Agreed. I’m happy to see she’s finally enjoying herself, and I’m about to ask her if things are always this chaotic, but suddenly I don’t care. Sun shines directly on Sam’s bare, tanned skin, lotion-covered and almost glittering in the morning light. I can see the iridescent hairs on her arms, making her skin look velvety soft. I force myself to look away so I don’t do something stupid, like reach out and touch her.
She reaches behind her, trying to lotion her shoulder blades. “You need help?” I ask against my better judgement. The fact that I want to is the exact reason why I know I shouldn’t. Things are complicated enough between us already.
I assume I already know the answer, but she surprises me and turns around. “Sure.” She blinks at me, biting her lip. “If you could get my back, I’d appreciate it.”
I nod like an idiot, and when we both stand up, I barely notice the shift in the canoe and step closer to her. When Sam hands me the tube of suntan lotion it’s impossible to ignore the sensation of her fingers brushing against mine, and there’s a voice somewhere inside my head telling me I’m getting too close to her again. I ignore the internal warning as she turns my palm over in her hand.
“How’s your cut healing?” she asks.
“Just about gone,” I say quietly as she stares at the fading wound. I glance up at her. “Thanks for asking.” There’s noise around us, but I don’t hear any of it. My gaze is locked on her so firmly I can’t bring myself to look away again until Sam pivots around, breaking the spell.
She moves her braid off her back and over her shoulder, out of my way. I squeeze some of the lotion into my hand, take a deep breath, and rub my hands together. I tell myself it’s just fucking sunblock and I need to sack up. But then, and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, her body tenses the moment I touch her and goosebumps cover her arms and the back of her neck.
“Sorry if my hands are cold,” I say, more gravely than I expect.
“They’re fine.” She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear with a slender finger, but I know her hands are rough from working outside. She’s real, and that’s what’s always attracted me to her. In her bikini top and go-to cutoffs, she’s beautiful. I’ve been telling myself we need to try to be friends while I’m here, but now that she’s right in front of me and I have nowhere to look but at her sun-kissed, freckled shoulders, I suddenly want more.
I clear my throat. “Here.” I hand her the tube of lotion. “Done.”
She turns her head, her eyes slowly drifting to mine. Her cheeks are rosy, her lips moist. “Thanks—”
“Josh!” There’s a high-pitched coo of my name and I turn around. Bethany is in a canoe downriver, waving. Her friend behind her is struggling to push their canoe away from the shore.
I raise my hand in a brief wave, silently cursing Bethany’s interruption.
When Bethany’s gaze shifts to Nick and Savannah coming out of the trees together, something flashes across her face. Whether or not Nick’s still in love with her like he was in high school, I’m not sure, but I wonder if he realizes the way she looks at him now. After their moment together all those years back and her constant dismissal of him, I’m not sure he cares much anymore.
“Shall we?” Sam says, almost growls, actually.
“Come on, slowpokes!” Nick shouts. He kisses Savannah once more and jumps into his canoe. Savannah climbs into Mac’s, Mac tapping her finger on the lip of the canoe. Agitated doesn’t seem an adequate word.
Nick starts paddling up the river like we’ve been holding him back. He’s in the zone—ready and determined to get this day going. He turns his stereo speaker up and electric guitar strums echo toward us.
“And so it begins,” Mac says, and I hear Savannah’s laugh behind us. “Welcome to our annual canoeing trip, Savannah, where you’ll likely tip at least once, get sunburned in obscure, horrible places, and drink so much you’ll barely remember the canoe ride back.”
“Like I said,” Sam utters. Her voice is distant. “This is going to be interesting.” She hands me my oar.
Together, we push away from shore and begin paddling. Our timing’s off at first, but we quickly find our rhythm and paddle in unison. I can hear voices downstream, and others, like Mac and Savannah, pass us. Eventually, we’re on a stretch of the river by ourselves, and in our silence, I’m preoccupied by an unexpected wave of nostalgia.
