Mess with Me by Nicole Helm (23)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Eventually Hayley let him go and Sam could slide out of her grasp. Though he didn’t go far. He lay on his side and she lay on hers so that they could both fit on the twin bed. He dozed, exhausted by the events of the day.

He should probably go and give her space. He’d dropped a bomb he hadn’t meant to drop, and if the situation had been reversed, and he wasn’t certain what to do, then he’d want space. Space, with time and quiet, to figure it out.

But every time he shifted even a little bit, she would grab on to him in some way. Clearly she wanted him here.

So he stayed, even as night edged into early morning. Even as he knew he should head home. Tori had probably figured out where he went and what he was doing, but there was less chance of her mentioning it to Will or Brandon if he went home tonight.

And yet, he couldn’t force himself out of Hayley’s bed. At some point, Hayley murmured something. “Say what?” he mumbled, happily asleep in this terribly uncomfortable position.

“You can sleep here if you want,” she whispered, smoothing a hand over his hair.

“I wish I could. But it’s just Tori in my cabin alone.” He forced his eyes open and caught the way her mouth curved a little bit at that.

“What do you think she’s going to do? Connect you to the grid?”

He looked at her then, met her gaze for possibly the first time since everything was said and done. He could get lost in those eyes, and he wished they were in his little cabin, in the little world he’d built to keep everyone out.

Except Tori was there. In fact, a lot of people had been infiltrating that insular world lately. “It’s possible that off-the-grid living has gotten a little old. Just a little.”

Her smile curved even wider. “And what are you planning on doing about that?”

“I don’t know. But I thought maybe you could help me figure it out.”

She reached out and touched his beard, something that was becoming such a common gesture. The way her fingertips skimmed the bearded jaw felt important—that word again, but the only one he could come up with. That light touch was as comforting as a hug, as sweet as a kiss. There was appreciation in that touch, and care. Maybe she hadn’t said I love you yet, but he could feel her care. She couldn’t hide it, probably even if she wanted to.

“I . . .” She bit her lip and her eyebrows scrunched together. She didn’t look him in the eye. She was staring at the section of beard that her fingers were touching. Slowly her gaze moved up to meet his. He couldn’t read all the emotions reflected in her eyes, but he had an idea of what she was going to say before she even opened her mouth.

“I . . . I love you too. I mean, I think.” She made some odd laughing sound that reminded him of panic. “I’ve never been in love before.”

But she’d said it. And he knew it was her truth as much as his. “Me neither,” he said gently.

“Then how did you know?”

He tried to figure out what magical turn of events had made him so certain. Certain enough to tell her, certain enough to be here, certain enough to have changed his whole life because of her place in it.

He didn’t have the words, not in the way Hayley needed, but she was looking at him so expectantly.

“I guess I knew that no matter where my life might take me, or what I might choose to do, that you are the person who I would want standing up to me and telling me I’m an idiot, or . . . hugging me and telling me I’m on the right track.”

None of the worry left the furrow in her brow, but she traced the edge of his beard, so he kept talking.

“I can’t imagine anyone else stepping into my life and so quickly transforming it. In a good way. I’d been on this edge I didn’t understand for a while. I think it was something like . . . not knowing I needed to forgive myself exactly, but acknowledging that I had to move on. That the life I was living wasn’t sustainable. But that realization meant making changes that were too scary to do alone. When you came along, it felt less and less scary. It felt necessary. I don’t know what else besides love could do that.”

“Why did you feel so guilty about your sister’s death?”

Sam tensed, but Hayley’s fingers continued gently stroking his face, and he was in a soft and warm and safe place.

She’d said she loved him, and while there was a niggling fear that what he was about to say might change that, he’d come too far to give in to that fear. Too far to let it guide him.

“We were both struggling with my parents’ machinations, let’s put it. They wanted Abby to get married to some son of Dad’s coworker, but she wanted to finish her degree and marry someone she loved. They’d grounded her in an effort to bend her to their will, and there was enough wanting-to-please-them in her that she went along with the punishment.”

He’d never blamed his parents before, not for this, but in this clearer space, older and wiser, he couldn’t help but wonder how things might have been different if they’d listened. If they’d bended—just a little. If they’d loved, instead of manipulated.

Hayley didn’t push him when he paused, and that made it easier to say the rest. “In my infinite stupidity, I thought she needed a night of fun, so I snuck her out and took her to a party. I left her with some acquaintances of ours while I went to pursue my own, er, interests—knowing full well these weren’t the type of acquaintances who cared or took care. They were doing heroin, and Abby was in a bad enough place . . .”

It was still hard. The guilt, the pain, the grief, it wouldn’t ever go away. “It was some super–high octane version or something. When I found her again she was unresponsive. They rushed three kids to the hospital, but Abby didn’t make it.”

