“Your name is Sam and you named your dog Sampson. That’s a bit egotistical, don’t ya think?”
“Well, the guy who does my ink wouldn’t give us matching tattoos. I was really limited in my narcissistic options.”
“Right.” I reached down to scratch behind Sampson’s ears.
“I got him at the pound a few years back. I saw the name tag on his kennel and took it as a sign.” He whistled and Sampson rushed to his side. Tilting his beer toward the couch to signal for me to sit down, he asked, “You a dog person?”
Following his unspoken order, I settled on the end of the couch, slipping my heels off so I could tuck a leg underneath me. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted a dog, but by the time I could afford to take care of one, my life was chaos. I travel way too much.”
“Gotcha,” he said, sitting beside me on the couch.
With a snap and a point from Sam, Sampson lumbered over to a dog bed in the corner, grunting before flopping down.
We both stayed silent, awkwardly drinking our beers. Small talk was officially over, but it seemed Sam wasn’t any more excited to start the heavy conversation than I was.
“You hungry?” he asked as I nervously polished my beer off.
“I’m good, thanks.”
He nodded and went back to staring into space. “Sooo…” he drawled but didn’t say anything else.
Without looking at him, I broke the silence. “Are you positive that we can’t just start with sex?”
Chuckling, he dropped his head back against the couch and turned to look at me. I met his gaze with a grin, hoping he was about to give in. Instead, his smile fell and his eyes softened.
“I’m sorry I stormed out the way I did, but I really can’t apologize for telling Devon. Levee, I have a really fucked-up past, and it terrifies me to start something with someone like you.”
Someone like you.
I swallowed hard, trying not to flinch from the sting of his words. “Oh.” I scooted to the edge of couch and slid my shoes back on.
He caught my elbow before I had the chance to push to my feet. “Hear me out. Please.”
“Yeah, of course. I was just gonna grab another beer.” I smiled tightly, but he didn’t release my arm.
With one hand, he grabbed the neck of my empty beer between two fingers and replaced it with his half-full one. “Stop and listen. That’s all I’m asking.”
A nod was my only response.
“My fondest memories from when I was a kid are when I was with my dad. I remember him spending hours running around with Anne and me in the backyard. He was so fucking funny and energetic. I swear we were always laughing with him. The problem was that my mom would sit at the kitchen window crying because she knew what would follow. My dad had been diagnosed as bipolar long before he met my mom. But he had meds, and even though they weren’t a fix-all, they helped. Just like basically everyone else who struggles with the disorder, he had a hard time sticking to the medication regimen.” He scrubbed his palms over the thighs of his jeans then dragged his cigarettes from his pocket. He glanced over at me then sighed, tossing them on the wagon-wheel coffee table—his creation, no doubt.
All of my hurt disappeared as I watched something far worse appear on Sam’s face. I didn’t necessarily want to encourage his habit, but I’d have done anything to erase that pained expression.
“You want to take this to the porch swing so you can smoke?” I asked, folding my hand over his.
“Yes. But I need to stop compromising your breakup with lung cancer. So no.” His lips twitched as he intertwined our fingers. Groaning, he continued. “There were times when my dad would disappear to his workshop in our backyard for a week or more. It was a way of life, and Anne and I learned to stop asking questions. Despite all of his shit, he was a great dad.” He squeezed my hand and pointedly held my gaze as he said, “I miss him a lot.”
That does not sound good.
I’d figured the whole walk down memory lane was to set up Anne’s story. But I was quickly realizing that, unfortunately, she might not be the only stop on the ride through Sam’s self-proclaimed fucked-up past.
He ran a hand through his hair. “When I was fifteen, Dad lost his job and went into one of his typical lows. No one really paid it any attention. We were overly used to it by then. Mom used to have us deliver his dinner out to the shop. He wasn’t always as patient with her as he was with Anne and me. When he was up, Mom was the center of his universe. When he was down…he was a fucking dick.”
He lifted my hand to his mouth as I waited on pins and needles for what I prayed wouldn’t be the ending I feared he was about to give me.
“Anne was twelve and thankfully spending the night at the neighbor’s house the night I found him hanging from the rafters. I knew he was dead as soon as I opened that door. But I still frantically tried to save him.” He sucked in a deep, agonizing breath then dragged me onto his lap. Holding me as if I were the only thing anchoring him to the present. “Levee, that’s why I told Devon. I’ll never forget those seconds when I was the only one in that room, begging the universe for help to save him—help that was never going to arrive. I just couldn’t risk that I’d be alone in that room with you too. Someone else needed to know. I couldn’t be solely responsible for losing someone else. Not like that.”
Ice chilled my veins as a reality sliced through me.
Oh God.
I couldn’t let that happen either.
Sam really can’t be with someone like me.
“I HAVE TO go,” Levee said, scrambling off my lap.
I had just dredged up memories I’d spent my entire life trying to forget in order to explain my past. I had close friends who didn’t know about the skeletons I’d pulled from the closet and all but put on display for her. And now she was darting?
“Where the hell are you going?” I bit out entirely too roughly while pushing to my feet after her.
She began messing with her phone until it powered on with a chime. “I have a busy day tomorrow. They rescheduled my concert in LA for tomorrow night. I should probably head home. I’m taking off on vacation for a few weeks. You know, rest and relaxation and all that jazz. I’ll just call Devon for a ride.” She lifted the phone to her ear.
Fuck.
That.
“Put the phone down, Levee,” I growled.
She squeezed the phone between her shoulder and ear and lifted the empty beer bottles off the table. “I’ll just put these in the trash.” Then she flittered to the kitchen, grabbing a rag off the side of the sink and wiping away imaginary dirt from my spotless counters.
What hell is she doing?
“Levee?” I called, but apparently, Devon had just picked up.
“Hey. Can you come get me?” she asked quietly, but not quietly enough, because I’d heard the quiver in her voice loud and clear.
And that was all it took to get my legs moving in her direction.
Her back was to me, but I reached over her shoulder and snatched the phone away from her ear.
“Hey!” she shouted, spinning to face me.
My nerves were still raw and exposed from the little journey back in time, but I was mainly frustrated beyond belief.
With my gaze locked on hers, I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hey, Devon. I’ll bring her home in a little while.”
“No, the fuck you won’t,” he barked, but I pressed the end button.
She swallowed hard and pasted on a sweet smile that definitely belonged to the Levee Williams.
It just didn’t belong to my Designer Shoes.
Not at all.
“Sam, you don’t have to take me back. Give me the phone. Devon can be here in a few minutes.”
Tossing her phone onto the counter, I took a menacing step forward.
Her eyes grew wide as she backed away. “Sam, I have to go.”