Shrinking into herself, she clenched her fists, let her weight steady her on her left foot. She leaned back, preparing to react in the only way she could.
Wait. No!
Her right hand was her dominant, her drawing hand. Shifting, she pulled her other arm back and punched the frat boy who’d nearly raped her. Right in the eye.
Son of a bitch. That hurt.
Shaking her hand, she felt an ounce of smug justice as he staggered to a chair, clutching his face. He’d caught her at that party, when she’d been a lightweight to the alcohol, and she’d gotten him in a billionaire’s office—he, apparently, was a lightweight to her fist.
Edgar’s shouts and the intern’s moans went in one ear and out the other. She backpedaled a couple paces to let Edgar’s summoned assistant rush in. On wobbly yet determined steps, she staggered to the exit. Just in case her actions hadn’t spoken loud and clear, she paused, her hand on the doorknob of the open door, and called over her shoulder to Edgar.
“You can shove that trust fund up your ass. My answer is no. I’ll never give you control over my life.” Either of you.
Trembling from the adrenaline rush, Sammy left, not at a run, not with a cocky gait. She wasn’t afraid of the men on the top floor, and she wasn’t proud of her violence. Fisting and releasing her left hand, she winced at the pain and heeded it as a heady reminder. Never again would she submit to the patriarchal power of the Millson name, and never again would she cower before a predator.
She’d stood up for herself. She’d said no. She’d struck back.
Finally locked into the Honda in the lot, she whooshed out the breath she’d been trapping inside.
“Fuck, that hurt.” She examined her left hand, her knuckles swollen and red. Snapping a direct jab on a dude’s face was nothing like all the kickboxing maneuvers she’d dished out on thin air.
Laughing lightly, she sensed hysterics taking over her brain. No, she’d told Edgar. With bold defiance, she’d terminated her most solid hope of keeping Clare out of the nursing home.
Starting the car, she gave Ink a weak pat, and drove to the nearest pharmacy for some painkillers and ice pack.
Now what? How would she save Clare?
She didn’t regret turning down Edgar and his intern, but there had to be a backup plan.
Her phone buzzed on the console again, and she flipped it over, ignoring the summons without glancing at the screen, too worked up to speak to anyone. It might have been Adam, and she needed to simply think before telling him how she’d handled her fears.
Like a goddamn lioness.
Absently perusing the painkillers at the CVS, she put a lid on her pride and rationalized.
Okay, we’ve got enough to manage a couple months of at-home care…depending on when Clare is released from rehab. Maybe it’ll be a while to let me save up.
Too many options for pain relief. Drowsy or non-drowsy? Eh, she had to drive to Lincoln. No sleepiness allowed.
I can ask our agent for an adjustment in the release schedule. Full steam ahead on the holiday book, too. Clare’s never worried about the production timeline, but if I want to speed it up and drive more sales, she’ll be on board with what I decide.
“Thirteen sixty,” the cashier said.
For a bottle of generic acetaminophen and artificial coldness? She rolled her eyes.
Should’ve just gone to a drive-thru and ordered a cup of ice. Okay, first step, amp up Landy books. We hit more sales with every royalty report. They need to cater to us if they want our hot stuff. So if I ask to fast-forward the next release, they should damn well at least consider what I say. Next…
“Feel better,” the cashier said, handing her the bag.
“Thanks,” Sammy said. Already am.
Next, I can take on more tat designs, maybe ask Pablo for a higher rate. Even design for other tat shops. And artistically pimp myself. Portraits, touristy things, anything I can paint and sell.
It had to work. Sure, it wouldn’t be easy, but she was no quitter.
Maybe stop taking classes. Put off graduation and eliminate having to pay tuition until the time is better for that expense.
She winced at her last brainstorm. Clare would absolutely refuse to support any idea that withheld her from obtaining her degree.
With a sip of water from a car-warmed bottle Ink had been using for a pillow, Sammy swallowed a couple pills, wiped her mouth, and then snapped the cold pack to start it chilling.
Groaning, she smirked at the phone buzzing on the console.
Less than a dozen contacts had her number. Adam knew what she’d had on her agenda that day. Clare would still be asleep on the West Coast. Probably Jake, eager to see her, calling to figure out when they’d meet up.
She picked up the phone. Frowning, she scrolled through the list. Nine missed calls, three from her agent, six from a California number. Just as many voicemails, too.
Listening to her first message, she pet Ink at her side.
“This is Cristina Lopez, I’m calling from Bayshore Hospital, for Samantha Millson. At your earliest convenience, please call me at…”
As soon as Sammy heard the first digits provided, she ended the message and hit redial for the California number she’d missed.
Two rings, and then the same Latina voice sang through her earpiece. “Cristina Lopez, how may I help you?”
Sammy could imagine a warm-smiling woman who baked cookies for her grandkids and crocheted blankets for fundraisers. “This is Samantha Millson. You called me?”
Repeatedly, at six in the morning… She gulped around the lump in her throat.
“Yes, Miss Millson—”
“Just Sammy.”
“Thank you for calling so promptly.”
As she listened, Sammy stuck her key in the ignition, causing the seatbelt alert to ding.
