I didn’t know I could love anyone as much as I loved Sam, but when he stood before me in the bathroom and bared his soul to me, I knew that there wasn’t anyone who could come close to having the same space in my chest. He was everywhere—the spot I’d reserved for him hadn’t been enough.

He knew my secret, and I knew his. As I tried to put my lashes on, he’d stopped me without a word, spinning me into him and out of the bathroom. He helped me get dressed and slide the boot back on in the same way he did everything else, with so much care and tenderness that it was virtually impossible for me keep the love I held from him a secret. ‘I love you’ lived on the tip of my tongue and I bit it back every time. I was still afraid. It was still a secret that was only safe for whispers. And he was the only one who could touch me where it hurt the most.

So much had changed between us, had deepened and grown and become more than I actually thought possible. I knew he couldn’t feel for me the way I felt for him, and withholding it from him was the last bit of safety net I had left.

In the last few days, I’d learned that secrets could be loud, yelled in anger. They could be soft, whispered along someone’s skin as they slept. But the secrets that stayed silent, that were far too fragile to ever pass my lips: those secrets weren’t disposable. And Sam had taken the one I’d never shared and protected it.

We ordered room service and ate chicken tenders and chips in bed while we flipped through television shows until we found a movie that we could settle on. It was so normal, so natural. And I felt so calm, but at the same time, I wanted to discuss the things we’d spoken of in the bathroom; I wanted to know more.

“How many pills do you have left?”

His hand in mine tightened briefly, but I rubbed my thumb along his skin. “Not very many. Maybe five or six.”

“How many did you used to take, before you started slowing down?”

“Too many. It didn’t matter the number, because it was never enough.”

I turned into him and laid my hand on his chest. “And you want to quit?”

He peered down at me and ran his hand through his hair. “I do. I’ve wanted to for a while—not just because of Della, but because I’m sick of feeling weak all the time.”

I pressed my lips to his chest. “I don’t think you’re weak at all. You’re strong, kind, funny.” I tilted my head. “You’re a good one, Samson.”

He looked doubtful, with an eyebrow raised. “Are you drunk?” he ran his fingers through the ends of my hair, gently twisting them around his fingers. The sensation was comforting.

“You know I’m not. I know that you put me on a pedestal, but I don’t belong on it. Knock me off of it.”

“Only if you’ll knock me off the pedestal you’ve placed me on, too.” He reached down and gripped the back of my thigh, pulling my leg up. “I’ll be gentle, seeing as you’ve got a busted leg.”

I laughed and tipped my head down to press another kiss to his chest. “Sam. That’s what I’m talking about. You bring levity when it’s needed. You came to America, on a mission to encourage me to finish out my bucket list. I was going to give up, and you would let me.” I touched his hair, getting to really feel its silky strands for the first time. I thought I’d envy him for his hair, but I actually was proud of it, because I was proud of him.

“I did that because I’m your friend, Lots.”

I shook my head. “Bianca didn’t come here and do that, and she’s supposed to be my best friend.”

“Yeah, well, Bianca sucks.”

I laughed again and it bubbled out of my throat so quickly that I had to grip onto him to keep my composure. “She does. I feel a little terrible for saying so, but we’re just not the friends we used to be.”

“That must have been hard for you.” His eyes went soft and he tucked my hair behind my ear. “You mum, your sister, losing your best friend, and then what I did to you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. If I could go back in time, I’d be gentler with you.”

I pressed my finger to his lips. “I’m glad you weren’t,” I whispered.

His eyes searched mine, and he hauled me up higher on his body. “You’re not close enough.”

“I’m on top of you.”

“I know. It’s not close enough.” He nuzzled his nose to mine. “I’m not sure if I can get close enough to you to satisfy me.”

“Guess you’ll have to try.” I pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose and then he rolled me to my back.

“I’ll try really, really hard,” he said, before his lips moved to my neck.

We hardly watched the movie.

As the credits rolled, my foot tapped to the beat of the final song and I sipped the last of my soda.

“I saw you dancing at the restaurant,” Sam said from beside me.

I turned to look at him. “When?”

“When you were tossing the garbage. I saw you dance. I’d never seen you dance like that.”

I remembered doing a couple little twirls, but nothing dramatic. “Hard to dance well with this thing.” I tapped the boot with my other foot. “But you probably saw me do a little twirl or something.”

“Or something.” He placed his finger under my jaw and tipped my mouth up until his hovered over it. “Dance for me.”

“No,” I said, and gave him a quick kiss.

He didn’t let go of my jaw. “Please.”

I groaned. “Why are you waiting until now, when I have a belly full of fried food and a heavy black obstruction on my leg?”

“Now’s as good a time as any to ask.”

“I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he corrected. “But I want you to.”

“You can’t always get what you want, you know.”

“I do know. So, take pity on me. Give me something I want.”

I dropped my head to the pillow. “Isn’t there something else I can do for you?”

“You can do those things too.”

“Greedy,” I said, slapping his chest.

“Yes.” He leaned over me, grinning down at me. “And, at the moment, I’m demanding too. Please, Lotte.”

I didn’t want to dance for him, not while I was wearing this damn boot. But he looked so earnestly interested, that I felt guilty for saying no. “You’re trying to guilt trip me.”

“Is it working?”

I sighed and heaved myself out of the bed, trying not to be too awkward with the dead weight around my leg. “What do you want me to do?”

“Name a song, any song, and it’s yours.” He held up his phone.

“You really want this?”

“I do.” He grinned at me, and if I’d been on the edge of saying no, that damn smile would have stopped me.

I thought of a song I’d worked on, in my studio, with Mila. “’River’, by Bishop Briggs.” We’d worked on a choreography for that song for a while the summer I’d met her, and I still warmed up to it from time to time.

He searched through his music app until he found it, but he didn’t press play right away. He stood up and came to me, head dipping, mouth latching to mine, giving me a kiss that made the ground beneath my feet unsteady.

He held up his arm, his hand holding mine. With one whisper, I was his.

“Dance for me.”

He hit play on his phone and the song started.

I didn’t have a lot of room to work with, and with my leg being clunky as it was, I couldn’t do some of the more complicated leg work, but I moved to the hand clap beat at the beginning, timing my movements in my head.

Dancing was the one thing I knew, inexplicably, that I was good at. I had no reason to be nervous, but I never danced like this. I wasn’t just talking about the boot, but also about the fact that I was dancing for a man I was wholly in love with. I couldn’t lose myself to the music, couldn’t move with it with him watching me.

I opened my eyes, stared right at him. “I’m struggling.”

Without a word, he stood up and crossed the room to me. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into him. My arm came up, to close around his neck, but he stopped me. His eyes went to the skin below my elbow, where he placed a gentle kiss. “I like this bit of skin here,” he said. “And if you’re struggling, lean on me, let’s do this together.”

I didn’t know if he was talking about the song, or about everything else. But I leaned on him, my hand in his, and we danced around the room, together, and while I still felt the nerves, it was easier. Because of Sam.