BRYCE DROPPED ME off at home with the understanding that I needed a hot minute. He was more than sweet for the duration of the ride, apologizing profusely for driving the way he had.
It was evident we both felt awful about ending our date on such a sour note when it started out so perfectly. But this was the crux of a solid relationship, wasn’t it? Highs and lows and working through them.
My head was still jumbled with a million and one unsettling thoughts, but when I kissed Bryce good night, my lips lingering and my actions reassuring him of my feelings, I knew we were past this particular low. For now, at least.
It daunted me that there should even be a low this early on. It worried me that I was fooling myself in believing this too would pass. It terrified me that I might actually be going crazy, because these sudden swings in my emotions were so all over the place. One minute I was depressed about losing Hunter. The next I was moving on with Bryce, blissful and optimistic. And now here I was, second guessing everything because Sam showed up like a dark horse, when really, he’d been there all along. It never occurred to me that what I needed, or wanted, was right under my nose.
In the blackened room, illuminated only by a small lamp in the corner, I sat on my couch in a pair of oversized sweatpants and a tank top. I clung to the stem of my wine glass, sloshing around the cold Pinot and staring off into space. Robotically, I took a sip and closed my eyes as the crisp drink slid down my throat with a slight burn that coated my insides. After that first night home alone, the same night Bryce came by to surprise me, I stocked up on a few bottles with nights like this in mind. I never imagined one would come again so suddenly, especially since things with Bryce were going so well. And they had been—undoubtedly. Until this whole Sam thing came dropping down on me like a flaming meteor set to obliterate the planet. And obliteration was actually the perfect description for what this recent revelation was doing to me.
I had always thought Sam was good-looking, and sometimes I caught myself wondering what it would be like to . . . be with him. But I chalked those instances up to a common thread between a man and woman. As long as you weren’t related and no matter how plutonic your relationship, when the opposite sex was attractive, every now and then your thoughts wandered.
Mine wandered a total of three times in the last seventeen years: that time Sam kissed me when we were barely teenagers; right after I met Hunter and had a brief lapse of judgment because things were moving so quickly; this past week—more specifically, tonight.
Maybe it was that he’d been gone so long. They say absence made the heart grow fonder. Had mine grown exponentially warmer for Sam while he was away? That had to be it. I was just happy he was home. I missed him, especially right after the break up. During those first few months, I didn’t have Hunter to soften the blow of missing my other favorite person in the world while he was millions of miles away. And now, in Hunter’s absence, I relied on Sam a little more than usual.
God, what a mouthful. Even the most qualified of psychoanalysts and psychiatrists probably couldn’t pinpoint the severity of my dependency issues. And while those issues were the perfect rationalization to this tangled web of chaotic emotions taking over me, I still couldn’t get over how my body reacted to seeing him with another woman.
It shouldn’t have mattered because I had someone in my own grasp. I had Bryce. He was the perfect mix of sweet and sexy, chivalrous and domineering. He’d found a way to make me happy again. And yet all of that vanished at the sight of Sam with Patricia.
My heart had jumped into my throat on the spot. I felt as if all the blood in my body drained from my scalp and trickled down slowly, all the way to my feet. At first, I thought it was the initial shock of seeing him there at all, but one look at him holding her and everything felt hot. Too hot to breathe, to think, to do anything other than seethe.
As I sat here now, hours later, replaying that moment caused the same, rabid fire to spread all throughout my system again. Not even the cool stream of wine flowing down my throat could extinguish the burn, and no matter how many times I tried to convince myself that my reaction was irrational, I could not put it to rest.
With one more glass of wine, that might change. I downed what was left in my glass just as I saw the headlights beaming through the window.
Sam was home.
I jumped from the couch and ran to the window. I had to know if he brought her with him. Again, not that it mattered. He could screw whomever he wanted, wherever he wanted, but I watched on like a suspicious spouse or a nosy neighbor waiting to catch him in the act.
To my surprise—and relief—Sam was alone. I let out two lungsful of air that I didn’t realize I’d been holding hostage inside my chest. He slammed the car door shut and started up his walkway. But when he reached the hood of his car, he crossed the front of the steel-gray Audi and stormed toward my house, hurdling the row of bushes that separated our property from his.
“Oh, God,” I whined when I realized he was coming for me.
I looked around, panicking. Most of the lights were off so maybe I could duck down and pretend I was sleeping. Then again, he had a key. If he wanted to come in, he would. There was no way around this. From the looks of Sam’s harried rush to get to my front door and the staunchness to his gait, there was a serious conversation looming. One I wasn’t quite sure I had the guts to endure without breaking, without telling him the truth.
