“You know as well as I do that logic doesn’t apply when it comes to men.”
“But Sam’s not like that.” Other than my father, Sam was the best man I’d ever known. He was thoughtful and kind and cared about what should be important in this world. He’d been through so much in his life yet remained decent and honest at his core. He was special. And he loved me. He’d told me and I knew what a huge thing that was. He wouldn’t let me go so easily, would he?
“Come on. We all think they’re not like that until they are. You haven’t known him that long.”
Harper was right, Sam and I hadn’t known each other very long, but she didn’t understand how far we’d come. We were committed to each other—he said he’d try for me. That he wanted to be the man that deserved me.
I knew I just needed to see him, to reassure him. “I need to go to Manhattan,” I said as Harper poured more wine into my glass.
“Let’s see how you feel on Sunday. And when you do go back you should stay at my apartment in the city. Cab fare will be a lot cheaper than if you go to Brooklyn. You can’t take the subway for a while.”
I shouldn’t need to take a cab at all.
Sam was supposed to be hiring a driver.
Why was I having to make plans that didn’t include him?
“I want to go into Manhattan to see Sam.”
“Grace, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’ll call you or he won’t. You’re in no state to be running after him. You need to be concentrating on getting better.”
“You don’t understand how I feel about him. This is it for me. I will never love any man the way I love him.” I twisted the stem of my wine glass, the alcohol lapping at the edges, trying to get free. “Will you come with me? Or do you think I’m being such an idiot that—”
“Idiot or not, of course I’ll come with you.”
“Monday then.” Monday would mark a full week since the accident. A full week since I’d seen Sam. “We can go to his office and I can prove you wrong.” I tipped back my glass. “But if you’re right and he’s walking away from me, for whatever reason, then he’s going to have to say it to my face.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam
“What is it?” I barked into my phone as I walked into my apartment. I’d spent as little time as possible here since the accident. I couldn’t avoid thinking about Grace when I was here—from the art to the sofa. The place was all about her.
Christ, I could smell her. I thought the scent would have waned by now. Thoughts of her were still as strong as ever, but those I could shut down. I’d done it before and I could do it again. That way I’d survive, and she’d go on to have a happy life without me.
“So you’re not dead. Thank you for finally answering your God damn cell.” Angie had no right to be angry. I was the one who should be pissed.
She’d been calling me and messaging me on and off since the accident. I hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone. I’d needed to be alone. I’d walked from the hospital for hours and hours until I’d found myself at the diner. I vaguely understood that time was passing but it hadn’t applied to me, as I’d disconnected from the rest of Manhattan going about their daily lives.
“I’m busy, Angie. What is it?” I shrugged off my jacket, throwing it on the floor, and went into the kitchen. I was anything but busy. I’d called in sick. I never took any time off, not even for vacation, so no doubt people were starting to get jumpy. I’d have to go back. I put my phone on speaker and found my calendar.
Tomorrow. I’d go back tomorrow. It was Monday and I could just pretend that the last week hadn’t happened. I’d erase it from history.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You and Grace were in a car accident on Monday and you didn’t think to tell me?”
“How did you find out?” I opened the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the first thing capable of holding alcohol.
“Not from you, that’s for damn sure.”
I took the bottle from the counter and unscrewed the top single-handed. “Angie, I don’t have time for this.”
The whiskey glugged into the white cup emblazoned with the logo of a commercial real estate agency on the side.
“Grace told me, you idiot. And speaking of idiocy, why the fuck are you ignoring her calls?”
I took a big gulp, enjoying the burn down my throat as I swallowed. The pain was soothing, distracting.
“Do you have an answer or are you just being a gigantic dick?” Angie asked.
On the surface, not picking up my phone to Grace or Angie looked like a dick move. I’d gone dark on Grace and hadn’t responded to any of her calls or messages. But I needed to pull up the drawbridge, reestablish my defenses. I’d had an ugly reminder of how frail life was and how close to the edge I’d been.
“I’m fine, Angie. Grace is fine. We’re just over. That’s all. It’s no big deal.”
I don’t know how Angie had become some kind of exception to my isolation. I should have cut her loose long ago.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Had I gone too far? Good. Perhaps she’d get the message and leave me the fuck alone.
“Sam,” she said quietly.
I topped up my mug of whiskey and stalked out of the kitchen, clutching my drink only to be hit with the sight of the La Touche on the wall.
Fuck, she was everywhere.
“Sam, I’m worried about you.”
I put my drink down on the coffee table Grace and I had bought. Why the fuck did I have a table to put my fucking whiskey on? Anger boiled up inside me and I flung the table over. My cup of whiskey flew across the room, liquid raining in an amber arc across the couch, the crack of the table leg breaking providing the sound track.
“What was that?” Angie asked.
Now I’d have to pour myself more whiskey. “Nothing. I dropped my drink.” I stooped to collect the white mug. The handle had snapped off but I could still drink out of it. I headed to the kitchen to get the bottle.
“Are you okay, Sam?”
“I told you, I’m fine. Not a scratch on me. And Grace is fine. She’s been discharged.”
“And how would you know that? She said she hasn’t heard from you since she woke up.”
I didn’t respond. I had nothing to say. I couldn’t deny what Angie was saying and I had no reason to try and excuse it. But I had to put my survival above everything else. It was the only way. I’d made a mistake by caring about someone. I couldn’t handle the pain of even the thought of something happening to Grace. It was easier for both of us to walk away now.
I might miss her wide smile and generous heart. I might miss her warm touch and light kisses. I might miss the way she made me feel, but it was better this way.
I may have survived my parents’ deaths, but it had sliced a crack straight through me that constantly threatened to break open.
Walking away now, I had a chance.
This way I was safe.
And alone.