Sam
SHE LOOKED LIKE a princess. I’d never seen her so breathtaking, and that was saying a lot because she always took my breath away.
Allie and Emilia fussed over her veil, securing her necklace in place and fastening one last button at the back of her elegant white dress. I stood in awe, partly because there were so many girly things going on in this room and I didn’t know what to do with myself, but mainly because she looked fucking gorgeous.
I’d imagined this day so many times. Ella would be crying, Memphis would be his usual broody, distant self, the girls would be humming and flitting about, and London would be beaming with pride and woozy with butterflies as she waited to meet her groom at the altar.
Where did that leave me in this wedding fantasy, you ask?
At that damn altar, of course!
I was supposed to be the groom. I was supposed to be the man in the tux with nervous jitters and a gut full of heavy emotions ready to break free at any given moment. I was the man who would give her my name and promise to love her, in good times and bad, forsaking all others, till death do us part.
Instead she was marrying Hunter and I was just a pathetic old groomsman—by default, no less. Hunter didn’t ask me because we were best buds or any shit like that. No, London kindly forced him to put me in the bridal party because—in her words—I was like a brother to her and her wedding party would be incomplete without me.
Yeah, I knew a little something about feeling incomplete. Without getting all Jerry Maguire on you, London Monroe was supposed to complete me! And now I was losing her, forever.
Heads spun and all eyes landed on me as I let out a never-ending breath and clutched my chest.
Fuck! I really just did that, didn’t I? I quickly cleared my throat and smoothed a hand over my jacket, pretending I was dusting something off.
“You okay over there, Goodwin?” London’s smile was big and bright even beneath a cloud of tulle or taffeta or whatever the fuck material a veil was made from.
I wasn’t okay, though. I wanted to tell her that she was making a mistake, beg her to pick me. But only an absolute monster could steal that look from an angel’s face. She was truly happy, despite the destruction and devastation coursing through me as I stood back and acted as if that happiness wasn’t killing me.
“I’m good,” I lied, but recovered with a genuine truth. “You just . . . you look . . . you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Awww,” Emilia and Allie cooed in unison.
“Samuel,” London whispered, fighting off tears.
“No! Your makeup! Don’t you dare cry!” Allie warned. She pulled a tissue from her cleavage and crept under London’s veil to blot her face.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” London shooed her away.
The tender moment was lost in the whirlwind of bridesmaid madness, but when London was settled and the girls were finally done touching her, she turned to face me and our eyes locked.
“Girls? Can you give us a few minutes? It’s been a very busy morning and I haven’t had any alone time with my best friend.”
I smiled back at her, my heart melting beneath the rented tux, my pulse skyrocketing. God, she really does look incredible.
Allie walked over to me and punched me in the shoulder. “Always second rate, thanks to you.” Her tiny fist didn’t have much impact, but I let her think it did. It was the least I could do for trumping her in the friend department all these years.
I stuck my tongue out at her and snarled, earning a giggle from both her and Emilia as they left the room.
Finally alone, we remained motionless, glued to each other by eye contact and unspoken words. I had no clue what was running through her head, but my brain was on the verge of spontaneous combustion with everything I was holding back.
I want you. I need you. Choose me, London. Let it be me.
It was as if the air around me was non-existent. I was drowning in emotion, weighed down by everything left unsaid.
London broke our silent exchange and looked down at her dress. My heart grew wings and took flight as I silently prayed that by some miracle of the heavens she was feeling the same way. Blinded by hope, I imagined her looking up at me and saying, “I can’t go through with this, Sam. I’m not in love with him. I’m in love with you.” But when her gaze returned to mine, my heart sank back into its empty, lonely reality.
My favorite brown eyes were filled with nervous happiness as they asked the same question that came out of her perfect mouth, “Do I look okay?”
I steeled myself and swallowed the lump of undeclared words lodged in my throat. All hope was lost. I had to accept my role as best friend and bury the dream of ever being more.
“Okay?” I grabbed her hands and stared past the veil and into her glistening eyes. “Did you not hear what I said? I wasn’t lying, London, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”
She licked her pink lips and bowed her head again. But I didn’t want her to look away from me. I had to savor this. Memorize it. This would be our last time together before she belonged to someone else, mind, body, and soul. While those other parts of her never actually belonged to me, her soul certainly fucking did. And mine belonged to her. I knew it in my bones, I’d just been too stupid to say something before today. And now . . . I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. She didn’t feel the same or else she wouldn’t be marrying Hunter. I’d lost my chance and I had to live with it.
“London,” I whispered, urging her to look at me. She lifted her head and waited for more.
I paused, unsure what I could possibly say without ruining everything, and then finally settled on something that would say it all. “I love you.”
“Oh, Sam. I love you, too.”
I knew she did, just not the way I wanted her to. But I had to take what I could get. Any love from her was better than no love at all.
I held my head high and begged my thoughts to shut the fuck up, my heart to stay whole, as I watched her walk down that aisle and seal her fate with a kiss.
