The floor feels like it drops out from beneath my feet when I open the door and Sam gives me a timid smile. “I didn’t want to tell your brother, but I don’t have to work until five tonight,” he says. “Can we talk?”
I’m not at all prepared for my reaction to him. Sure, I’d been on the verge of grabbing whoever it was—Mrs. Espinosa, the FedEx guy, one of the local church missionaries—and throwing them into my father’s path, but this…this is something else altogether.
A choked cry escapes from somewhere deep inside my chest, and I fling myself into his arms. “I need to go to the library right now. Can you take me?”
His smile vanishes. “What’s going on?”
Behind me, I hear my father’s raspy morning cough that’s been getting worse for as long as I can remember. The bathroom door opens. Shuts. More coughing. And then my bedroom door opens. “Sarah? Where you at, baby girl?”
My stomach convulses, and I cover my mouth to keep in the panic threatening to escape. My bedroom is the only room in this house where I’ve ever felt safe. He’s never apologized for anything in all the years I’ve been alive—not for the beatings, not for the horrid things he’s called me, not for any of the lessons he’s tried to teach me over the years—so he sure as hell isn’t in there to say sorry.
Sam’s lips tighten into a grim line. He’s staring so intently into my eyes, I’m positive he sees my soul. “Do you have everything you need?”
I’m barefoot and my purse is still inside, but I nod anyway.
Keeping me locked to his body, Sam silently closes my front door and slips down the path to the driveway. I’m in the front seat of his car and we’re racing down the street toward the park before I dare breathe again. There’s no way I’m buckling up. Even the thought of being strapped to a seat freaks me out—no escape, no control, no room to breathe.
Sam must understand because he doesn’t force me.
Part of me hopes a U-Haul truck will slam into my side of Sam’s car so I don’t have to face another second in that house. The other part is dying to lean across the small emergency brake console that’s separating us and lay my head in Sam’s lap. James used to hold me like that when I was younger, but I stopped asking years ago. It feels too close now. With Sam, after the way I reacted to his touch last night, close is what I need.
But dragging him into my private hell isn’t an option. I need to get it together before he starts asking questions I can’t answer. Somehow, I doubt he’ll understand when I tell him about my father, or that James kissed me afterward. And, oh yeah, I’ve been in love with him forever, but now that he’s actually paying attention to me, we can’t be together because I’m too afraid my brother will kill him.
When we pull into a never-used gravel parking area behind all the trees, near the picnic table and shed where he, Alex, and my brother used to hang out after school, Sam cuts the engine, reaches across the console, and pries one of my hands from my knees. I’m shaking so hard, he probably thinks I’m trying to wriggle free of his grasp.
Calm. Collected. Apologize for acting like a freak, then send him on his way.
Except, when I see our fingers laced together, and how small my hand looks trembling in his, I burst into tears.
Crying in front of him is horrible and humiliating and I don’t want to do it. If I stumble off into the trees and wait until it’s dark, I can sneak into my house through the bedroom window. “Please let go,” I whimper. “I really need to go.”
Gaping emptiness swallows me the second he drops my hand. I barely comprehend him opening his door, storming around to my side of the car, and hauling me out into his arms. Even though I’ve wanted Sam to hold me for as long as I’ve liked boys, there’s no way to shut off the panic attack that’s been brewing since James left me alone in the middle of the woods and told me to go home to our father.
Sam has to feel me fighting against him, but he just holds on tighter.
My sobs get lost somewhere in the fistfuls of his brown t-shirt, which I’m clutching to my face and making a splotchy mess of with my tears. Big, dark splotches the same color as his hair. I want to tell him I never cry and he should leave me in the car until I get it out of my system so he doesn’t have to see me crumble into a blubbering mess, but I can’t get the words out. They’d also be a lie. James is the only person who can calm me down.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam breathes into my ear. “I will never hurt you.”