“London,” he bellowed while thumping his fist against the door. “London! Open up. I need to talk to you.”
Moment of truth. Pretend I was asleep, or face him—my best friend, the man who knew me inside and out.
Recognizing that I had years of familiarity on my side, and that we were adults who shouldn’t run from their fears, I staggered to the door and held on to the handle with my eyes closed.
One . . . two . . . three. It was an internal countdown. The process somehow calmed my nerves and pushed me forward. I opened the door and readied myself to greet a man I’d invited into my home hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Only this time it felt so different, so strange to face him.
“Hi,” I whispered when our eyes locked.
“Is he here?” he asked, looking over my shoulder and into the empty house.
“Who, Bryce?”
He whizzed by me before I could give him an answer.
“Yeah, your boyfriend. Is he here?”
“Well, what does it look like?” I smarted.
“Lots of things don’t look the way they seem these days, London. I think we can both agree on that. Don’t you?”
Oh, so he was going to jump right into this. No sugar-coating, no dipping our feet into the shallow end before we dove headfirst. I wasn’t ready. And I didn’t know if I ever would be. Confessing what I felt tonight would mean admitting that something had changed between us, and I already loved what he had. I didn’t want anything to change.
“I need another drink for this. Do you want one?” I bypassed him in the entryway to grab the bottle from the counter.
“Oh, I think it’s best if we’re both sober for this.”
“For what?” I spun around, suddenly frustrated with the way both Bryce and Sam found it so easy to get angry at me for being emotional. As if I were a child who needed talking to. What was it, National Hate on London Day? “Why do you seem so . . . so angry, huh?”
He ran his hand through his hair and expelled a profound huff. “I’m not angry.” His hand traveled from the top of his messy locks to the back of his neck, where he kneaded the thick muscle. “I’m—”
“Confused?” I finished for him, wondering if his feelings mirrored mine.
I was certain they did when he lifted his head and his eyes sought me out with a knowing look. “Yeah, you could say that.”
He stalked closer.
I filled my glass and took another from the cabinet to offer one to him. When we were eye to eye with the liquid courage in hand, I took a large gulp.
“What was that all about back there?”
Questioning his question would be childish. There were no games to play here. Not with him. He knew me too well. He’d registered my jealousy as if I wore it like a flashing neon sign across my chest. I had to be honest, both for him and myself.
“I don’t know.” It was the God’s honest truth. “I don’t know why I reacted that way, but I do know it wasn’t something I expected. It came out of nowhere and I’m not sure . . . I don’t know what the fuck to do with it, Sam!”
He breathed through his nose, paused, and then knocked back the entire contents of his glass. Slamming it down on the countertop, somehow not shattering it, he stared at the ticking cuckoo clock.
When he had nothing to say in response to my admission, I grew impatient. “What? No snarky response? No quick-witted comeback, Sam the Man? All of a sudden the cat’s got your tongue?”
“What do you want me to say!” he shouted, causing me to startle. “I can’t make you see something you’re too blind to see, London. I can’t force you to choose me!”
Whoa. Choose him? What is he talking about?
“Choose you? What are you . . . I’m with Bryce. You were on a date with Miss Pink Lips. Seems like all the choices have been made, buddy.”
“Don’t play with me!” He paced the kitchen, his hands back in his hair. “Bryce, the doctor in shining armor. All of a sudden he’s the answer to everything. And the simple fact you’re insulting Patricia proves my point. Not that it matters anyway. She’s not the issue here, sweetheart. I only asked her to go out of convenience. I couldn’t even bring myself to kiss her, not that she wasn’t practically begging me to fuck her.”
“Now, look who’s playing games. Why are you taunting me?”
“Ha!” He darted a look of disdain from across the room. “You should know a thing or two about taunting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, please, London. Like you don’t know. Like it’s not clear . . .” He paused before finishing the thought, only to sprint back over to me so we were inches apart. “Do you love him?”
“Bryce?”
He nodded with flared nostrils.
“No!” I laughed. I had strong feelings for him. I liked him a lot. But love was a strong and sacred emotion that would take time to build. Time Bryce and I had not yet been given. “We haven’t been together that long. How could you ask that? I’m still struggling with the . . .” I still stumbled on the word.
“Divorce, London. Say it. Divorce. You and Hunter are divorced.”
The tip of my nose tingled with imminent tears. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being so mean?”