That day I began the process of letting go, but I never imagined I’d be stuck in limbo for the rest of my life.
Monday morning, I woke up to a missed call from Patricia, two from my mom, and nada from London. I weeded through my emails, made breakfast, got dressed for a run, and avoided even glancing next door.
I’d managed to avoid London the rest of the weekend. Or maybe she was avoiding me. Who knew? Either way, I hadn’t seen her since basically giving her an ultimatum to choose between me and her new doctor boyfriend.
I didn’t know much about him but from where I stood, he was actually an all right guy. Then again, any guy who was with my girl was definitely not all right in my book.
Still, the fact remained this was London’s choice to make. I couldn’t end their relationship for her; I couldn’t get all caveman and drag her to my bedroom and make her mine. While some chicks might see that as chivalrous, London definitely wouldn’t.
No, London would be furious. Not only that, she didn’t even know how I felt about her until two days ago. I was sure she needed time to process it. To figure out where the fuck this late breaking news came from. While I’d been harboring these unquenched desires for years and years and years, London was living her happily ever after with Hunter. She was blissfully clueless. Not because I didn’t make it obvious—because there were so many times when I had—but because I toned it down out of respect, and mostly out of fear that she didn’t feel the same way.
Listen, she chose Hunter. What choice did I have? Back then, my pride was too big. I wouldn’t chase her, especially since she hadn’t displayed any sign of mutual feelings. So, I valiantly stepped aside, figuring her crush on Hunter would fizzle out. Hoping that when it did, she would come to me, I would wipe away her tears, and the rest would play out the way it had in so many of my fantasies.
Much to my dismay, after that school dance, Hunter whisked her off into the sunset so fast my head almost spun off my shoulders. Not even a year after graduation, he proposed and she was the happiest I’d ever seen her.
When I started to panic, fearing I lost her for good, I tried to convince her that she was too young, that she shouldn’t marry the first guy she fell for. But even as I told her that, I knew it made me a hypocrite. She was the first girl I’d fallen for and I would’ve married her at nine years old if I could’ve.
I couldn’t hurt her by crushing her dreams, so instead I suffered through my own pain. I couldn’t take her happiness away because part of loving someone the way I loved London meant selflessly granting them whatever it was that brought them true happiness. I did it for her. I fucking lost her, but I’d be damned if I would sit back and let it happen again.
Until now, London hadn’t the faintest idea what I’d been going through. She didn’t know that being as close as we were was torture because I longed to be even closer. She couldn’t fathom what it was like to watch her walk down the aisle and wish it was me she was walking toward. She didn’t understand that every time I told her I would do anything for her, be anything for her, go anywhere with her, I was silently praying she would read between the lines and see that those promises stretched far beyond friendship.
This time was different, though. London was finally seeing—feeling—the truth for herself. She told me with her own mouth that it hurt to see me with Patricia. She told me she was jealous, confused. And I saw it, too. I saw a change in the way she looked at me, a glimmer of the same yearning that had haunted me for years when I looked at her. Call me crazy, but this was the breakthrough I’d been praying for.
And I was running with it.
Screw Bryce, screw anyone who got in my way. I knew now that there was a part of that beautiful, wonderful woman who loved me as more than a fucking brotherly buddy. I’d give her a little space to figure her shit out, to sort through these new feelings. Now that it was out in the open, I knew it was only a matter of time before she realized Bryce wasn’t the man for her—because I was.
Later that morning, I got the call.
“Hi, is this Mr. Goodwin?”
“This is he.”
“I’m calling from the diagnostics lab at the transplant center. I have your screening results.”
I stopped running and bent to catch my breath. I usually didn’t answer calls during a run, but I’d been expecting this one. Sweat dripped down my forehead and into my eyes. It stung so I rubbed it away and searched for the nearest bench.
“Mr. Goodwin? Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I panted. “Sorry, I was . . . I’m here.”
The woman on the other end read off some medical jargon about tissue typing and cross matching. I didn’t care about any of that so I tuned it out. There was only one thing I needed to know. Only one purpose to all of this.
“Ma’am . . .” I interrupted her, mid-sentence. “Any way you can just tell me if I’m a match or not for Ella Monroe?”
There was a short pause, which felt more like an eternity, and then she was back with an irritated huff. “Well, Mr. Goodwin, it says here that you are indeed a match for Ms. Monroe and that you’re a healthy candidate for the donor procedure.”
A match. A healthy candidate. Anything else she said after that didn’t mean shit. I let her finish, listened to her babble on about setting up an appointment with Bryce, and thanked her numbly. I looked up at the cloudless blue sky as I ended the call, the adrenaline rush from the run and this amazing news pumping through my veins like wildfire.
I had to call London. I was pretty sure I was the only one who knew this information, as there were certain laws about patient confidentiality and whatnot. This was London and Ella’s news and they deserved to know—and I wanted them to hear it from me.