he tastes good, even just waking up.
I pull away laughing and he grins up at me. I suspect that in this moment he may have forgotten where we are, why we're here. My smile turns regretful because I know he's about to remember.
"I let you sleep as long as I could. We gotta get going," I say breathily, inexorably affected by his kiss, and a glance at the sheet bunched at his waist tells me I'm not alone.
I see the moment he realizes what we have to do today. He jumps up, suddenly anxious, and it's so unlike him that it gives me pause.
He turns and looks me over, as if to check for signs that I'm okay.
"Sam?"
He sighs, almost sounding relieved as he seems to assure himself that I am, in fact, holding it together. His behavior makes me wonder if he had a nightmare, and the thought makes my chest ache.
He leans down to plant a gentle kiss to my temple, and makes his way into the bathroom without a word.
At a quarter of eight Sam and I both receive a text from my mother.
Court delayed until after lunch. I'm at the Prosecutor's office. Everything is okay, just meet me at the courthouse at 1PM
I swallow anxiously, looking to Sam as if he might have the answers, but he looks just as puzzled as I am and even more worried.
All I know is this can't be good. I'm supposed to be testifying in a little over an hour and now I don't know what's happening.
Sam picks up his phone, looking nervous. "My phone needs to charge, Ror, can I borrow yours?"
"I just wanna call Chip first, he's supposed to meet us at court."
Sam nods slowly, almost reluctantly. He's not himself, and his reaction to this new development is feeding my anxiety, so I step out on the balcony to make my call, just wanting to give him some time to compose himself.
Chip doesn't answer so I text him instead. I decide to check my Facebook account. I usually only check it weekly—I was just telling Sam as much the other day—and I checked it on the plane. But I need to distract myself.
It's a mistake.
I have a new message, and though I've received a few of them from future classmates, I never expected to see this name in my inbox.
Or maybe I did. Maybe it was my worst fear, and the entire reason I was reluctant to make an account again in the first place.
I don't even know how he knew I had Facebook.
Robin hasn't changed his Profile Picture in the year since we've been out of contact, and it's his same smiling face, the same photo that incited my argument with Sam the night he attacked me here during spring break.
I stare at my inbox for what feels like an hour before I decide to open the message. Not opening it isn't going to make it disappear, and since it says he sent it last night around ten thirty, it's already been sitting there for hours.
I hold my breath, letting my thumb linger over the top slot of my inbox before I close my eyes and click it.
Rory,
I can't stand knowing you're right here, in a hotel a few miles away, but I can't see you. I can't stand watching you in court and not being able to talk to you. I can't stand hearing him talk about you being together. I won't stand for it. You are mine and I will never let you go.
Oh, God.
I gasp in a wheezing breath when I realize I haven't breathed since I clicked the message, but it feels like it won't reach my lungs. My pulse accelerates, and my breath races it.
Oh, God!
How could I have thought I was safe? What was I thinking?!
I'm instantly covered in sweat, my tank top sticking to my back, and then all too quickly black spots dot my vision, my head dizzy, the world spinning around me until my legs are overcome with pins and needles. I feel the rail of the balcony behind me and let it guide me to the floor.
I can't get my bearings. A steel band tightens around my rib cage, closing in on my lungs, and I just can't enough air. I'm going to pass out. I know it.
I try with everything I have to gasp in another breath. The loud, dramatic wheeze sounds as if it's coming from someone else, somewhere else. I try and try to fucking breathe but I can't stop thinking that he's going to come for me. I know it.
I will never let you go.
He's said it before. But now he's here, in the same city, and he could be anywhere. He could be somewhere in the hotel, just lying in wait.
He's going to kill me. He's going to kill Sam, I know it!
"Ror?" I can barely see him with my vision compromised. "Oh, fuck, Ror!"
He's at my side, I know because I can feel his hands brushing the sweat soaked hair from my forehead, rubbing at my arm like it could be enough to comfort me right now.
I whimper.
I can't form words, can't warn him, when it's all I want to do. Terror overtakes everything.
He's coming! You've got to get away, Sam!