“Because I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of watching you love someone else. First Hunter, now Bryce. I’ve stood on the sidelines for so long, I’d given up on ever being part of the team. I got used to stifling my feelings. I pretended they didn’t exist. And then . . . and then I saw how you acted tonight and something inside me—that tiny, lost, flicker of hope—sparked back up.” I could smell the wine on his breath now, the citrusy scent mixed with cotton candy from the carnival and cinnamon from his favorite gum. He was that close. So near I heard his heart beating wildly, sensed the heat radiating off him. “I want to know what you felt tonight. I want you to tell me what you felt when you saw me with her. Because I could see it. I bet your boyfriend did, too, but I want to hear it from you, London. I want to know for once and for all that I’m not fucking crazy.”
I shook my head, refusing to feed into this. He was fucking crazy. He was being irrational. Sitting on the sidelines? Tired of watching me love someone else? Choose him? This was all too much to wrap my head around. Where was this coming from? Where was my best friend? When had all of this happened?
“Tell me,” he begged. “I’ve kept enough secrets from you for the both of us. And there aren’t supposed to be any between us. I’ve broken that pact, remember the one we made when we were kids? Well, I fucked up, but you’ve always been the rule follower. I’ve always been able to count on you. So, tell me, London. Tell me how you felt tonight so I can stop wracking my brain, wondering, waiting, hoping.”
“It hurt! I was jealous!” It was a liberating eruption. I clenched and unclenched my fists, taking in a deep breath. “Are you happy now, Sam? I was jealous. I didn’t like it and I don’t know why because I’ve never felt that way before and I shouldn’t’ve felt that way, either. You’re my best friend and I’m dating Bryce. Maybe that sounds irrelevant to you, but it’s not. He’s a good man and I can’t toy with his emotions.”
“But you can fucking toy with mine?” For a slight second when I was admitting how I felt when I saw him with Patricia, Sam’s expression had softened. But at the mention of Bryce, his anger was back, full force. He slammed his hands down on the countertop and yelled, “You’re infuriating!”
“No, I’m confused.” I pitched forward, standing my ground. “I’ve dealt with so many life changes this year and you know how much I hate change. I’ve been going through a lot. Too much for one person, or maybe just too much for me. And you were gone. When I needed you most, you weren’t here.”
“I was away for work! I couldn’t change that!”
“I’m not blaming you.” I lowered my voice and brought my hand to my chest. “I would never blame you or hold it against you. I’m just painting the picture for you, Sam. You weren’t here and then I met Bryce.”
“And now I’m back, so forget about Bryce.” He flippantly threw his hands in the air, as if forgetting about Bryce would be so easy. For a split second, I thought about it. But then I remembered everything he’d done for me and Mom. He was her doctor. I liked him. A lot. Enough to take our relationship to the next level. He was the only other man I’d been with besides Hunter. That said something. He meant something to me.
Sam did too, but I had no idea if those feelings went beyond friendship. I was still figuring that out. This was all so different, so unexpected, so new.
“Sam.” I looked down at my bare feet, summoning the nerve to ask what needed to be asked. When I dragged my gaze back up to him, he was waiting as if on bated breath, as if he knew what was coming. I gulped the nerves away and took the leap of faith. “Where is all of this coming from? Why now?”
Sam thrust forward, grabbing my face in his hands. The sudden contact caused me to gasp, my breath trapped inside my throat. Was he going to hurt me? Kiss me? This was all so intense. I couldn’t breathe.
“Not now. Always. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want you for myself, London. While this may be new for you, it’s been years of agony for me, and I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to lose you; our friendship means more than anything in this world. But I want more than just your friendship.”
My God. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, threatening to break free. White hot heat coated every inch of my skin, my bloodstream absorbing the warmth, yet I was trembling beneath his grasp. How had I not seen this before? I had no idea Sam felt this way. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t think clearly enough to form a sentence, let alone make a move.
He released his hold on my face and dropped his hands to his sides. I backed against the countertop and clutched the edge behind me. I needed to hold on to something because right now everything around me seemed to be spinning out of control.
“What does this mean, Sam?” I whispered. “What do you want from me?”
Supple lids cloaked his emerald green eyes as he laughed through his nose. “I’m pretty sure I made myself clear.”
He had, but still . . . I was so fucking confused. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt the tears running down my cheeks. “If I say no—if I don’t choose you—will I lose you altogether?”
His chest rose and fell, his resolve visibly deflating. “You’d never lose me, London.”
It was an instant relief but it didn’t make any of this go away.
“I need some time,” I finally said. Time to think this through, to mull over my feelings for Sam, my feelings for Bryce. What he was asking of me could not be decided on the spot. I needed time.
At that, Sam turned his back on me and headed for the door. Grasping the handle, he swung the door open and looked over his shoulder to say one last thing. “I understand you need time, but just keep in mind . . . What you felt tonight? I’ve been feeling that for more than a decade.”