“Sam.” Hayley shook her head, tears swimming in her eyes even as she continued to stroke his face.

But she didn’t say anything else. Not that he should feel guilty, or that he shouldn’t. She didn’t try to tell him what to feel, or even what to do. She held him, she touched him, and eventually she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good man, Sam Goodall,” she murmured, snuggling closer. “Spend the night with me.”

He should say no. But even knowing the worst about him, even having butted heads against the worst of his temper, or watching him run away, Hayley thought he was a good man.

She wanted him to stay. There was no other option.

* * *

Hayley didn’t sleep well. Partially because of the snoring, rock of a man taking up almost the entire bed, but more because she was so mixed up.

Sam had shared that piece of his past, painful and touching, a testament to how much he’d been through. Hayley couldn’t fix it for him, just like her father’s treatment of her mother had never been fixable.

A seed of fear and confusion was quickly sprouting, no matter how she tried to fight it.

Would she always be in this position, with a person who had secret hurts and hang-ups she’d never fully know, and always tiptoe around?

You’re being ridiculous. He told you. He shared.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold on to the voice of reason instead of the voice that told her this was going to be yet another relationship she couldn’t maneuver through.

She hadn’t realized Sam was awake until she felt his thumb smooth across her forehead.

She opened her eyes and looked into his blue ones. “You’ve got quite the line there. What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, trying to quell all her concerns and fears. “It’s . . .” Nothing. Nothing. But she couldn’t give him nothing. “Scary. This. Us.” She didn’t have to tell him why, she only had to tell him that it was.

“If it helps, I’m scared too. These past few months have been nothing but scary. I’d rather face a bear, to be quite honest, but life doesn’t give you those choices.”

Hayley pressed her forehead to his shoulder, burrowing against him. “So, this . . . love thing. You really want to . . . You really want to?” Maybe his words could heal this broken fear inside of her.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want it more than I wanted to hide, Hayley, and you saw how badly I wanted to hide.”

Yes, that was true. That was comforting. Why couldn’t she calm down and accept it? Why was she even thinking about her mom right now? That was warped. She should be focusing on Sam and love.

Love. A thing they were in. Together. She snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm, relishing the heat and hardness of his body, and how easily it held hers pressed against it.

There was one final little hurdle. One they were going to need to broach since Sam had spent the night with her, even if it was still early in the morning. “How are we going to tell Brandon and Will?”

Sam tensed, which in turn made Hayley tense. Except, okay, Will clearly didn’t like the idea, so of course he was tense. Sam didn’t want to upset his friends.

But this was important. It was a thing. It was love. So, of course he was going to—

“I think we should keep it quiet for a while.”

“Keep it quiet.” Hayley knew she’d gone to stone, possibly ice, and Sam rubbed his hand up and down her arm as if trying to soothe her.

“We can keep it our little secret for—”

At the word secret, Hayley felt as though she’d been stabbed. She wrenched away from him, scrambling off the bed, quickly and not at all carefully. Secret. A secret? He wanted her to be his secret?

“Hey, where are you going?” Sam asked.

She shook her head as she jerked open the closet door and pulled out a robe. Sam leaned up on his elbows and watched her. “What is it? Did I say something. . .”

She kept her focus on the robe, tying it into a tight knot that might possibly cut off circulation. She hoped it would keep the tears out of her eyes, the pain out of her chest.

“Hayley. Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. Fix it? Fix it? He couldn’t fix this. This was a deep, yawning horror inside of herself. “It’s nothing,” she said quietly and resolutely.

“Something is up. Talk to me.”

She shoved her hands into her hair and tried to take a deep breath that shuddered and failed. She blinked excessively to keep the tears away, gave her hair a little tug to keep her centered and focused on anything that wasn’t the crushing pain in her heart.

“Hayley, baby, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I think you should go.” It was the only thing she could think of. He couldn’t be here. She couldn’t deal with him wanting her to be a dirty little secret he kept from everyone who mattered to him.

She blinked more furiously as Sam sat in her bed—her bed, where she’d given him so much—and gaped at her as though she’d grown another head. She tried to keep her breathing from galloping out of control, and as anger slowly infused his features, she found she could match it. She just had to latch on to anger.

Yeah, she knew what that meant. She’d lived what that meant. The secret her father would never tell his family, the secret her mother had kept from the men she’d dated until Mack had broken down that final defense.

Our. Secret.

Except it was never hers, it was always theirs, and how could she explain that to him? How could she open up that far? This was bad enough, how vulnerable she was, how easy it would be for him to . . . to . . .

She needed space and time to build up all those defenses. To hide the hurt and say it was fine.

It was just, she couldn’t stand to do that cuddled up with him, or with him naked and next to her on her bed. She couldn’t do it with him here, and so Sam, it hurt.

“Could you just leave?”

