Chapter Sixteen
Promise
Sam was on his phone in the kitchen talking to the unknown (to me) Tanner Layne.
I was on my couch with Memphis.
We’d had pancakes. Sam had shared his keep Kia breathing plans and both Kyle and Gitte had calmed down. We left the Pancake House and went directly where no one went after the Pancake House, the gym. Sam suffered without showing he was suffering through the guy at reception practically drooling at the thought of Sam working out there. Then he kindly declined free passes and paid for a week’s worth. After that was achieved, we went to the grocery store where most of our cart was filled with fruit, veggies and lean proteins, courtesy of Sam.
Their presence became a boon because we all went back to my house and they helped me work toward getting ready for my everything must go yard sale.
When Mom and Dad were off work, we all headed over there and had a family meal that consisted of breaded and fried pork cutlets, fried potatoes and corn fried in butter, all of these prepared in Mom’s three ever-present cast iron skillets. This was served with enormous poppy seed roles and followed by strawberry pie.
When Sam’s plate was put in front of him, he looked at it a nanosecond then his eyes instantly cut to me.
I tried to stop my laughter therefore I snorted.
“What?” Mom asked upon hearing the snort.
“Nothing,” I answered.
Mom glanced between the two of us then unusually let it go.
Sam tucked in but I imagined he did it while mentally adding about a hundred more pushups to his workout the next day.
Dinner was good. Dinner was fun. Dinner was like dinner always was when we all got together – a happy occasion that we cherished because we all weren’t together very often.
Dinner was also more insight for Sam into me, my family, how we interacted, the deep love we felt for each other. My family talked, shared stories, laughed over history and, without anyone mentioning it but with everyone feeling it, we enjoyed a time when we could all be us without Cooter sitting at the table like a big, pink elephant in the room.
Sam was involved though quietly. He chuckled, he laughed out loud, he gave me warm looks and my family warm smiles.
But although Gitte was Gitte, involved, sharing her own tales not only of her times with us but of her life with Kyle in Tennessee and her own family and friends, Sam did not.
At all.
He wasn’t removed. He just wasn’t sharing. I didn’t understand how he pulled it off but he definitely did.
I didn’t think anyone noticed but I did and it was beginning to nag at me.
We left Gitte and Kyle with Mom and Dad since they had a nice guest room and I did not and Sam and I went home. Sam told me he needed to check in with his crew of badasses and he went to the kitchen. I camped out on the couch with my photo albums. My goal, sorting the pictures I wanted to keep and dumping the pictures of Cooter.
I did not want to do this but everything in my house had to be sifted through. I’d already given away all of Cooter’s clothes. I’d also already boxed up his belongings and Dad took them to his parents’ house so they could have whatever they wanted.
But now it was onto the hard stuff and I decided to get through the worst of it first then move onto what wouldn’t suck as much.
The tension I felt in my shoulders just looking at Cooter in pictures grew tighter when I sensed Sam walking in. On the floor beside the couch was a pile of Cooter memories as well as my entire wedding album. I didn’t want Sam to see any of them. I also didn’t want to hide.
He’d mentioned more than once that he liked that I was “transparent” so, as difficult as it was, I kept flipping through the album in my lap.
Sam crouched beside the pile on the floor, picked up a photo and studied it.
I pretended to ignore him, pulled another photo out of the album and tossed it to the floor.
Sam dropped the photo he was studying without a word then twisted my wedding album towards him.
I deep breathed.
He flipped it open. I flipped a page.
“Baby, fuck,” he whispered and my eyes slid to him to see his head bent to look at the album. “Beautiful,” he finished then his gaze came to mine.
I looked down to see a full page photo of myself standing alone in my awesome wedding dress carrying my huge-ass bouquet and then my eyes went back to him.
I liked what he said just as much as I hated him knowing I was stupid enough to give it to Cooter which was to say a lot.
“Thanks,” I whispered back.
He looked down at the album and flipped a page. I looked down at mine and did the same.
