Without further hesitation, I turn and leave the room. Matthew needs his sleep and if I remain in here with him, I’m likely to either beat him with a pillow or suffocate him. Before I realize where I am, I’m on the boat dock, sitting on the edge with my toes skimming the water. I was surprised to find Leo’s windows all dark; it’s rare that he’s asleep before sunrise. Not that I’m complaining; I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone or answer questions right now.
My biggest concern right now is letting Matthew leave without him knowing how I feel. I think he realizes I’m pissed off and hurt, but I don’t think he realizes exactly why I feel that way. For such a smart man, his understanding of basic human emotions leaves a lot to be desired. But at the same time, I don’t want to fight with him anymore, which I know is what will happen if we talk before he leaves.
I think back to my discussion with Claire this afternoon. Her big advice was for me to not run away and to communicate as best I can with Matthew. One of her suggestions, aside from the much less appropriate ones that involved locking him in our bedroom and taking out our frustrations with each other in bed, was to write him a letter. It’s something he can physically hold and read, and might be the perfect way to get him to understand everything.
To my surprise, the thought of having a plan actually makes me feel better. I push myself up and quickly make my way back to the house for pen and paper before sitting myself on the back deck and pouring out my feelings, hoping to God this does the job.
––––-o––––-
I wake up feeling like shit and it takes me a couple of minutes to figure out why. Glancing to my right to find an empty spot where Samantha should be, then towards the foot of the bed where my suitcases are waiting, it doesn’t take long to remember what’s happening.
I turn towards the alarm clock, groaning at the sight of the digital numbers that tell me it’s way too early to even consider being awake. Rolling out of bed, I force myself into the shower, trying not to think about where Samantha is or the status of our relationship. We’ve barely talked since Saturday afternoon and even when we did speak, it was either the two of us arguing or me groveling. Touching her is completely out of the question. We’ve had arguments before that have lasted days at a time, but nothing like this, and never right before I leave town. My biggest fear is that the moment I’m gone, she’s going to pack up Tyler and leave me, because I’ve managed to fuck up yet again and I couldn’t even just sit down and listen to her point of view.
I’m not dense enough to not understand why she was upset. If she had invited Saunders (something I never would have allowed) and I had to watch him hanging all over her, I’d lose my mind in a blind, jealous rage. That fucker wouldn’t have gotten off my property without a black eye, broken nose, and busted lip. Still, if she knew Natalie, she’d understand that’s just how Natalie is: she’s very personable and very touchy-feely. I’m used to that, so of course I didn’t see anything wrong with it until Claire came up behind me and slapped the back of my head.
There is still an hour and a half before I need to leave, so I have a bit of time to try and fix this. Dressing in jeans and a t-shirt, I head downstairs, looking for Samantha. My panic that she’s already left me is premature; she’s curled up on the couch in the basement fast asleep. She’s so small and frail looking. Of course awake, she’s anything but. I wonder when she came down here and whether it was because she needed to be away from me. As much as I hate to wake her when she seems to be sleeping so peacefully, I can’t leave when my entire life hangs in the balance.
Kneeling down beside her, I hesitantly reach out to gently rub her shoulder. “Samantha,” I whisper.
It takes a few minutes, but she finally shows signs of life and opens her eyes. I try to smile at her; I’m not sure my nerves will allow it, though. Her brow furrows adorably and then her body stiffens, carefully pulling away from my touch.
Fuck.
My hand falls to my lap. “I’m leaving soon,” I tell her quietly. “I was hoping we could talk first.”
She sits up, looking as though she hasn’t slept all night and looks at me warily. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
Before I can stop her and tell her it’s not necessary, she’s off the couch and up the stairs. We eat breakfast in the same room, though we might as well be on separate continents for all the interacting we’re doing. She won’t even look at me when I try to speak to her. And when Leo enters the house, I know there’s no chance of us clearing anything up right now.
Samantha makes herself scarce until it’s time for us to actually leave. I said goodbye to Tyler last night when I put him to bed, trying not to promise when I’ll be back, since I don’t even know. Before I go to retrieve my luggage, though, I pop into his room and imprint the image of his sleeping form to memory, hoping I’ll see this again very soon. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, I whisper an I love you against his skin, and smile at how he doesn’t even twitch. He truly is my son…
Downstairs, I find Samantha in the kitchen washing the dishes from breakfast. She shoots a glance at me over her shoulder and I continue outside to where Leo is loading his bags into the back of the car. He’ll be joining me on this trip mostly for support. As I throw my stuff in with his, my eyes catch movement and find Samantha slowly walking down the stairs wearing a sweatshirt to shield her against the cold. I throw Leo a look, silently asking him to give us a minute. He gives me a sympathetic smile and leads Seth, one of my other security guys and our diver for the morning, towards the side of the house. Closing the back of the SUV, I cross over to Samantha.
“Can I at least have a hug?” I’m practically on my knees begging her and I’m shameless.
