He looked concerned, beautiful, and so completely dangerous she didn’t know what to do. She let out a sob, wiping over her face with her hand. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Samantha…” He stepped closer.
But she shook her head, stopping him. “We broke up.” She cried. “He’s not coming.”
He stepped closer still, ignoring her wishes.
She heaved out a heavy breath. “Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
His response was the opposite of what she’d expected. He said it with emotion. As though his own heart was breaking to see her in pain. As though all he wanted to do was hold her. She looked down to her feet. So many emotions rolled around her chest, she could hardly breathe. It was as though every emotion, every disappointment over the last six months had come crashing to the surface—and her whole world was falling apart for him to witness. Her career, her friendship, her relationship. All ending, and she didn’t want to hear he was sorry. She wanted to punch something. To scream, and yell, and hurt something the way she hurt inside.
“No!” She shouted, looking him in the eye. “Everything in my life is falling apart, and I don’t want to hear any bullshit responses like I’m sorry.”
He stepped toward her, holding out his arms, offering her comfort.
She stepped backward, emotion causing her own throat to choke her. “I should have never agreed to this. I should have just said no.” She was throwing his words back in his face, wanting to push him away. He was scary, and he was Renee’s brother, and she didn’t know if she could resist him when he looked at her like that. She took another step backward, just as Tristan lunged to grab her—but it was too late.
“Samantha!” he shouted.
But she’d already hit the water, and was sinking to the bottom of the pool. She let herself fall. Allowing the cool water to lift her hair and make her feel lighter than she had in months. There was a large splash above her, and soon Tristan’s arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her body, forcing her back to the surface. She didn’t want to go, she didn’t want his arms around her, she didn’t want any of it! She pushed at his arms, kicking her legs as hard as she could.
“Let me go!”
“Samantha, stop!”
“Let me go!”
But he didn’t answer. He kept swimming with her over to the side of the pool until they both reached the shallow end. He put her down, her clothes and hair plastered to her face and body.
“Why wouldn’t you let me go?” She sobbed.
“Because.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because you can’t swim!”
She suddenly stopped. Heaving as though all the oxygen had been expelled from her lungs. Because she could swim. She’d learned her junior year of high school. Right after the summer she’d spent with Tristan. “You remember.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. That was the only way his statement made any sense.
He was quiet a moment, but he grabbed her cheek as though trying to force her to look at him. “Samantha—”
“No!” she shouted again, pushing him away “You remember. Don’t you?”
He only nodded, but his eyes never faltered.
“Everything?” she questioned.
“Yes.”
She wiped over her face, over tears, and hurt, and anger. She brushed her hair back behind her ears and began walking toward the steps. “I’m going to our room to change. Then I’m going to get drunk. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Samantha—”
“Don’t wait up.” But before she stepped into the lobby to grab a key, she turned around and looked at him one last time. “And I know how to swim now, you asshole.”
18
Chapter Eighteen
It was nearly dusk when Tristan opened the back door of the bar and walked into the room. Samantha had already been drinking for hours, albeit slowly, because her heart wasn’t quite in it. She sat at the long oak counter, passing her rum and coke back and forth between her fingers. The ice had melted long ago, causing a gradient separation between soda and water, where her eyes were focused now, tired, puffy, and empty.
He sat down next to her, two seats away, and braced his forearms on the counter to order a drink. “Whiskey and water, please,” he said to the bartender, though he didn’t even acknowledge she was there.
The bartender passed the drink along the bar a moment later, and Tristan picked it up. Samantha couldn’t help but look up at him. He looked tired, maybe even more than herself. As if he’d raked his hands through his hair a hundred times, as if he’d walked a thousand miles, and right away she knew it was because of her. When she told him not to wait up, she’d meant it. She’d meant every word. But as the time went by, as her mind began to calm enough to process it all, she realized she’d been unfair.