Forty-one
My head whips to the left, where an unusually pale Sam stands just inside my back door. He reaches into his pocket and grabs the ringing phone to silence it. The accusations and horror and fear darkening his eyes keep me from throwing myself into his arms. They’re not open to me anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Finally, he breaks the silence.
“What happened?”
I don’t know where to begin, especially since I’m not sure which part he’s talking about. When I don’t say anything, he takes a few tentative steps closer.
“I drove over right after you called. Your kitchen…” he hesitates. “Everything was trashed. There was blood and then I found your shirt and jeans…”
“My father was here when you dropped me off yesterday.”
“I figured out that much,” he says. “I’ve been driving past your house all day waiting for James to leave you alone, but he never leaves you alone. And just when I’m about to say to hell with the secret, you come out looking way worse than I imagined and then he tries to kiss you…?”
Though it hardly seems possible, he looks more wrecked than I feel. I close the distance between us and hug him. It hurts, but not as much as the fact that his arms stay at his sides. “I’m okay.”
“But James—”
“He’s in a bad place, that’s all. Nothing happened.”
“You’re not lying to me?”
“No.” Not really.
The tension in his body slowly drains away. After several long moments, he hugs me back and kisses the top of my head, rat’s-nest hair and all. “You should be resting.”
“I’ve rested plenty.” I kiss his cheek and try out a flirty smile. “Will you help me take a shower? James thinks I’m going to pass out from the pain and crack my head open on the tub.”
“Pain?”
“Oh, um, I burned my hip. Nothing major,” I add quickly. “Come on.”
Though he clearly doesn’t believe me, Sam lets me lead him down the hallway into the bathroom. Leaving the light off will probably lessen the blow so I do, but Sam’s onto me. The second my hands go to the hem of my shirt, he flicks the switch and folds his arms, waiting.
I take a deep breath and peel off my t-shirt.
Sam doesn’t look good. His eyes dart from bruise to bruise, repeatedly returning to the gauze peeking out from beneath my flannel pants like he’s torn between wanting to tear it off and not wanting to see what’s underneath. When I slip off the pants and my white cotton panties and he sees the knee-sized bruises on my thighs, I think he might throw up.
Instead, he pulls me into a desperate hug that stings, but is oh, so worth it. He lets me go way too soon. The way he looks at me makes me forget how to breathe. “I swear on my life, Sarah, I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again.”
Words I’ve heard before from my brother, but ones I know Sam means with his whole soul. If only he knew how impossible it’ll be to keep the promise he’s making. If James couldn’t prevent this from happening, there’s no way Sam could have.
“You’re moving in with me,” he says. “This weekend. And if they’re stupid enough to let your dad out before next month, we’ll leave town.”
He kisses me and I let him. When his hands smooth over my skin, I remember how good being with him makes me feel. How normal. My father took “normal” away from me yesterday. I don’t know if it’ll ever come back for good, but at least for now, I’ve found it again.
Keeping me close, he reaches into the shower and turns on the faucet. Silently, we wait for the water to heat up. Without removing his fingers from the stream of water, Sam nibbles on the unmarred half of my bottom lip and I marvel at the texture of his t-shirt and jeans against my naked body.
But James wasn’t kidding about the pain. As soon as I step into the shower, I try to jump back out. Gasping, I rip the soaked gauze away from my skin, which is now an even angrier pink, thanks to the warm water. Sam goes pale all over again.
“I’ll turn down the temperature,” he says in a strangled voice.
He does, then strips out of his own clothes. My heart flutters with desperation, then plummets in sheer panic. What if James gets to wherever he’s going and decides he can’t handle being away from me? What if he calls and I don’t answer? Both end with him racing home. I should tell Sam to get dressed and wait for me in the backyard, but I can’t. The love and need in his eyes are too deep and too tantalizing. I can’t even look away.
Sam steps into the tub and closes the curtain behind him, but he doesn’t come any closer. I wonder if he sees the conflicting emotions careening through my head as well as James can. Whatever the case, his distance gives me the rare opportunity to gawk at him. At all of him. Normally, I don’t get to see much—which has worked well for my little seeing-naked-skin problem—but now I wish I had paid more attention. His body is beautiful.