To my surprise, after a few moments of thought, she nods almost imperceptibly, steps off the last stair to close the distance between us. As pathetic as it sounds, I nearly sob in relief when I feel her arms sliding around my waist and her body press against mine. I hold her as tightly as I can without squeezing the breath out of her, breathe in the scent of her hair, the warmth through her clothes. I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do to fix this problem between us.
She begins to pull away long before I’m ready, finally looking me in the eyes for the first time since Saturday.
“I love you,” I whisper, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “You know that, don’t you?”
She doesn’t acknowledge my question. “I love you too,” she tells me. Her hands pull away from me and I want to protest until I see her reaching in the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt, retrieving what looks to be an envelope. She then hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, unable to keep the fear from my voice. The envelope is thick, almost straining against the folded paper inside.
“Reading material for the plane,” she tells me quietly. “Please wait until you’re in the air before you read it.”
Alarm bells are going off in my head. What the hell did she put in here that she doesn’t want me to open it until I’m in the air? “Samantha, what is this?”
She only smiles sadly before pushing up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips against mine. Instinct has my hands flying to her face, cradling her cheeks as she kisses me for all she’s worth. I can’t remember the last time a kiss between us was this desperate and I’m really getting scared about what this might mean for us. Why does it feel like she’s kissing me for the last time?
When our kiss ends, she backs away, tears in her eyes. “Have a safe flight,” she whispers.
I nod. “I’ll call you when I land,” I promise.
With that, I’m forced to turn away from her when Leo tries to discreetly clear his throat to tell me it’s time to leave. “I love you,” I remind her, leaning in to kiss her once more. It’s much briefer than before and I have to get to the car. We back down the driveway and I watch her growing further and further away from me and I clutch her envelope to me as thought it’s the last thing of hers I’ll ever hold.
�
��–––-o––––-
The time it takes to get from my house to the airplane, then the airplane to cruising altitude might as well be an eternity. I’ve been so distracted that I barely thought about possible sabotage to yet another one of my jets and trusted my pilots to complete the preflight check. This is something I never do, even before the incident in Germany; there’s only so much I’m willing to leave to chance. But the only thing on my mind is Samantha and whether she’ll be at home when I return.
Leo tries to engage me in conversation, I think about our coming days, but I tune him out, my eyes locked on the lit seatbelt sign at the front of the plane. The moment it turns off, I’m out of my seat, muttering something about taking a nap that I know doesn’t fool Leo in the slightest, and make a beeline to the back of the plane and the small sleeping cabin. I take off my shoes, carefully remove the envelope from my jacket pocket, switch on a light, and sit on the edge of the bed, unfolding the thick stack of paper. For a moment I just look at Samantha’s neat, perfect script and I notice several spots where the paper is darker, almost as though she’d been crying while she wrote this. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid of reading anything in my life. Have I really messed up so badly that I’m about to lose her again?
It takes me several minutes to get up enough nerve to read, my fingers trembling with every word.
––––-o––––-
Matthew,
Right now it’s going on one in the morning and I’m sitting on the back deck trying to figure out what I want to say to you. The reason I’m writing rather than actually talking to you is because I’m afraid that the moment I open my mouth, we’ll just end up arguing again and all things considered, I think that’s the last thing we need right now.
I suppose to make you understand what I’m thinking and feeling right now, I need to go back to the beginning. The day I met you, I came alive. That might sound cheesy or melodramatic, but it’s the plain and simple truth. Even before my mom died, I don’t think I felt the way I did after you walked into Chet’s. I felt as though you completed something within me that I didn’t even know existed and I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I hadn’t met you. I think you’re well aware that I never understood what it is about me that you love so much and though I want to understand, I’m not sure it’s something you can ever properly explain. It’s the same with how I feel about you: I can give you a list of reasons why you’re everything to me, but in the end, there are not enough words to explain exactly how I feel whenever we’re together.
From the beginning, you terrified me. Not because of your physical presence or your money or anything else like that. It was because I didn’t understand what it meant for me that I’d fallen for you as quickly and surely as I had. I don’t know how it was for you, but for me, it was like all the breath had been knocked out of me. I tried to fight it; I’d never been the type of girl who thought she would ever need another person in order to be happy. I wanted to be independent. You didn’t so much destroy that desire as shred it beyond recognition. And I don’t mean to imply you took away my independence or controlled me or any of that. I only mean that the minute I met you, all the hopes and dreams I had for my life changed, and all I wanted was you. I tried to resist you, thinking that the moment you went back to wherever you came from, you’d forget about me, and if I didn’t get over the crush I had on you, you would just be another thing to add to the things I wanted but would never have.
That second time you visited the diner and waited for my shift to end, I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to either throw something at you or walk up to you and kiss you. Of course I couldn’t do either, but the desires were there. When I saw you talking to Tom, I didn’t know what to think. He’s always been protective of me, especially after Mom died, and I knew immediately he didn’t trust you in the slightest. Imagine that… You never asked me why I lied to Tom that day about why I cancelled our plans for that evening. I’d intended to go out with him that night; it was supposed to be our first date after so long of him trying to convince me to go out with him. But when I saw you sitting there next to Tom and his mother, I reacted without thinking about the consequences. I justified it by telling myself that Tom would be around after you left and he and I could go out another time.