“Oh, are you driving at the moment?”
“No, no. Not yet. Is something wrong?”
“Sammy, I’m very sorry to relay this bad news, but early this morning, Miss Wheatman passed away.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lincoln, Vermont
Adam started his day with a long run, a quick breakfast, and an exercise of taking photos of his cabin. Standing on the porch, guzzling a bottle of water before he trekked into town, he eyed the spot in the grass where he’d dined with Sammy and made love to her under the moon.
Checking the images on his phone, he stalled at the picture he’d captured of Sammy the night before. Before dinner, he’d snagged a candid shot of her gazing at the cabin. Her face reminded him to make haste of his agenda for the day, because it was all for her.
His cabin. He no longer flinched at the anxiety of possessing land and a residence. Sammy’s presence had defined the property through their experience together, like the artist she was, painting her influence on her surroundings and him.
“Do you think you’ll ever find what you’re looking for, Adam?”
“Maybe I already have.”
There was no “maybe” about it.
He’d be a fool to reenlist and settle for deployment in Kuwait. His future, one of compromises and love, was here. Well, was here, last night. Every time he’d deliberated his options with the Army, indecision gripped him with anxiety. Faced with the choice of being with Sammy, it was never a trick question or a tough answer. She was his girl. Always was. Always would be no matter where he could live and what he could do. And he wanted to be ready to express that simple fact of life when she returned.
His first stop in town was still the local realtor’s office where he’d picked up the cabin keys and signed documents the day before.
He checked the time, knowing Sammy had to have made it to Concord already, probably already faced off Edgar. The urge to call her, even send her a silly text, was overwhelming, but he knew this was a challenging day for her. She didn’t need his separation anxiety. He could give her breathing room and space. He had faith she wasn’t just gone from his life. Once she ca
me back, though, he’d be sure to show her how terribly he’d missed her, and test out a reaction to his budding idea.
One half day apart, and he was already counting down the time when he would be able to see her smirks at his lame jokes, hear her soft laughs. And moans of pleasure.
Get a grip. Lovesick, but faithful she’d come back as she’d promised, he decided to accomplish a variety of tasks. The more he completed on his list, the more time he could listen to her, and, he hoped, the more he’d be able to explain about the decision she’d inspired him to explore.
When they’d first parked in front of the cabin the previous day, he had a fleeting fantasy on the spot, with them seeing the location of, say, their honeymoon vacation. The wonder in her eyes matched the awe in what he appreciated of the scenery too. Gorgeous. Relaxing. Inviting.
Robert, the only real estate agent in town, was free, and he was polite, resourceful, and patient to speak with Adam about his overnight ambitions. He was a fellow veteran, too, and they’d shared some Army small talk to pass the majority of the morning, even a lunch at the local bar.
Before he planned to walk back to cabin under the afternoon sun, pleased with the abundant information he’d gathered in such a productive short time, Adam felt his phone vibrate, and he held up a finger to excuse himself from the realtor’s office.
“Hello?”
“Hey, how’s it going?” Jake said.
Adam smiled at his best bud’s voice. “Not bad.”
“What’s going on with Sammy?”
Dread sunk like lead in his stomach. Shit. She told him already? “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re the last person I know to have seen her.”
“She didn’t make it to Concord?” Fear spiked his heart rate. Dammit, he should have called.
“No, I think she did. From the sour attitudes from Dad and Edgar, I believe she made an impression at the offices. She was supposed to hang out with me after.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. At least that’s what she told me she wanted to do.”
“Right. When she didn’t show up at my apartment, and she didn’t answer my calls, I wondered if she needed more space or something. It couldn’t have been easy for her to meet Edgar.”
Then why didn’t you go with her for support? He’d offered, and Jake couldn’t have? Adam resisted a scoff.
“She finally called me back. Said her battery was low and she couldn’t talk long.”
“Crap. That makes sense. She left her charger in the bedroom last night.”
Silence stretched for a handful of seconds. “The bedroom? Not her bedroom?”
Fuck.
“Getting cozy with my baby sister?”
Adam squinted his eyes shut. No. Not cozy. More like head over heels.
Jake laughed. “Chill, man. Don’t piss your pants yet. She’s always been gaga over you. And you never could hide the fact you had a soft spot for her. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather see her with.”
Thank God. A deep rush of air rushed out his mouth. He’d all but had Jake’s blessing. “Yet” what, though?
“But if you ever hurt her, I’ll kick your ass.”
“You have my word.” As if he could ever bring harm to a hair on her head.
“Anyway, she was rambling that her phone was about to die, and I heard this announcement in the background. Then the call ended.”
“What kind of announcement? Like an intercom?”
“Exactly. For a flight to begin boarding.”
A flight? On an airplane? Sammy would only embark on a plane if she were severely sedated. She had an extreme phobia of flying. A fault she’d always expressed guilt over when her parents scorned her for how her fright challenged family travel plans.
“You know how much she hates planes,” Jake reminded him unnecessarily.
“Right.”
What could have made her take off so … quickly? She’d planned to touch base with him before she returned to San Francisco, a visit from her he’d been rehearsing for all day. All her stuff was still at the cabin. And to not even stop by and say hi to Jake? Something was off.