I take in the redwoods that jut out of the mountainside along the river, and a flood of incriminating images flash through my mind: the guys and me passed out on the shore after too many beers our junior and senior years of high school. Us jumping into the water at the crack of dawn to sober up and drive home before our parents find we’ve skipped town. My muddled thoughts clear as I think about my dad, backhanding me for forgetting my “responsibilities.”
Distant memories taper away when I hear the sound of a can cracking open.
“Want a beer?” Sam asks, looking back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are bright and shimmering.
Does she have any idea how sexy she is? The thought surprises me. “Not yet, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” she says and goes back to rowing.
As we paddle upriver, I find our silence companionable, but I would rather be talking to her. I’m compelled to say something, but then that familiar voice returns, calling my name again from behind us.
“Finally!” Bethany cries.
Sam tenses up and her rowing falters.
“I was hoping we’d catch up with you.”
I pause mid-row and turn around, my gaze meeting Bethany’s before someone behind her catches my attention. Her friend.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Bethany chirps, and I wonder if I’ve ever heard her talk without the seductive lilt that drips off of each spoken word.
Sam groans in front of me, and we both lurch forward and grab for the sides of the canoe as Bethany’s rams into ours.
“Jesus, do you mind?” Sam snarls.
“Careful,” I say and help steady their canoe. Her friend scours the surface of the water, almost like she’s trying to peer through it.
Bethany simpers and giggles. “Whoops, sorry.” Her friend is wearing her life jacket, like maybe she can’t swim.
Bethany’s hand lingers on my arm as I help her straighten in her seat. The moment her gaze lands on the back of Sam, her smile falls. “No wonder it’s so quiet up here,” she says.
“Well, I’m already in hell,” I barely hear Sam say and she tosses her head back and chugs down the rest of her beer.
Bethany reaches out with peach-painted fingernails and clutches my biceps, batting her gloopy eyelashes as her pale green eyes scan over me. “It’s been ages since you’ve been home. You’re, like, a real man now.” A sultry smile curves her lips, making me want to laugh. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can see Bethany’s attention for what it is, a way to piss Nick off—and Sam, apparently.
I ignore it, more worried about her brunette friend, who looks like she might puke over the side of their canoe.
“Are you alright?” I ask, though I’m not sure there’s much anyone can do for her at this point.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll be fine,” she says with a shy smile. “I’m just not a huge water fan. I can swim though, don’t worry. There’s just something about not being able to see the bottom . . .”
I can’t help but flash her a smile in return. “I get it.” I take a deep breath. “Well, ladies,” I say, wanting to spare Sam another moment of misery. “We should probably get going. We don’t want to get too far behind.” I let go of their canoe, smiling at the brunette a final time as they slowly float past us.
“See you under the next bridge!” Bethany sings, waving goodbye.
I pick my oar up off my lap and resume paddling. Taking my cue, Sam does too and we’re heading upriver, left in our thickening silence once more. This time it’s filled with tension, and I can almost feel the discomfort radiating off of Sam.
Sam cracks open
another beer and starts downing it.
“You really hate her, don’t you?” I ask, not really expecting an answer. “I know you’re not a fan of Bethany’s, but . . . if looks could kill—”
“I’d rather not talk about Bethany.” Sam rows once, then again, each motion clipped and rigid.
“Okay . . .” Knowing I hit a nerve, I leave it alone. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I know the whole Mike situation—”
Sam whirls around to face me. Her eyes are wide and her lips pursed. “What, you think you’re any better?” she grinds out.
I blink because that’s all I can do. “Excuse me?”
“Every time I turn around Bethany’s got her hands all over you. It’s disgusting.” Her chest heaves a little but the fire in her eyes fades after a moment. I’m still trying to process her anger—her words—when she lets out a breath. “Can we just not talk about her, please?” Sam asks, and she turns around to face the front.