His jaw actually dropped, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He slowly pushed into a sitting position, pushing fingers through his hair. “Okay,” he said, his tone so even and calm. “We’ve had an emotional night with a lot of firsts and things we didn’t plan. Let’s calm down and talk about it.”

Talk about it? The tears threatened more, multiplying behind her eyes, a burn she couldn’t seem to fight. She couldn’t stand the thought of him understanding. She couldn’t stand the thought of him seeing this was what she always was to people: someone to hide, who didn’t fit into anyone’s plans.

Well, the fear was back. A hard punch hidden behind the words our secret.

“Get dressed, please.” Hayley practically slapped the tears off her cheeks, so angry she was that they’d fallen. “I want you to go.”

“Hayley. You can’t make me go. You can be upset, but let’s talk about—”

She turned and walked out of the room, incapable of looking at him for another moment. He was so strong and perfect, and how could this be spiraling so out of control? But she didn’t want to be his secret, and she was tired of that being what love meant.

She should tell him that. She should stand up to him like she always did, and when she whirled around, he was stalking after her. He’d pulled on boxers, but the rest of his clothes were in the living room.

And she couldn’t . . . She’d lost whatever strength she’d had when it came to him. This was what her mother had meant all those years, warning her about the dangers of sex. It was this horrible realization you’d have to crack yourself open for it to make any sense.

Why on earth would she want to do that? She’d learned how to crack him open, but doing it herself was so mind-numbingly frightening she couldn’t even imagine it.

“I told you that I love you and you kick me out because I said one thing that upset you?” he demanded.

She hugged herself, counting and hating every tear that dripped down her cheek. “Please go.”

“So you’re not even going to talk about it? Not even acknowledge whatever this is?”

She stalked to the front door and jerked it open, even though he was undressed. She couldn’t take this. It was crushing her.

He jammed his limbs into his pants, and then his shirt, then put on his socks and shoes. He glared as he stalked toward her and the open door that led out into a cool early morning.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this—”

“Maybe sex switched our bodies,” she offered, trying for offhanded, for anything that would make him stop advancing on her and looking at her like she’d hurt him.

This wasn’t about him. It was all about her and how much she couldn’t give this to him. Secrets or love. No, maybe she finally realized what her whole life had been trying to tell her.

She wasn’t equipped for love, for belonging. She was too scared. She was never what anyone actually wanted. Not openly, anyway.

“You can’t push me out like this. You can’t refuse to tell me what’s happening.”

“Yes, I can. That’s what I’m doing.” She wanted to shove him out the door, except she was afraid if she touched him her fingers would curl around him and hold on against her will.

“Then you’re going to have to boot me out on my ass, because I’m not moving another step until you tell me.”

She was angry enough that that’s exactly what she tried to do. Ignoring the fear of holding on, she grabbed his arm and pulled. He didn’t move a centimeter. She stomped around him and pushed and pushed, but he was immovable.

“I won’t be a dirty little secret!” she yelled, overloud, everything inside of her shaking and off-kilter. She pushed him again. Harder and harder, but he didn’t budge. “I won’t be your secret, so get the hell out of my apartment and leave me alone.”

“Hayley.” Everything about him had softened, enough that her next shove moved him a tiny shuffle step. She tried again, but he’d firmed back up and took her arms. “Stop, baby. That isn’t what I meant. That isn’t what I meant at all. Talk to me.”

“No!” It was her greatest shame that it was said on a sob, that she knew she was making an absolute fool of herself. Why couldn’t he leave? She needed space to lock it all down and then it would be fine and they could go on as they were, but this was messing everything up.

“The secret thing, Hayley. Hayley, stop. It isn’t about you. It’s about us. About your relationship with Brandon and Will. It’s complicated, and—”

“And none of your business! And . . . and . . . I know what secrets mean. I know what that means.”

“Apparently you don’t.”

She recognized that voice, that old-Sam intimidating growl. It wouldn’t sway her, she wouldn’t let it.

“Go.”

He glared at her, something icy and grave in those blue eyes she’d been very nearly obsessed with. “Fine. You don’t want to talk or listen—all things I’ll point out you’ve made me do—that’s fine. I’ll go. You can get your shit together and come to me when you’re ready to have an adult conversation.”

Which was all she’d asked of him in the first place. To give her time and space to be calm and rational. Put it away where she put all the other hurts she didn’t want to face.

Worst of all, he stood there, as though he was waiting for her to change her mind. As if he thought she could handle this.

He’d been the one to turn the tables. To make this about love and feelings and . . . and secrets.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Goodbye, Sam,” she managed to squeak out.

“Unfuckingbelievable,” he muttered, but he grabbed his jacket and moved, slowly, into the hall, and when he turned to say one last thing, she shut the door in his face.

It was wrong, and probably terrible. Everything felt wrong and terrible. She sank against the door, all the way to the floor, and since he was gone, she allowed herself to cry.