I glared up at him, unimpressed.
“You’re a caretaker, Sam. It’s what you do. You did it for your mom when your dad died. You did it for me when…” He paused and swayed his head in consideration, “Well, you still do it for me. You did it for Anne. You do it for Morgan. And now, you’re gonna try to do it for Levee freaking Williams. You did the right thing by letting someone know what was up, but I really think she’ll be okay without you. If you want to have under-the-covers fun with her for a while, by all means, go for it. But, since I know your vagina doesn’t work like that, you need to stop this now. What you really need is for someone to take care of you—not the other way around.”
He was right.
I’d spent years of my life taking care of my father. Then even more years repairing the damage he’d caused our family when he’d ultimately hung himself in his workshop. Most recently, I’d spent my life trying to prevent Anne from sharing his same fate—a task I’d monumentally failed at.
Yeah. I couldn’t do that with Levee.
Not again.
Clearing my throat, I pushed to my feet. “You’re right.”
He was so fucking wrong, and I knew it even as the agreement tumbled from my lips.
She was right.
We were right.
I was just too afraid to start the cycle of pain all over again.
So, like a coward, I repeated a lie. “You are absolutely right.”
“Good.” He stood up too and buttoned his suit coat in a very professional manner. “Are we done here?”
I sighed and nodded, preparing to leave, but Ryan stopped me first.
“You want to grab some coffee? Off the clock, of course.” He winked and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah. I could seriously go for a smoke and some caffeine,” I replied, deflated.
“Awesome. Now, spill it. Was she a freak in the sack? I can see her being kinky. And don’t even try to avoid answering. You can’t fuck the world’s biggest pop star and keep this shit from your best friend.”
I cleared my throat. “My best friend doesn’t know I had sex with Levee. Just my attorney. And since you’re off the clock…” I trailed off, tossing him a shrug.
“You are worthless.” He pouted, and I made a mental note not to let Ryan ply me with alcohol any time soon.
“That’s not what Jen said,” I joked, dodging the punch that I knew would be heading toward my shoulder.
Ryan talked the whole way to the coffee shop, but I didn’t have anything left to say. How was I supposed to just forget about her? Or stop worrying about her? Or stop myself from getting in my car and heading up to her house? God, I hoped Devon was going to truly get her the help she needed and stop taking her to that fucking bridge every night.
There was only one way to be certain about that though.
For seven days, I fought the urge and somehow managed to stay away from her. Her house was only fifteen minutes from mine, and my palms itched to touch her again.
For as much as I wanted to see her, it wasn’t like Levee was reaching out to me, either. She had my cell number from the night I’d given it to her at the bridge, but I didn’t know if she’d kept it. She knew where I worked though. I’d given the receptionist at rePURPOSEd full permission to give my cell number to anyone who called asking for it.
A million clients called; Levee didn’t.
Anxiety wouldn’t allow me to just write her off though. Every night, I marched up that bridge hoping to find a pair of designer shoes lurking in the shadows.
They never were.
For as much relief as it gave me each night when she wasn’t there, an ache grew in my chest.