He stood, opened the box. “It’s okay.”
“Quinn.” She put her hand on his shoulder, dug her fingers in.
“It’s still here.”
“Uh, yeah, it is,” she said quietly, her voice dropping to a guttural whisper.
Maybe it was the change in her tone, or perhaps her grip on his shoulder, maybe even the shift of wind carrying the rank scent, but Quinn slowly looked up.
Froze.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The ache in Sam’s chest was only getting worse.
And it had nothing do with surgery, or the three broken ribs. Or the fact that his mother was determined to make him leave her condo about twenty-five pounds heavier than when he arrived a few days ago.
Sure, he could have gone home, but Pete seemed to think trading places with him—letting Mom fuss over him—might be exactly what Sam needed to get back on his feet.
The home-cooked chicken casseroles helped, but he needed a remedy for the bereft, hollow place inside. He didn’t want to be a sap and label it as a broken heart, but with a bandage across his chest, with his ribs wired into place, the only explanation for the way the great cavity inside seemed to expand with each day was because he ached for the only remedy that would heal him.
Willow. Her smile, the way she could wheedle right through all his dark layers with her light, make him laugh, and cry, make him want to lose his mind with frustration and . . .
The idea of not having her in his life could drive him out of bed to pace the cold floor.
His mother found him this morning, staring vacantly out the back window at the mountains. She’d touched his back, taken the wooden spoon from his hand, and turned the heat off his overcooked eggs.
Sat him down in the chair to point out the obvious.
“You love this girl, don’t you?”
Sadly, she thought she was talking about Sierra, and he couldn’t take it. “No. I don’t. But . . .”
It came out in a story that took three cups of coffee and his mother making him a fresh omelet, bacon, and three pancakes.
“So, you are in love, just with the other sister,” she said, handing him syrup.
Love? “If love means feeling as if I’m drowning or can’t take a full breath or even as if there’s something alive and burning in my chest—I don’t know if I want it.”
His mother slid her hand over his. “It’s just because you’re afraid, Sam. You’re terrified of giving away your heart. But if you give it to the right person—Willow—she’ll keep it safe.”
“She doesn’t want to see me.”
“You’ll never find out if you don’t get out of that recliner and go after her. C’mon, it’s time for you to live a little.”
He retired to his recliner, her words cooking inside him.
Until a knock at the front door, sometime after he’d woken up from a nap.
His mom came down the stairs. Please let it not be Chet. The man had been awkwardly here for the past three evenings, watching television, eating his mother’s dinners, and generally making Sam want to run from the room.
Since when did his mother have male friends? Especially a widower? He didn’t buy the “we’re just friends” line from Chet. Not at all. Chet might be nearing his sixties, but he was still a man.
“Sam, you have guests,” his mother said, and Sam pushed pause on the remote, stilling the current Arrow episode. His brother had him hooked on all things comic book.
Reliving the years they’d missed together, apparently.
“Hey, Deputy Sam.” Gus’s voice led his way up the stairs. He wore a Mercy Falls Mavericks sweatshirt and had his hat on backward, his blond curly hair spilling out the sides and back. He flashed his signature good-ole-boy grin. “We came to pry you out of your chair.”
We?
Maggy appeared right behind him, looking cute in a pink T-shirt and a fresh haircut, a soft curly bob that took about ten pounds off her face. And makeup. Huh.
“Josh and Riley are putting together a pizza thing. We’re on strict orders to drag you down to the Summit.”
The Summit. Where Willow worked. Sam kept his voice easy. “Really? Now?”
Gus grabbed the remote off the edge of the chair. “I hate to drag you away from Oliver Queen, but your fans are calling.”
His fans?
Maggy set his cowboy boots next to the chair, held his leather jacket. “We never got to thank you for saving us out there. It’s a fan party.”
His mother stood by the door, wearing a strange smile.
“I wasn’t the only one who saved you. We all worked together—the team, and Josh, and, of course, Willow.” In fact, he’d been sitting here for five days rolling Sierra’s words through his thick skull. “One of these days you’re going to figure out that you need to be rescued just as much as the next guy.”