When he lifts me onto the hood of his car and stands between my legs, his hold on me becomes tender instead of restraining. I listen to him murmur the comforting things I’ve only ever heard out of James’s mouth.
“Sarah…”
I close my eyes and breathe in the sound of my name on his lips. I’m so selfish. Now that I’ve felt this, I never want to let go. The blistering heat pouring into me from every part of him replaces the memory of James lying on top of me. The hard lines of his body erase the memories of my father’s threats and fists.
I forget my father. I forget the hell I live in. I forget James. Even if it’s only temporary and I can’t allow myself to return it, I want to know what it feels like to be comforted by someone who doesn’t have to love me back.
I’m not prepared when he leans back to wipe the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs and pins me with an intense look that screams something I don’t understand.
I’m even less prepared when my body responds.
Heart pounding, my arms wind easily around his neck.
Breath catching, I stretch to meet him halfway.
Our mouths fit together perfectly, just like I always knew they would.
I should pull away.
I don’t.
Fourteen
I have no idea how long we’ve been kissing. Five minutes? Forty? Sam’s like a drug, kissing me higher and higher until nothing and no one matters anymore. Three times, he’s tried to apologize for taking advantage of me. Three times, I’ve shut him up with one of the deep kisses I learned by copying him.
I never want to come down from where he’s taking me.
Eventually, Sam slides me off his car and tries to lead me to the picnic table. One too many jagged rocks bite into my bare feet when he sets me down in the gravel, ending that plan. Instead, he scoops me up, says something about needing to buy me flip-flops, and wedges us into the front seat of his car.
I almost laugh when he reaches for the lever to lower the seat and we fall backward, but coherent thought vanishes the second he pulls me down on top of him. Soon, we’ll need to stop kissing long enough to talk about why we can’t do this. Soon, but not now. Not when Sam’s tongue is exploring my mouth, and his hands are in places I’ve never been touched before.
“This feels so good,” he whispers between kisses.
“Understatement.”
He chuckles against my lips, then kisses me even more deeply.
The sun is high and hot by the time I pull away. The long-sleeve shirt and jeans I have on cling to my skin in a hundred wrong ways until all I want is to rip them off.
Sam runs his hands through my short hair and watches me for several long minutes. Eventually, he says, “Talk to me, Sarah. Tell me what happened back there.”
The way he’s watching me kills my buzz. Like he knows just how close to crumbling I still am. I squeeze them shut and lean in, desperate to feel his lips again, wanting that high.
“No,” he says. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong. I’ve known you for a long time and I’ve never seen you that freaked out.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I just want to forget.”
“Is everything okay? I mean…” He hesitates, tracing one of the thin scars on the back of my hand. “Is everything as okay as it can be, considering?”
My mouth drops open. He knows. I can hear it in his voice, see it in the way he looks at my hand. For years, I’ve wondered how he could be James’s friend and not know what goes on in our house. All the bruises and
cuts and broken bones…only an idiot with no knowledge of our tree-less yard and stair-less house would believe all the stories our father told the doctors.
“You knew?”
Sam looks away. “Not that your brother would ever admit it, but I suspected.”
The quiet voice in the back of my head that’s been whispering this is too good to be true gets a lot louder when I realize what he’s saying. “So, wait,” I say, my anger rising. “Is that why you’re doing this? You feel sorry for me?”
“Hell no! I told you—I’ve wanted this to happen for a long time. And if it means I can help keep you safe, even better.”
The hot way he looks at me is nearly my undoing. I manage a weak, “Oh.”
Luckily, he suggests we sit at the picnic table to get some air. I wince just thinking about the thirty yards of gravel I’ll have to cross to get there when he squats in front of me. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride over.”
No one’s ever offered to give me a piggy-back ride before. It’s something normal parents give their kids, or even better, boyfriends give their girlfriends. Something I’ve never thought I would actually experience for myself.