I frown, blood suddenly boiling, and I’m unwilling to drop the fact that she just compared me to Mike, of all people. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, confounded beyond words. “First of all, why the hell do you care if her hands are all over me? You and I are not together, so it really shouldn’t matter to you who flirts with me.”
“Right, just like it shouldn’t have mattered who I was dating, but you stepped in anyway and ruined everything I had with Mike—”
“Ruined everything?” I shake my head, anger and disbelief making it difficult to think straight. “Even now, when you know what a jackass that guy was, you’re blaming me? Why, because I cared enough to do something? Mike cheated on you—”
“And you’re just a flirt, right, so it’s different? You’re just ‘polite’ and let girls hang all over you, even when you have a girlfriend.”
“Wait, this is about four years ago?” My mind is reeling as I try to catch up to the conversation.
Sam shakes her head like she can’t believe I even have to ask.
“I’m pretty certain flirting is different.” I lean back in my seat. “And what are you even talking about? Where the hell is this coming from? You think I’m a flirt? That’s what you think of me?”
Sam’s eyes narrow. “How would you have felt if I let Farris or someone else from the team touch me the way you let Bethany touch you, then and now?”
And that renders me speechless, because it would kill me inside—then and now.
“And don’t you dare act like I’m some evil villain who broke your heart, Josh.” Her voice is strained and her eyes are shimmering. “I know I made mistakes, God . . . do you think I don’t know that? But you’re the one who decided to leave. You’re the one who was never around, so I’m sorry if I broke up with you, but I was lonely. You were gone . . .” Her voice trembles and the auburn in her eyes is wild and burning, a kiln of emotion.
“Sam . . .” She’s right, I chose to leave her, a decision I’ve regretted since the moment I stepped on the bus and watched her disappear behind me. I regretted the entire bus ride, the flight to Missouri, every single moment I had time to think was all about her—before and after her letter. “Sam, I was torn. You know I was. I missed you like crazy before I even left. I wanted to come back, I wanted to be with you, but what the hell was I supposed to do? You can’t just walk away from the Army. It doesn’t work that way.”
The hard set of her features wanes and she studies my face.
“Your letter shattered me. You fucking shattered me through a goddamn letter . . . all for him.”
Her shoulders slump and she swallows.
I want to shake her and pull her against me all at once. “I knew being back wouldn’t be easy, but I’m trying really hard to make things right between us. And I won’t apologize for what happen with Mike.”
She’s quiet a minute longer before she rubs her forehead and nods. Without a word she turns forward again and takes the oar from her lap. “I’m sorry I did it through a letter,” she whispers. I barely hear her because I’m too busy watching her profile quiver.
My heart tightens as I remember opening the tearstained envelope. I picture her leaning over her desk, crying as she rushes to get the words on paper, when all I could see before was a flurry of red and black. The fact that she felt slighted and abandoned had never crossed my mind, and I see us both for the kids that we were. “I made some really stupid decisions,” I say quietly for the first time to anyone. “But no matter what you think of me, I hope you at least know that I’ve always cared about you, Sam. I’ve never stopped. And anything I did—the Mike thing—wasn’t to get back at you or to hurt you.”
Her eyes drift to mine again, glistening, and she grabs her hip with one hand and her other tightens into a fist around her oar. Finally, she nods. “Me too.” She looks down at my hands, white-knuckled as I grip the oar. “We should keep rowing, we’re almost to the first bridge.” She turns forward, and dips her oar in the water again. “All of our friends will be waiting for us.”
Head muddled in the aftermath of whatever just happened between us, I take a deep breath and try to focus on the sound of the others around the bend. Once again, her rowing is more determined, and I quicken my pace to keep up, deciding maybe silence between us right now is better than harsh words and hurtful memories.
We drift around a rocky bend before we arrive at the towering green bridge. Bethany and her brunette friend are unloading their canoe. Nick, Mac, and Savannah are already on the shore, laughing and completely oblivious to what just happened between Sam and me.