Sam must notice me drooling because he grins a little and grabs the bottle of shampoo. He does a very thorough job of washing my hair and soaping up all the places I can’t reach without stretching the healing skin on my hip. Once I’m completely rinsed off and feeling clean for the first time in a week, I hug him. He moans. Or maybe I do. With the cool water and our bodies pressed together, I can almost close my eyes and pretend we’re back in the fish ladders.
When we’re dry and back in my bedroom searching for soft clothes that won’t rub my hip raw, Sam gently maneuvers me onto my bed. His face is unreadable, so I have no idea whether he’s hoping for sex, cuddling, or just wants me to lie down and rest. When he crawls into the bed beside me and rests his hand on my stomach, I decide sex.
This feels…strange. Even with all the touching and nakedness in the bathroom, he didn’t seem interested in being with me, which was fine. Part of me is repulsed, remembering the last time a male body pinned me down. The other part of me wonders if maybe being with Sam again is exactly what I need to erase those memories. When Sam and I are together, I feel loved.
I want that love.
Cautiously, I roll onto my right side and reach for him. My fingers find what they’re looking for, but instead of the sexy groan I’m expecting, Sam gently takes my wrist and moves my hand away.
“No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want.”
I should feel lucky to have such an understanding boyfriend. Instead, his sympathy chafes nerves that are beyond frayed already. “But I do.” I think.
“Sarah…” His hand trails to my thighs and I hold my breath thinking he’s going to give me what I want, but instead he traces the edge of a bruise. “I can’t. Not yet. Even if it’s me, I’m going to see him hurting you. Looking at what he did makes me want to kill him.”
His gorgeous face blurs, but I refuse to cry. “Sam, I need this. I still feel him—I still feel everything he did. I have to replace him. You have to help me replace him.”
He looks horrified. “Did your father—”
“No!” The word echoes in my silent bedroom. “No,” I repeat, calmer this time. “I got away before…that.”
All the emotions in his eyes—relief, anger, and fear—melt into sadness that bleeds from his body and seeps into mine. “Sex isn’t going to fix this. I can’t fix this, though you have no idea how bad I want to.”
“This will help,” I say. “I promise. Please do this for me.”
“Sarah—”
“Please.”
He stares at me far too hard and far too long, then reaches for a condom from his pants pocket. Yet another barrier between us. I can’t handle it.
“No!”
“No?” He freezes. “What do you mean, no?”
“I…I just…”
I close my mouth, unable to come up with an acceptable answer. There’s no way to describe the desperation tugging me in every direction, how brittle I feel, and how terrified I am of losing him. It’s not that I want to get pregnant—far from it—but I’ve got to get out of here. If something happened, he’d marry me. I’m sure of it. We’d run away from Granite Falls together and I’d never have to worry about James turning on me or my father’s you’re-next look again.
It’s a tantalizing thought.
Without breaking eye contact, he frowns and reaches for his shorts again. If he’s testing me, waiting for me to do or say something so he can analyze my reaction, he doesn’t have to wait long. The gaping emptiness that consumes me whenever Sam leaves sets in almost immediately. Every day we’ve been together, it’s gotten worse, and borders on full-blown-panic-attack-awful when it hits me now.
I have to do this. I have to keep him no matter what.
“No.” I shake my head and kiss him again. “No condom.”
He drops his shorts on the floor and sighs. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I want to, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
How easy it would be to lie and tell him I picked up a pack of pills the morning after we had sex the first time. He’s a guy—if I kiss him and climb on top, he’ll be mine.
“Sarah?”
I bite my lip. We didn’t use protection in the fish ladders—something I thought he’d done on purpose, but now I’m not so sure. I kept waiting for him to stop that night, to climb up the ladder and grab a condom from his shorts, but he didn’t.
And I didn’t say anything because I wanted it too bad.
“But I love you,” I say lamely.
“I love you, too,” he says, pressing a hand to my stomach. “But you know what could happen, don’t you? What might have already happened? How are you going to hide us then?”
He’s right. Of course he is—Sam’s always right. Sometimes being with him feels like being with my brother because James is always right, too. The shards of guilt remind me how selfish I’m being—how selfish I’ve always been, first with James and now with Sam.
I’m turning into my mother.
Disgusted with myself, I reach into the pocket of his shorts and withdraw a purple foil package. Sam’s eyes follow my every move as I tear it open and stare at the slimy rubber circle waiting inside. I imagine my mother poking holes in the one she used that first night behind the Armory with my father.
I am not my mother.
When Sam takes the condom from me and rolls it into place, I don’t stop him.