When we’re settled, him on the table and me sitting in front of him, he takes my hand into his and traces each of my fingers and the lines of my palm. Neither of us says anything for a long time, just content to be close and enjoy the sunshine.
“So if we can’t talk about your father, maybe you can elaborate on the ‘other girls’ thing?” he asks after awhile. “I hope you don’t mean what I think you mean.”
“My brother says you’ve been with a lot of girls at Leslie’s parties.” Realizing I sound like a jealous girlfriend—not that I’m his girlfriend—I quickly backtrack. “It’s okay if you have. I mean, I’m not reading anything into this.”
“Wow,” he says, then shakes his head. “Until last night, I’ve spent every party wandering around by myself. The girls that hang out at Leslie’s aren’t exactly my type.”
I attempt to hide my relief and the flare of giddiness over the prospect that I might be Sam Donavon’s type, but the grin on Sam’s face tells me I’ve failed. I can feel us dancing around the inevitable. Heart-to-heart talk in the kitchen or not, I know my brother will go after Sam. “I don’t think I’m worth how mad he’s going to be when he—”
Sam cuts me off with one of those intense looks that make my heart stumble. “If I didn’t think you were worth it, we wouldn’t be here right now. That’s why I came over this morning—to tell your brother to go to hell if he has a problem with this.” He frowns and touches the strand of hair that’s fallen into my face. “I should’ve just blurted it out before he took off.”
Had Sam said anything about last night, there would’ve been a brawl on my front lawn. The police would’ve been called for sure. “We can’t tell James. I mean, not that there’s anything to tell,” I add immediately, “but if there is…?” I look at him, unable to keep the hope out of my voice.
“There is.” But his frown deepens and his hand falls away. “Unless you don’t want to be with me?”
“No, that’s not it at all,” I say. “I just don’t want him to kill you.”
He blinks at me for a few moments, then laughs. “Won’t happen.”
“Don’t underestimate him.”
His smile turns cocky. I love it. “I’ve been able to take James since we were kids. You’re going to have to trust me when I say we’re safe.”
While I’d like to trust him, I’ve lived with James and our father long enough to know the difference between fighting for pride and fighting because you’re terrified of losing something you love. I’d bet my life on my brother in a fight like that. “Please,” I say and press my body against his. “Keep this secret for me.”
He turns his face into my cheek and breathes me in. “Fine, but it’s taken me long enough to get here, so you’re going to have to let me savor whatever time I get.”
“Deal.”
He grins and kisses me. No preamble, no pausing, no warming into it. My finger hooks around the thin ball chain I’ve seen peeking out from beneath the collar of his t-shirt for as long as I can remember. His breath catches. Slowly, without breaking our kiss, I slide the chain out until two dog tags swing free and into my palm. Only then do I pull away to read the name.
“Joe Donavon?”
“My dad. He died when I was twelve.”
What do I say to that? Somehow “I’m sorry for your loss” doesn’t feel like near enough when I’ve spent the last hour kissing the guy. Plus, I have no idea what kind of dad Sam had. If he was like mine, Sam’s probably relieved. If he wasn’t, I have no idea how he feels. I try to imagine James dying. No one matters to me as much as James.
While I struggle to come up with the right thing to say, he watches me with a half-amused, half-disappointed smile curling the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “He was great and I miss him, but that was a long time ago. I’m okay.”
I can’t make myself drop the dog tags. There’s an energy pulsing through them that reminds me of a heartbeat, or maybe I’m just feeling Sam’s heart pounding in his chest. Whatever the case, dropping them will feel like I’m dropping something important. I’m still clutching them when his warm hand closes around mine and he leans in to kiss me again.
Eventually, he pulls away and glances at my bare feet. The reminder of how fast we left my house hangs heavy in the air. I open my mouth to apologize again, but he shakes his head.
“Let’s buy you some shoes.”
Reluctantly, I let go of his father’s dog tags.