“What are you doin’ with this stuff?” he asked.
“Giving it to Cooter’s parents,” I answered.
“Come again?”
I knew those words weren’t directed at the floor and I found I was right when my head turned to him again and I saw his eyes on me.
“I’m giving all of it to Cooter’s parents.”
“Why?”
Uh… why?
“Why not?”
He stared at me. Then he shifted so his ass was on the couch at my bent legs.
“You tight with them?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“It’s a nice thing to do, you givin’ them memories of that piece of shit, but you don’t have to do it,” Sam told me.
“I know,” I told him.
“So, you’re not tight with them, why you doin’ it?”
I looked at him. Then I looked at the floor. Then I looked back at Sam.
Then I said, “I don’t know.”
“Fuck ‘em,” Sam returned immediately and I blinked.
“What?”
“They know what kind of man they raised?”
“I don’t know,” I repeated but that was a semi-lie. Cooter’s Mom was beaten down and broken, just like me. Cooter’s Dad was a dick, just like him. They knew or at least his Mom did.
After Cooter died, Cooter’s Dad was beside himself with grief in the way a man like him could be beside himself with grief. He blustered and boiled over and got drunk and told anyone who would listen that if Milo Cloverfield got anywhere near him, he’d pull Milo’s intestines out with his bare hands. Cooter’s Mom retreated, got even more quiet than normal and anytime I saw her, which luckily was only briefly the day after Cooter died and then again at the funeral, she looked at me in a way that made my heart clench and my flesh crawl. Pain and grief mixed with jealousy.
And Sam, being Sam, knew this and I knew he knew it when he stated, “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“You did,” I reminded him and suddenly he stood. Using his toe to flip closed my wedding album, he walked from the room and into the kitchen.
Stunned by his actions, I stared after him and kept doing it so I saw him come back with a big, black garbage bag.
Then he crouched by the photos and shoved them and the album in the bag while I kept watching. He left it at my side when he was done, straightened and looked down at me.
“The rest go in that bag. You get done with that shit, I burn it or I take it somewhere and dump it. You need help goin’ through the rest?” he asked then tipped his head to the three albums I hadn’t yet done stacked up on the floor.
“I’m not fired up for you to see my life with Cooter in pictures,” I answered.
“And I’m not fired up to do it but that wasn’t what I asked. I asked if you need help goin’ through the rest.”
Okay now, wait. Weird.
He sounded testy.
I tipped my head to the side and asked quietly, “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, and it’ll be great when you answer my question.”
Oh man.
Definitely testy.
“I think I got it.” I kept talking quietly.
“Gonna put on the game, you watch baseball?”
“Not unless there’s someone wandering by my seat offering to sell me a beer or cotton candy.”
The firmness that had set into his features softened and his lips tipped up. Then he turned, walked to the table beside Cooter’s easy chair, nabbed the remote and snapped on the TV. Then he looked at the chair. Then his eyes came to me.
“This where he sat?”
Oh man!
I nodded.
Then I felt my lips part when Sam tossed the remote on the couch at my feet, he rounded the chair and shoved it across the living room. Then he opened the door and shoved it outside, going with it. Five seconds later (I counted), he came back.
Then, without a word, he retrieved the remote, sat in the cushion at my feet, stretched an arm along the back of the couch, stretched his legs out in front of him and turned his eyes to the TV.
All right, it was safe to say I had no idea what to do with that, any of it starting with Sam not sharing (again) when I turned the direction of the conversation to him and ending with the rather dramatic act of shoving Cooter’s chair in the front yard.
I sifted through all of this in my head, trying to decide which one I had the courage to tackle.
Then I noted, “Uh… I don’t have an HOA but I’m thinking my neighbors are not going to be hip on me having an easy chair in my front yard.”
Yes. I wimped out.
“I’ll get rid of it tomorrow, first thing, on my way to the gym,” Sam replied, not taking his eyes from the TV.
“Okay,” I said softly.