He needs to leave, to be far away from me when he finally comes for me!
If only I could communicate, if I could show him my phone, but I dropped it. Where exactly, when exactly, I don't know. I don't know!
Then he's slipping something in my mouth—a pill, I realize—and holding a water bottle to my lips.
I try to sip, try to swallow, but I can't even intake air.
Baby, baby, baby.
He's been speaking this whole time, I realize, but I've barely heard him.
Swallow for me, please baby.
He's begging.
Pleading.
I want to beg and plead too. Get out of here!
I'm sorry, baby. Please, baby! I'm sorry!
I can't even make out which are my thoughts and which are his words.
I focus all of my energy, all of my concentration, and I do it—I swallow the pill, bitter and chalky having spent too much time soaking in the water sitting in my mouth.
Encouragements. That's it, baby girl. Thank you. Thank you, baby. I'm so sorry, baby.
It feels as if it gets stuck in my chest, further cutting off my windpipe, and somehow also as if it's grown, like there's a golf ball there instead of a little bar-shaped pill.
Just breathe for me now, okay?
Loud breaths. Like he's coaching me. Like a childbirth class I saw in a movie once.
In and out, in and out.
I listen to his long, deep breaths. They are calming. I try to mimic them.
My breaths come in double time to his.
But they come. Finally.
I breathe.
I breathe, and breathe, and breathe. Hours pass. Or minutes.
My vision is still black.
No, my eyes are just closed. I blink them open.
My vision is blurry, but I can see.
I'm not sitting on the ground. But Sam is. I've been pulled into his lap, my head cradled against his chest, his arms holding me, stroking my hair, breathing with me. Breathing for me.
"Sam." I breathe his name, a prayer on my lips.
Slowly I feel it—the magic of the pill. I sit there, letting him hold me, waiting, breathing. My vision clears, and I see my phone in his hand. He saw the message. Did he have time to read it? How much time has even actually passed?
"Fuck, baby, you scared the shit out of me," he whispers.
"I'm… okay." I'm not. I'm not panicking anymore, thanks to Sam and my medica
tion, but I'm in danger. We both are.
"I'm sorry. So sorry," he murmurs, like he's still recovering from my panic attack.
But he has no reason to be sorry. I force another deep breath before I ask. "Why?"
Sam seems to startle. Like maybe he's coming back to the world with me. But he doesn't answer. Instead, he presses his forehead to mine, and I breathe in his breath like it's my lifeline.
"Everything is okay. Do you hear me? Don't pay it any fucking attention, baby girl. He can't touch you. He won't touch you."
He's so adamant, but the passion behind his words doesn't make them true. He can't control Robin. I'm not sure anyone can.
"He's not going to let me go, Sam. He's going to hurt me. He's going to hurt you." I whimper again at the thought, like a pitiful frightened puppy.
"No, baby girl. I swear to fucking God—you're safe. We're safe." He takes a deep breath and wipes the tears, or sweat, or both, from my cheeks. He stares intently into my eyes. "You saw the photos yesterday, yeah? Of what happened the last time he tried to hurt us?"
I saw them, yes. And I know Sam won that fight, that he's stronger. But Robin is crazy. Who knows what he might do?
"But—"
"I know you're upset, Ror, and I'm sorry. But baby, I need you to trust me. I am going to keep you safe. I promise you nothing will come of that message, okay? We'll report it to the prosecutor, and they'll revoke his bail. He's not allowed to contact you, remember? This whole hearing just became moot. He just violated the restraining order anyway."
My mouth drops open as I process his words.
Is he right?
Robin's not supposed to contact me. This is contact. This is a violation of the Injunction for Protection. Even if the judge believes he didn't know I'd be in Miami, that he didn't knowingly seek me out, this is undeniable.
I can't find words. I just stare at Sam, gaping.
He nods at me as if confirming what I'm finally starting to grasp.
"Sam." It's the only word I can form.
He brushes my hair from my face before his lips press hard against mine. He does it again, and again, in chaste, closed-mouthed, hard kisses.
Finally he lifts me up and carries me from the balcony.
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