Fifteen
Two hours later, we’re sitting at one of the dozen or so black wrought iron bistro tables outside Slice of Heaven, munching on two slices of double cheese pizza. My feet, clad in new pink flip-flops, swing back and forth. The warm breeze on my toes must be what freedom feels like.
I watch Sam pick a piece of burnt cheese off his crust and flick it to the black birds hopping around a few feet away. They fight over the crumb, squawking and nipping at each other until one of the smaller birds snags it and flies off toward the trees in the parking lot.
James’s truck pulls into one of the open spaces several storefronts away. I gasp and quickly scoot my chair away from Sam’s, gesturing frantically towards the truck.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Sam grumbles and pushes his chair away from the table. The painful screech of iron grinding against concrete has nothing on the hard look on Sam’s face as he picks up his pizza plate and walks into the building.
By the time James flops into the chair next to mine, Sam is gone and I’ve managed to fill my head with mostly non-embarrassing thoughts. Like how good Sam looks today, and whether the waitress who followed him inside was noticing, too.
James reaches over to tousle my hair and tap my chin. “Hey, was that Sam I just saw walking away?”
While he’s smiling, I hear the warning lying just beneath the words. I force myself to laugh. “I don’t know. You told me to stay away from him.”
“Guys are bastards,” my brother says. “It’s for the best, trust me.”
“You’re a guy.”
My brother snatches the last of my pizza from my plate and shoves it into his mouth. “Yeah, but I’d never hurt you. You should’ve left me a note, by the way,” he says. “I’ve been looking for you for hours.”
I hardly think leaving a note telling my father where to find me would’ve been a good idea, but I’m not going to tell James that. “Sorry. I left in a hurry.”
He freezes. “Why?”
Heat rises in my cheeks. I hadn’t wanted to tell James this part. Not at all. “Dad opened our door looking for me—”
“How do you know? You should’ve been gone before he woke up.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I told you to leave before he got up!”
The daggers in his voice prick my skin all over, even through my long-sleeves and jeans. ?
??He got up early. I didn’t know he’d get up early!”
“So, what, you just welcomed him into our room?”
My mouth falls open, but before I can lash out, Sam appears beside me. He plants his palms on the table and leans toward my brother. “Stop yelling at her!”
James rockets to his feet. “Mind your own fucking business!”
Two tables over, a group of mothers chatting over smoothies glares at us as they get up to push their strollers away. The busboy from inside the pizza joint pokes his head out the door.
“I don’t care whether or not you want me and her to be friends. I’m not going to watch you treat her like shit,” Sam says. “Let’s go, Sarah.”
He holds out his hand to me. A challenge, a hot fierceness I so desperately want to wrap myself up in, flashes across his face. If I take his hand, James will go ballistic. I won’t risk Sam getting hurt, or him deciding that dealing with my overprotective brother isn’t worth it. We haven’t even been together a whole day.
“It’s okay,” I say, looking anywhere but at Sam. “Don’t you have to leave for work?”
His hand drops to his side. I meet his eyes and the disappointment I see swirling in their gray depths hurts. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
I watch him walk away toward his car, which we left parked on the other side of the mall. Where he had stopped at the little shoe store to buy my flip-flops. I feel like an awful person, but why didn’t he stay away? I was stupid to think we’ll be able to hide this from my brother.
“You lied to me,” James says quietly.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t want to make you mad.”
“Is something going on between you and Sam? First the sweatshirt last night, and now…whatever the hell that just was.”
I shake my head a little too urgently. “No, nothing’s going on. He forgot to tell me something and showed up right as Dad was waking up, so I got in his car and we took off. We were at the park for a little bit, and then we came over here and walked around for the rest of the afternoon.”
James’s gaze turns appraising. I feel him dissecting every detail of my expression, feel his eyes slide further down, to my neck, my rumpled shirt, and finally to my arms clasped tight around my knees. “You sure about that?”