Instead, I tap out a text to her and hit send. If she’s ready to come back to the room, or go get some food, or roam downtown, she’ll text back. I really don’t care what we do tonight. I’d be just as happy to lose myself in TV and pass out again. I’m that tired.
Mentally, physically, and emotionally.
Yup. I sound like a chick. But being around Sam is doing that to me. It’s also draining. I can’t fault her completely, though. I’m doing a fucking fantastic job of sucking the life right out of myself. I’m sure she’s sick of dealing with me, and that’s why she needed to get away.
I push myself back against the wall and stare at the black flat screen, too crapped out to bother to turn it on. After about five minutes of creepily sitting in silence, I realize Sam hasn’t messaged me back.
Cold fear skates down my spine. I try to keep from imagining the worst, but suddenly too many terrifying situations pop into my mind, and I’m on my feet. She’s probably fine, I tell myself. But she did try to jump out of a moving vehicle. Fuck. What the hell was I thinking letting her go off by herself?
She was way too calm, eerily collected when we got here. And just before that, she was blazing mad and ready to hitchhike to God knows where. Even though sometimes she seems lucid and sane, I remind myself that she’s unstable. That at any minute, she could snap. That her mother trusted her in my care. And after what I said to her in the truck, making her question her sanity, she could be having a freakin’ meltdown right now.
“Hell.” I don’t bother with my shoes as I head for the door, then I’m buckling my belt on the way to the elevator. Once inside the car, I brace my hand against the wall, ready to bolt as soon as the ding rings out.
The chlorine smell hits me first, and I follow it down a short hallway past the vending machines. Hotel pools always seem to be near them. When I’m just steps away from entering the pool area, I spot Sam. She’s sitting on the steps in the shallow end. A rush of air releases from my lungs in a hard whoosh. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.
I lift my foot to take a backward step, but plant it right back down as I hear Sam’s soft voice. I crane my neck, angling my ear to hear past the echo of the closed-in area.
“Forever wasn’t good enough,” she says, her voice getting louder. “At least not for you. And maybe not for me. I mean, all we’ve ever known was each other.” She looks down at the water lapping her thighs and shakes her head. “But if you had no doubts, then that bar girl never would’ve happened. And why did you keep knowing how I felt about Holden from me? Why didn’t you ever bring it up?”
My heart ceases to beat in my chest.
I anxiously hover on the balls of my feet, the cold tiled floor seeping through my socks, as I wait to . . . what? Hear Tyler’s response? I almost unleash a curse, but clamp my molars together hard. Sam’s not even giving the ghost version of her Tyler the chance to respond.
I should leave. This takes creeper to a whole new level. I’ve made sure Sam’s okay. She’s not in any danger. I need to go.
Lifting my foot again to leave, I’m decided on the right course of action until, “It wasn’t like that, Tyler. I didn’t want to admit it, not even back then. I wanted it to be a stupid crush, because it was easier to deal with but . . . I loved him.” I can see her swallow hard from here, the subtle movement of her throat. And I’m frozen in place.
My body feels trapped, suspended in the moment.
“I loved you so much. You were my everything . . . and I wanted us to be forever. And we would have—should have been.” A sad smile touches her lips. “But I loved Holden first. It was different, but he was my first love. You can’t hold that against me or him.”
With my heart beating in my ears, I finally take that backward step. And then another. And another, until I’m in the hallway and my back hits the wall.
No way in hell am I going to listen to her breaking up with my dead brother. There are some things I don’t need to hear—to have on my conscience. Wait—is she breaking up? It sounds like the makings of a breakup speech. But maybe she’s just working out whatever she needs to in her mind to really let him go.
If she’s unable to accept his death, maybe this is the next logical step for her. Like she needs to first end their relationship or some shit before she can move on. It seems messed up. But I won’t even pretend to know how it works. I just hope it’s not fucking her mind up more.
But, her words . . . shit. She said she loved me. Past tense. Back then, but still. I don’t know what to do with that, other than be the selfish ass that I am and revel in the fact that maybe—if she felt that strongly before—I might have a chance at fixing what’s broken between us now.