“There you are!” Mac shouts, skipping over to us as our canoe glides up onto the shore. She has a canned margarita drink in her hand. “Here,” she says, handing it to Sam. “A liquid refreshment for the lady.”
Sam takes it without hesitation and after bumping drinks together, both girls take a sip. Sam’s is longer and more urgent, and even Mac’s face scrunches in disgust as she watches Sam down her drink.
Mac looks between us, but I don’t want to see the questions in her eyes, so I look away.
Sam downs the rest of it and crumples the small can in her hand. “That was yummy.”
I give her a sidelong glance as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand, and then Sam climbs out of the canoe with Mac’s help and practically runs over to Nick. He’s pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniels when Sam says, “I’ll have a shot of that.”
Nick smiles and sings hallelujah as he hands the bottle over to her. “Welcome to the dark side, Sam. It’s about damn time.”
Although Mac and Savannah eye Sam quizzically, Nick seems blissfully unaware of Sam’s mood.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Bethany’s friend says behind me, and I glance over my shoulder as she and Bethany prance toward me, Bethany with an extra beer in her hand.
“I was just thinking that myself.”
Twenty
Reilly
Another pit stop, a few casual exchanges with Bethany’s friend, Claire, and three or four beers later, all of us finally reach our destination: the jumping rock. I haven’t been down the river this far in years, not since Nick’s parents brought us up here camping when we were in eighth grade. My buzz only enhances the nostalgic haze that’s making me feel like somewhat of a kid again.
Our canoe slides and scrapes onto shore, and Sam practically jumps out, laughing at something I’m oblivious to as she skips toward Mac.
The rest of our canoe ride was silent, neither of us feeling much like chatting, or maybe we were just too afraid to. Instead, I’d noticed things in our silence, like her swaying a bit in her seat and her little “whoops!” and giggles the couple times she nearly dropped her oar.
Mac’s still climbing out of her own canoe when Sam clasps onto her hand, pulling her out and toward the water. “Sam!” Mac shrieks.
Laughter follows as they both splash and fall into the water. Sam seems completely unaffected that she still has her shorts on, though Mac is clearly less oblivious as she looks down at
her drenched cover-up, horrified. “So much for keeping this dry,” she gripes.
“Awww, come on, Mac. Stop being such a girl. It’s just water, you’ll dry!” Sam runs her hands over her face, slicking back wet tendrils of loose blonde hair escaped from her braid. “God, the water feels so good,” she groans and flips onto her back, floating. “Can we just stay here forever?”
That damn, unbridled smile I’ve been trying to fight back the last couple hours is back, and I catch myself grinning. Luckily, my stomach rumbles, and I refocus. I’m starving.
“Yo! Reilly!” Nick calls above the double-bass beat and shrieking vocals that play from his speaker. He nods toward a shaded area beneath the trees.
I collect my backpack, flip-flops, and wet, balled-up t-shirt from the bottom of the canoe and head over. Nick smiles as his attention lingers on Savannah. With a yip and splash, she’s in the water with Sam and Mac, the three of them smashed.
“There’s something magical about a woman with few inhibitions,” Nick muses, no doubt gloating about his role in all of it.
Sam laughs, followed by splashing. Dangerous seems more appropriate. I deposit my things beside him, amused. “Something magical, huh?”
He grins like an idiot and lights a cigarette before he plops down on his towel. There’s a glassy sheen to his eyes I’m all too familiar with.
“Oh, boys . . .” Savannah calls, and both of us look up. The ladies beckon us over.
Sam’s smiling and it’s perfect, the one I wish I saw more often. “I guess it is sort of magical,” I admit aloud, and lay my own towel out beside Nick’s. I’m probably a little too fuzzy for my own good, but I’m coherent enough to know that joining them in the water would be a mistake.
Nick holds up his cigarette. “Can’t, smoke break!” he says, then points to the ice chests. “You need food!”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” Sam whines, and they lose themselves to muted conversations, some splashing, and the occasional laugh.
Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1) Page 20