I WAS LIKE a kid at summer camp, hiding with the covers over my head to sneak my phone. Mandatory lights out had been hours earlier, but I wasn’t ready to let Sam go, even as my eyelids became heavy with sleep. Over the first few days, they had confiscated my phone while I’d been assessed. Doctor Post had tweaked my antidepressants and taken me off the antianxiety medication all together. I really was feeling better, but managing my life inside the stress-free environment of the center was completely different than managing it on the outside, where millions of people pulled me in different directions. However, I was committed to doing my absolute best, even if it meant drastically changing my life when I was able to go home.
I was supposed to be resting and relaxing while giving my mind and my body a chance to recover, but nothing healed me more than those hours I spent on the phone with Sam.
It was three in the morning before we were both so out of it that we decided to actually hang up. Even with as late as it was, I still felt the loss with a physical ache. I missed him more than ever. But, when my phone pinged with an incoming photo, it was all erased.
At some point during our six-hour phone call, Sam had been busy. On my screen was an image of Sam in a bathing suit, lounging on a beach and looking like a tattooed Greek god. Heat pooled between my legs as I got an eyeful of him for the first time in days. Then a loud laugh escaped my mouth when I noticed a picture of me behind him. I immediately recognized it. It was one of the numerous times I’d accidently made a fool of myself by falling at the most inopportune time. My mouth was hanging open, my hair flying out to the sides in the most unattractive way possible, and absolute fear covered my distorted face.
I was no longer on the red carpet where it had originally been snapped. I’d been edited out of my dress and into a bikini, but my heels still graced my feet. Only, now, they were covered in sand, and I was falling only a few feet from Sam. I’d forgotten that he was a graphic designer, and if this picture was any indication, he was really fucking good. It was a seamless rendering that definitely gave me a good laugh, but my heart soared when I read the caption at the bottom.
You could look like this every single day and I’d still want to see you. Pick up the phone tomorrow.
I looked at that picture for over an hour, until I fell asleep with my phone in my hand and a smile on my face.
Over the following weeks, Sam and I talked every single day. Yes, via FaceTime. He also sent me a new picture of us “together” each night when we hung up. They were all different, but he always looked like an Adonis and I always looked like shit. How he found that many terrible pictures of me was alarming. But there was always a funny message at the bottom that made the momentary embarrassment totally worth it. In Sam’s nightly images, we were traveling the globe together. From the Eiffel Tower to the Grand Canyon, I’d fallen on my face all around the world.
My favorite picture of all was us in Thelma and Louise’s green Thunderbird convertible. Sam had the signature scarf around his neck, which should have been humorous, but with those tattooed forearms resting on the steering wheel, he was still sexy as hell. For me, he had used a photo from when I had been riding a rollercoaster with a little girl from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. My mouth was wide open, and a terror-filled scream was being forced from my throat. He’d even gone so far as to add a bug flying into my mouth when he’d placed me in the car beside him. When I noticed that the front license plate read Sam & Levee 4-eva, I melted.
I was falling fast for that man, and I could only hope I was taking him with me.
A month ago, I had been standing on a bridge, contemplating jumping off, but with him at my side, even just in a Photoshopped car, I’d never been happier in my life. And it scared the hell out of me. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever be able to cope if he didn’t feel the same. Drugs might not have been my problem, but I was absolutely addicted to the quiet high he offered my mind.
For two full weeks, Sam and I lived in a bubble of new-relationship bliss.
It wasn’t all laughs and smiles, but that was what made it feel real.
I loved bickering with him. We’d found a ton of trivial crap to disagree about. But that’s all it was—meaningless crap. Slowly, it became obvious that Sam and I did in fact come from different worlds. But it also became blindingly obvious that that was exactly why I needed to hold on to him.
Sam: Umm…why did four $6,000 guitars just get delivered to my house?
Me: It was my subtle way of telling you I want some bookshelves.
Sam: With brand new custom Gibsons? Are you insane?! I could have gotten broken guitars for fifty bucks at the music store.
Me: Slow down, cheapo. Those are my favorite. I use them exclusively.
Sam: No.
Me: No what?
Sam: No, I’m not destroying $24,000 worth of guitars.
Me: Why the hell not? You can’t return them now.
Sam: The fuck I can’t, princess.
Me: That was a low blow, asshole.
Me: Really? You’re just gonna disappear now?
He didn’t respond for three full unnerving hours. But, when he finally did, a photo of two guitar bookshelves leaning against his bedroom wall preceded it. They appeared to be generic acoustics—definitely not my Gibsons.
Sam: I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m an asshole. It’s just hard when your woman has Gibson taste and a thrift store man. I made these for you last week. I’ll start on your guitars tonight.
Sam: P.S. I’m really sorry about the princess thing.
Sam: P.P.S. I’m a dick.
Sam: P.P.P.S. Here’s a picture of my cock to make up for it.
Attached was a photo of a chicken.
Sam: P.P.P.P.S. I named him Curtis.
Sam: P.P.P.P.P.S. I can’t wait for you to meet him.
I didn’t respond for half an hour—because I was sobbing. Of course I felt bad for having made him feel like he was my thrift store man, but that wasn’t why I was crying.
He’d already made me bookshelves.
And implied that I was his woman. A fact I knew but had never actually been verified.
And he’d made me laugh when I should’ve still been pissed.
But, most of all, I was crying because I knew that that was the exact moment I’d fallen in love with Sam Rivers.
There was no going back now—not that I wanted to.
I also knew I couldn’t make it two more weeks without him.
Me: Come see me.
Sam: Tell me when and where.
Me: Tomorrow. It’s family day and Henry is supposed to fly up, but I really need to see you.
Sam: Then I’ll be there, Levee.
I squealed like a teenager as my heart exploded in my chest.
He’s coming.
Sam: I’ll see if I can find someone to watch Curtis.
I burst into laughter with tears still sliding down my cheeks.
Yeah, I’m absolutely and hopelessly lost in this man.