You were the first person since my mother died to not treat me as though I would break with the slightest touch. You were sorry for my loss, but didn’t pity me for it, if that makes sense. Maybe it was because we didn’t know each other and you weren’t around to know my mother. Whatever it was, you were a breath of fresh air to me. And that was before you even kissed me—which, incidentally, had been the best kiss I ever had up to that point. And before you get all defensive, all the other kisses we shared later on only seemed to be more incredible than the last.
Every person in my life tried to warn me against you by telling me any relationship between the two of us would only end in my heartbreak. Clearly, I ignored them. I can’t explain how nervous I was the first time you visited my family. I was afraid the place wouldn’t be up to your standards or that you’d spent so much time building up an image of me in your mind that when you arrived, you’d be disappointed that I didn’t measure up to that image. And that’s not even considering my brother and father didn’t trust you or your intentions. I will say, though, in case you weren’t aware before now, that you won my father over that first night during dinner. He never told me what you’d done to earn his approval, only that every time you and I looked at each other it reminded him of him and my mother when they first got together.
After that visit, I had no chance of getting you out of my head. Before then, I never really considered what it would be like to be with a man. I’d thought about it, of course, but it wasn’t something I obsessed about like so many of the girls I went to school with. Meeting you changed that as well. When you flew me out here for those two weeks, I don’t think I’d ever been so nervous about anything in my life. What were you expecting? What did I want? What would happen if I did it wrong or was unable to please you? How would I feel if the first time I took my clothes off in front of you, you didn’t like what you saw? The questions were endless. At least until I stepped off the plane and saw you waiting for me. From then on, my concerns weren’t relevant. I just wanted you in every way. When you took me home and didn’t automatically assume we were going to have sex, I trusted you completely. And I think I fell a little bit in love with you. You told me that first night that you didn’t have any expectations of what would happen, but that if it did happen, you would make it special for me. I don’t remember whether I ever told you, so if not, I’ll do it now: I couldn’t have asked for anything better than that night. You set me at ease and you were so gentle and sweet that there were times I wanted to cry. I’d never felt anything that compares to how I felt when we first made love. At that moment, I knew I would never get enough of you.
Leaving you after those two weeks was devastating for me. I felt like I’d been living in a fairytale and I was afraid the spell would be broken between us the moment I left. Well, we both know how long we were able to stay away from each other.
I can’t pinpoint the moment I fell completely and irrevocably in love with you, but it was sudden and fast and right. The three years we were together were beyond amazing and I wouldn’t change any of it for the world. Okay, that’s not quite true. The only thing I would change would be my decision to leave you. I wanted to take it back the moment I said it, but the look on your face terrified me; I’d never seen you so hurt or upset and if I had taken it back, then changed my mind again, I’m not sure either of us would have been strong enough to survive that.
We haven’t really discussed the past five years much since I’ve been back. The reason I went to Tom rather than my family was because I knew Tom wouldn’t ask questions I wasn’t yet prepared to answer. I showed up at his house during a downpour with Tyler’s diaper bag and Tyler in my jacket to keep him warm and
dry. Tom took one look at us and immediately let us in. It was days before he could get answers out of me about why I was there. All I could tell him was that you and I broke up; from there, he surmised that you must have kicked us out. I know should have corrected him, but whenever I tried, I just couldn’t do it. For the first six months, I was pretty useless. I could function enough to take care of Tyler and myself on occasion, but anything else wasn’t an option. When I got the divorce paperwork and the letter that accompanied it, I was beyond devastated. Only then did I realize exactly what I’d done by leaving you and I hated myself for it for the longest time. Even now I don’t think I’ve completely forgiven myself for leaving.
Eventually all my pretending that everything was okay paid off and I was able to function more normally. I took a job at a small law firm as an office manager. Tom and I were getting closer with each passing day. Tyler was growing beautifully and every time I looked at him, I only saw you. I considered that my punishment for breaking your heart. I’ll spare you the details of my relationship with Tom; all you really need to know about it is that he took care of us, nursed me back to myself, and loved Tyler as though he was his own son. At some point, I realized I’d started going longer and longer without thinking of you. That alone made me feel horribly guilty, but I knew if I wanted to live a normal life, I had to do that.
Though I know there is no chance that you’ll ever get over your animosity towards him, Tom was there for me when I needed someone, Matt. And I love him for that. But he was never you. He could never compare to or replace you in my life.
And then one day I turned around and realized somebody was following me. At first, I chalked it up to paranoia. That lasted about a day when I realized the car following me was the same one wherever I went. I didn’t want to face it. I knew what that car meant and I wanted to believe I was just being paranoid. The day you showed up at Tom’s house, I’d been going through a box of mementos I saved in a shoebox and opened when I started missing you. As soon as the doorbell rang, I knew you were there and I’d never felt a mixture of relief, joy, and fear so acute in my life.
Young Revelations (Young Series) Page 10