34
Ben
Samford Hayward was a fucking liar. Ben had thought that once before, when he stood out of place among Sam’s family that first evening, during the cook out. How ironically fitting that it should be his predominant thought on the day of their departure.
Every single member of Sam’s family was looking at him expectantly, as though he was going to shout “Surprise!” and reveal that it was all some trick he and Sam had come up with, and he was rich after all. But he wasn’t. Sam knew he wasn’t, and Sam had made up some story about him being rich anyway.
He cleared his throat and placed his folded napkin on the table. “I’m gonna…” He trailed off, then wordlessly walked out of the dining room on shaking legs.
Tears blurred Ben’s vision, and a painful lump formed in his throat, so big he couldn’t swallow around it. Sam had lied about him. He had told his entire family that Ben was this rich, famous photographer, and for what? He constantly said that he didn’t give a shit what his family thought, but clearly that wasn’t the case, or he never would have made all of that up.
Unsure where to go, Ben headed for the quietest place he could think of, the place no one was likely to find him—the wine cellar. Ducking through the kitchen, he pulled the door open and then closed behind him. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, allowing the tears to slip through his lashes.
“I didn’t mean to lie.”
Ben jolted. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that voice, but he opened them anyway. Sam looked wretched, as though the guilt was eating him alive. Good.
“You didn’t mean to? How could you not? It isn’t like someone else was controlling your body. You were the one who told them that I’m something I’m not. God! And you know? I actually thought your family liked me.”
“They did! They do!” Sam’s voice cracked.
Ben snorted in derision. “They liked me because they thought I was rich. Because you told them I was rich.”
The memory of their conversation the previous afternoon came to mind, and Ben could have cursed himself. Sam had sworn he would never ask Ben to change, but he had lied about the fact that he didn’t have money. And while he claimed not to miss that part of his life, surely it had to be something he thought about.
“Yes, okay? I told them you were rich, but that was before I even really knew you!”
Ben furrowed his brow. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Letting out a sigh, Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’d been coming into the Press Room for a few months, and I was lonely, and I really liked you. I never thought I would have a shot, and my parents were bugging me about my relationship, so I kind of…I used you as a template and made up some of the details of your life.”
That shocked Ben so much that he couldn’t speak for a few seconds. Sam’s family had known details about his life, sure, but he assumed Sam had told his family after Ben had agreed to be his date. It hadn’t occurred to him that they had known about him from the beginning. Lying to his family was bad enough, but Sam had somehow made it worse. He had lied to his family, or that he had taken the shell of Ben and filled it with his own ideals of what he would like in a partner. Ideals that Ben didn’t possess.
“I am not a hollow being that you can just…make things up about! I’m a real person!”
“I know,” Sam said weakly.
“And I was a real person then, too, even if you didn’t know me! You had no right, Sam. None at all. I thought you were my friend!”
He remembered how Sam was so shocked to hear that they were friends. Maybe that was why. Maybe he hadn’t seen Ben as a friend at all, but as a tool he could use to get his parents off his back.
“We are—I am.”
The words were full of an emotion that had no effect on Ben. He was too hurt. Too upset. And to think, he’d actually thought he was falling in love with Sam; Sam, who had taken his life and twisted it to suit his needs, just like Spencer had done. They really weren’t that different after all. Maybe there was a reason Sam had looked so comfortable in his frat-boy getup.
He looked away from Sam and his eyes found the spot along the wall where they had had sex the evening before. A sharp pang ripped through his chest at the memory, and he shook his head.
“If you think for a minute we can still be friends after this, you’re more delusional than I thought,” he spat. At this point, he just wanted to leave. He could try to get a bus, since he would have had to have planned a taxi in advance.
“Ben, please.” Sam’s voice was so soft that it nearly broke Ben. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, keeping his chin up. “No. No, you don’t get to do that. You can’t just say you’re sorry and fix everything. There’s no magic wand you can wave to make everything you’ve done go away. You made a choice to lie to your family—and to me—and you’re going to have to live with that.” Letting out a slow sigh, he let his shoulders slump just a bit. “I’m stuck with you on the car ride home, but once we get back to Willmingson, I never want you to speak to me again.”
The words came out a lot stronger than he felt, and he could tell by Sam’s sharp breath that they had hit where he wanted them to. Turning on his heel, he pushed the door open. Maybe a walk. Yeah. A walk would do him good. Far away from this horrible family.