Totally wimped out.
Then I went back to my albums. It took awhile but I got through them all, dumping all the photos in the bag Sam provided for me all the while not sure how I felt about that. Sam was clearly in no mood for me to disagree with one of his decisions and one could not say Cooter’s parents were dear to my heart but it didn’t do anyone any harm taking the high road.
Still, they weren’t burned or dumped yet and maybe the next day Sam would be in a better mood and I could approach him about it, explain where I was coming from and then talk to Dad about taking them over to Cooter’s parents’ house.
When I set the last album down, Sam’s voice came at me.
“Hopeful.”
My head turned and I saw his eyes were on me.
“What?” I asked.
“You looked hopeful.”
My brows drew together. “Sam, I’m not following.”
“In your wedding picture.”
Oh God.
I pulled in breath.
“Now, something good happens to you, you look surprised and like you can’t believe it and you act like you’re preparing for it to go away. That piece of shit took that from you too and, until I saw that picture, I didn’t get it. Now I do. And it pisses me off.”
Well, I was glad to know what was behind his mood except for the part about me not knowing what to do about it.
“I don’t know how to respond to that,” I told him the truth.
“That makes two of us, honey, ‘cause the asshole’s dead and I can’t hunt his ass down and cave in his face.”
Yikes.
“I survived,” I reminded him quietly and added, “And I’ll heal.”
He didn’t speak but something was working in his eyes, I saw it and I waited but again he didn’t give it to me.
Instead he muttered, “Right.” Then he looked back at the TV.
I licked my lips then pressed them together, calling up the courage and when I had it, I called, “Sam?”
His eyes remained glued to the TV. “Yeah?”
He didn’t want to talk, it was clear. Sam always wanted to talk but he didn’t now and I debated pushing it but decided against it. If he needed space, I had to give it to him and find a more appropriate time to try to get him to open up to me.
So I asked, “You want a beer?”
“No.”
“Okay,” I whispered got up and got myself a beer.
This was a mistake. My body was used to being asleep at that time and after Mom’s meal, during which I’d consumed a beer, and compounding it with another one, I passed out on the couch. And I did this at the opposite end of the couch from Sam. Sam not touching me, Sam not cuddling me and I didn’t like not having either. It was the first time Sam and I watched television together but he was tactile. If I’d been asked to guess, I would have guessed he’d snuggle, even during baseball games. And I suspected his mood was what held him distant.
The next thing I knew, I was being laid on my bed in the dark.
“Sam, honey,” I muttered sleepily.
“You awake?” Sam asked.
“Kind of,” I answered.
“Good,” he murmured then he kissed me.
His kiss was a shock, not an unpleasant one, but one nonetheless. This was because it was not gentle; it was not leading up to anything. It was already there, wet, hard and demanding.
Instinctively, I gave.
His mouth took more and I gave more and then his hands got in on the action and they took too, first my clothes then everything else. In no time I was heated, dazed by the sensual onslaught, pulling at his clothes to get to his skin. Sam helped, yanking them off and when we were both naked, I went at him. We rolled, we kissed. We rolled, fingers swept, tongues tasted, teeth bit, limbs tangled. We rolled and more of the same and Sam, his hands, fingers, lips, tongue, teeth not to mention him giving me access to his body so I could use all the same, took me beyond the need he always made me feel.
It was desperation.
And my voice dripped with it when I was on my back, his finger rolling at my clit, his tongue rolling my nipple, my hand cupping the back of his head and I breathed, “I need you inside, honey.”
Sam didn’t delay, shifting so he could hook the backs of my knees around his arms, holding me wide, he positioned and drove in, looming over me, powering in fast, hard, deep, oh God… God. It… felt… great.
I pushed up to an elbow and reached out with my other hand so my fingertips could graze the silk of his skin at his chest and then down.
“You feel beautiful,” I whispered and I meant all of him, all of him driving deep and all of him I could feel with my fingertips.
“You like my cock,” he growled, planting himself to the root and grinding.