“How did she sound?”
“Honestly? Kind of dull. Quiet. Zoned out. Of course, interacting with Edgar is known to ruin a person’s day.”
“Sad? Scared?”
“Hard to say. Still, I can’t think of a single thing that would compel her to fly somewhere so rashly.”
He could.
“Jake, I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay?”
He ended the call and asked his newfound realtor friend for a favor, namely to borrow his car to get him to the nearest airport.
Robert frowned. “You look awfully shaken up.” He stood from his desk and pushed the chair in. “It’s not too busy today. How about I drive you there?”
Adam didn’t think twice to take him up on the offer. In the passenger seat, he burned the battery on his phone while they stopped at the cabin to grab both his and Sammy’s backpacks and to double-check the locks.
First, he confirmed the awful hunch he had.
A post on Sammy’s Landy page stated that well-known, best-selling raconteur, author of the popular Landy series, passed away in the early hours of the morning. Complications of sepsis. Details to follow. A preliminary obituary of Clare Wheatman was provided.
Baby. Adam closed his eyes, hating himself for not being there with her when she’d gotten word.
Next, he checked his bank account. Still a healthy excess available from his dad’s inheritance. Not to mention his deployment pay. Plenty for airfare.
Then he booked the first flight to San Francisco.
****
As soon as he disembarked, he turned on his phone and researched a little more so he could find Sammy as quickly as possible. Remembering the website’s name from the collection of tattoos she’d shown him of her designs, he searched for a number.
His conversation with Pablo was confusing and awkward at first. The man’s protective manner of withholding Sammy’s home address made Adam glad she’d worked for a trustworthy person. Once he explained that Clare had passed away, Pablo was much more forthcoming with information—and worry.
Adam exited the hectic airport, and then sought a cab and rode to Sammy’s apartment. He tried her phone, even though he knew it was probably pointless. Her charger was in her bag, which was in his bag next to him on the backseat. He checked his barely alive phone, too, on a slim hope she might have found a way to contact him.
He arrived at a townhouse and paid the cabbie. Never having been to San Francisco before, he wasn’t grounded in his surroundings. Even though he’d stared out the windows of both the plane and the taxi, no scenery, no landmarks impressed recognition on his mind.
Sammy. He only needed to see her. Hold her.
He hefted the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder and ascended the steps to her front door. Three raps he knocked on the dark-brown surface.
If she wasn’t home… He glanced at the cement stoop he stood on. He’d park his tired ass on her front step until she showed, because he wasn’t going anywhere.
Is this what it was like when Dad was called to a new post? When Mom decorated a new residence? The calling to come … home?
Waiting for Sammy, Adam couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d ever need to be.
The door opened. Sammy was within his reach, with bloodshot eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and a handful of tissues. His heart crumbled at her pain. Shock might have widened her eyes at first seeing him, but she wasted no time in pulling the door open all the way and launching herself into his ready arms.
“How… How … the fuck did you know?” she mumble-cried into his neck. “I borrowed some lady’s phone to call you on my flight, but it went to voicemail.”
Ah. So that was the missed call from the unknown number. Shushing her, he carried her inside, kicking the entrance closed behind him.
Clutching her in his arms, he did
a slight dance of letting the bag slide off his arm and not dropping her in the process. He sat on her couch, cradling her in his lap, murmuring sounds to her hair, stroking her back, and kissing her temple.
Hours passed, the darkening sky outside the window a testament to a day coming to close. She’d fallen asleep on him after she’d sobbed herself to fatigue, and he shifted them so they could rest side by side on the sofa.
He woke to Sammy’s soft palm caressing his jaw. Peeling his eyes open, he studied her, their faces inches apart on a rose-hued pillow.
“Please don’t think I stood you up,” she said.
He grunted and tucked her close for a kiss to her forehead. “How can you even bother with a thought like that? I didn’t. I saw I’d missed a call, but I figured it was a junk call. Didn’t check the message.”
“I swear I was coming back. I’m a woman of my word. I—”
He kissed her silent. She was making frivolous excuses for her behavior at Clare’s death? Did she not realize he loved her and understood what she’d done—flying home ASAP? She was working herself up over nothing.
“And you’re a woman true to her heart. I’m only mad I couldn’t have been there for you when you found out,” he said.
“I shut down before I could even think to explain to you. I just knew I needed to get here. I don’t know how much of my message will make sense around my crying, but I wasn’t going to leave you wondering… How did you find out? And how did you find me?”
He filled her in on Jake’s call—which brought out a guilty grimace on her face—and how he’d contacted Pablo. “Sammy, I’m so sorry, baby.”
She nodded, moisture lining her lashes again. “Me too.”
“I love you.”
His confession fit. No forced pretense. No wince of tethering himself to what those three words meant. No worry about her staking claim on his heart. He welcomed the connection between them, emboldened by it in his need to comfort her now. But as she froze in front of him, his happiness of expressing his love for her dimmed. Fear tiptoed in. Just because he said it didn’t mean she’d return. She just lost a friend. Cut her some slack, asshole. She’s grieving.
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