He didn’t budge. Instead, he pulled his jeans on and then chewed on his bottom lip as his eyes flashed between mine, searching for some sort of answer. “Who was on the phone, Levee?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Is he jealous?
I was about to become front-page news and he was jealous?
This is not happening.
It really fucking was.
And, for that alone, I got pissed.
Really pissed.
“I won’t let you do this to me. Your word means nothing against mine. You have no proof.” I snatched the robe off the back of my door and wrapped it tight as if it could magically keep me from falling apart.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He tugged his shirt on.
“I will not let you ruin me because of some misplaced savior complex. I don’t need you, Sam. So do me a fucking favor and keep your mouth shut about shit you don’t know anything about.”
“I’m so lost right now.” He threw his arms out to his sides.
“You told Devon I was planning to jump off the bridge!”
His shoulders sagged in visible relief. “Well…yeah. Someone needed to know. I’m not going to just stand by while you kill yourself,” he scoffed as if I were insane.
“I’m not going to kill myself!” I shrieked then began to pace around the room.
It was almost comical.
I was hurt
And pissed.
And floundering even more than ever before.
But Sam looked like he had just saved a litter of puppies from a burning building.
“Well, no. Not anymore you’re not.” He smiled proudly.
“Oh my God!” I threw my hands up in frustration. “You have mental issues.” I should have looked up. I didn’t. I kept pacing. “You seem to be so fucking hell-bent on saving me, but what about you?” I should have shut up. I didn’t. I kept ranting. “You were planning to jump off that bridge too, Sam. Maybe I should run to your employees and share that little secret. But no, I wouldn’t do that. Why? Because I’m a decent human being who respects your privacy. Congratulations, Sam. I didn’t jump, but when this little secret trickles down shit creek, I’ll wish I had.”
When I finally—fucking finally—looked up, Sam was gone. He was still standing in the room, but he’d left me all the same. His face was pale, and his fists were clenched at his sides.
“Listen up, princess,” he snarled. It wasn’t a term of endearment that time. It was an insult that hurt far worse than any other name he possibly could have called me.
I didn’t even have enough time to flinch from his verbal blow before he continued.
“Before you go around slinging insults from inside your glass mansion, you might want all the facts. Four months ago, my mentally ill sister went out for a stroll on the bridge. Two days later, they recovered her body from the bay.”
My hand flew up, covering my mouth as acrid guilt settled in my stomach.
“The last conversation I ever had with her was that morning when she adamantly told me she was fine.” He spat the word then cracked his neck. “She wasn’t. And neither are you. Levee, I never wanted to die. I go up to that bridge because I want Anne to come back.”
My vision swam. “Oh God.”
“Maybe you were never going to jump, but you were up on that bridge for a reason. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. But I won’t apologize for telling Devon. I’ll gladly leave now, but one day, when I see your face again, it’s not going to be on the news because they found your body washed up on the shores of the bay. You’re fucking welcome.” After snatching his shoes off the ground, he stormed out of my room.
“Sam, wait!” I followed after him, catching up just as he got to the front door—a cigarette already dangling from his lips.
“Don’t,” he snapped. “I can’t deal with this. You’re not at all who I thought you were.”
“Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I—”
“Or maybe you’re exactly who I thought you’d be.” He lifted his hands, motioning around my lush foyer.
That hurt. A lot.
But not as much as the idea of losing him.
“I’m sorry, please—”