Oh yeah. Yeah.
“I love it,” I gasped.
“You like what I do for you,” he grunted, thrusting hard and fast again.
Okay, that was better. By a lot.
“Love it, honey.”
“Beautiful,” he rumbled.
“Beautiful,” I breathed, pulled in breath through my teeth, arched my neck and prepared for it to wash through me.
Sam pulled out.
My head righted with a jerk.
“Sam –” I started but he was gone then I was moving, he was seated, back to the headboard, he pulled me to straddling him then with an arm wrapped around my waist, he impaled me on his cock.
Oh yes. That was nice. That was freaking amazing.
“Baby,” I whispered, my head tipping forward, my lips touching his.
“My Kia deserves beauty.”
My body stilled, even my breathing.
Oh God.
Sam wasn’t done.
“She deserves hope.”
Oh God!
“Take it, baby,” he whispered against my mouth.
My hands moved to either side of his head and I looked through the dark into his eyes as I moved up and down, slowly then faster, harder, his thumb moved to my clit and started rolling and I sucked in breath.
“That’s it, Kia, honey, fuck me. Take what you deserve.”
“Sam,” I moaned, his thumb put on more pressure, my neck and back arched, it tore through me leaving a wake of sheer ecstasy and I cried out.
Before I was done, Sam flipped me to my back and pounded deep, his breathing labored, one arm tight around my middle back, the other hand cupping my face.
“Even in the dark, all I can see is how beautiful you are,” he growled.
His words tore through me too and their wake was no less beautiful.
I lifted my head and kissed him. He took over the kiss, his tongue driving into my mouth. One of my legs was wrapped around his waist, holding tight, the other one around the back of his thigh, doing the same. My hands were running along the skin of his back when his mouth disengaged from mine, his head snapped back, he thrust in deep and groaned deeper, the sound rumbling through me spectacularly, its origin not from his throat but between my legs.
And I lay under Sam, listening to his breaths even out thinking of his words, his actions and how they coated my skin, seeping in, reminding me that with Sam, I was invincible.
I held him close as his head tipped forward, his face disappearing into my neck and I felt his mouth move there as his hips moved, stroking tenderly.
God, God, but I loved it when he did that.
My hand drifted up the sleek muscle of his back, his neck and I cupped the back of his head.
Then I turned mine and whispered in his ear, “You make me feel invincible.”
I felt his body still for a moment then he muttered against my skin, “Good.”
I held on, loving the feel of him, his weight, his warmth, all that he’d just given me, allowing myself a moment to glory in that before I did what I knew I had to do and went on, “But I think we have to talk.”
Instantly, Sam pulled away. My limbs tightened to hold him to me but he was stronger. He rolled off and suddenly I felt cold and, for the first time since our first date, I felt strangely alone.
His hand came to rest on my belly and his mouth came to mine. “Later. Now, I gotta crash.”
“Sam –”
His hand pressed in, his head moved back an inch and he cut me off with a quiet yet firm, “Later, baby.”
I stayed silent. This was important, at least to me. And it was growing more important every day.
But Sam Cooper gave a lot and he didn’t take very much. He didn’t want to do this now that was clear. So I felt I had to give that to him.
So I let it go but still whispered, “Promise?”
His hand slid up my body to curl around the side of my neck and he whispered back, “Promise.”
I studied him in the dark and decided Sampson Cooper would honor his promise.
“Okay, honey,” I said softly.
Then I lifted up, touched my mouth to his, pulled away then rolled off the bed. I went to the bathroom, cleaned up, went back to the bedroom, tagged my nightie from under the pillow, located my discarded underwear, tugged on both and joined Sam in bed.
Without delay, his arm shoved under me and he curled me into his side.
Yes. Okay. Everything would be okay.
I settled.
Memphis jumped up on the bed and sprawled on the side I wasn’t using considering I was on Sam’s side.
Then Sam crashed.
Then Memphis did.
A little later, so did I.