“I don’t understand why you can’t just keep everything the way it is. Convince Wynter that she wants to be with you, and it doesn’t matter where the two of you live.” Riley never looked up from the staring contest he was having with little Charlotte.
“So then I get everything I’ve always wanted and to hell with her dreams?” Sam scoffed.
“Shh. Daddy doesn’t need to start teaching you this colorful new language just yet, does he Charlotte? He’s just whiny because he’s not getting any. It’s what we call ‘sexually frustrated’. But you have a few years before we need to explain where you came from.”
“Yeah, like, not from me. I’m not her daddy, Ri. Cut it out.”
“It may not have been your sperm that helped give her life, but that doesn’t matter. You’re the man in her life right now. Well, you and her coolest uncle in the world. Uncle Riley.” He chucked the baby under her chin.
Sam rolled his eyes.
“You’re completely glossing over Holt’s role in all of this. Wynter loved the guy enough to marry him, to have his baby. She’s still grieving.”
“Uh huh. So then why is she choosing to suck face with you?” Riley puckered up his lips, making kissing noises at Charlotte.
Sam threw his hands up in the air and stalked to the window. He knew he shouldn’t have revealed that little tidbit to Riley. The man was worse than a gossiping old granny. He gritted his teeth and rested his hands on the window frame. Riley hadn’t stopped cooing at the baby.
Mother Nature had decided to be kind, bestowing a string of warm days to mark the end of winter and the start of spring. But to the people of Braeden, that meant rapid snow melt, slush, basement flooding, and mud. Lots of mud. Yeah, he had so much to offer Wynter here.
Sam tried to remember what it had been like in Scallop Shores at the beginning of spring. It was only a four hour drive northeast. Surely the conditions couldn’t be that different. He knew he held his old hometown to a higher standard, kept it postcard-perfect in his memory. He’d decided a long time ago that he was never going back. Sam had lost the right to live in Scallop Shores the night he’d let his parents die without him.
“Yo, Sammy, someone is smelling a little funky over here.”
“So take a shower.” He allowed a smile to slide over his features before turning away from the window.
“Aw, and here I was going to offer to change her.” Riley held the baby out to Sam with a wink and a wicked grin.
“You wouldn’t know which end of a baby to diaper if you had to. Come here, Charlotte, Sam will clean you right up.”
He carried the baby to the couch, cradling her in one arm while using the other to arrange the changing pad and supplies he’d need. Riley rolled his chair closer. Sam started to unswaddle the infant, knowing, before he was done, that he was dealing with a full blow out.
“Seriously! How can someone so incredibly cute do something so horribly revolting?” Riley covered his eyes in horror, waving an arm like he was warding off a major evil.
“Babies poop, Ri. It’s what they do. They eat. They sleep. They poop. Not much else at this point.” His movements were efficient. The mess didn’t bother him at all.
“You were so born for this.”
“To get attached to a little girl and her mother when I know they’re going to leave me?”
“No, idiot! To be a dad. You make it look effortless. You kind of make me wonder what it would be like to take on that kind of responsibility. If I could get past the fact that I can’t run with my kids, teach them to walk, or ride a bike. You can do all that. And you should.”
Sam released a long sigh. “This life . . . This moment, it’s not supposed to be mine. It was supposed to be Holt’s. I feel like I’m stealing something from him, you know?”
“You didn’t kill him, Sam. He was gone before you even found out about Charlotte. Besides, he would want you to step up. Friends do that for each other.”
“Yeah, and friends support each other’s dreams. Which is why I have to let Wynter go. She wants to live in Scallop Shores. She wants to run my grandmother’s book store.”
“What if your grandmother doesn’t want her to run it? She’s your grandma. Tell her you want Wynter to stay with you. Have her convince Wynter that she should find a new dream.”
“See? This is why you’re single.” Sam stuffed the soiled baby clothes in a plastic bag to be washed later. He tossed the dirty diaper, wrapped tightly in another plastic bag, onto Riley’s lap. “Be a pal and get rid of that, would ya?”
“I’m just saying, you’ve spent the last twelve years pining for this woman. Now you’ve got her back. Things are good. They’d be better if you were actually sleeping together, but they’re good. Hang on to that.” He rolled off to throw away the garbage.
Sam smiled sadly at the tiny baby he was dressing. She held his gaze, yawning huge. He had to get her back to the house so Wynter could feed her before her nap. He stood up and went looking for Riley, placing Charlotte in his arms so he could wash his hands.
“My conscience won’t let me hold on to her. I don’t expect you to understand that.”
“So you’re saying I don’t have a conscience? Dude, that’s cold.” Riley’s tone suggested he wasn’t actually angry, so perhaps he did understand more than Sam realized.
“I wish there was a plan C. We could move to a small town, something on the coast that reminded Wynter of Scallop Shores. We could get her that book store she wants. I can design software anywhere.” He stared, unseeing, across the room. His imagination started to create a life for the three of them, a life that didn’t involve past mistakes, years of separation or a mountain of guilt.
“I’ve always liked the seashore. Too bad wheelchairs don’t work too well on sand.”
“Oh, quit your whining, Nancy. You know you’re coming with us.” Sam focused his gaze on his friend. Okay, so a Plan C was sounding pretty sweet.
“I get my own room. And it’s got to be on the opposite side of the house from yours. I don’t want to be able to hear you two going at it.”
“Maybe a duplex would be better. I don’t know if I could handle seeing your ugly mug 24/7. Or separate houses. On opposite sides of the street.”
“Then you’d have to teach Charlotte, early, how to cross the street to see her favorite uncle.” Riley lifted the fussing baby to his shoulder, rubbing her back.
“Look at you. The ‘dad’ gene hasn’t skipped you after all.”
“Bite me.”
“Yeah, separate houses would be a must.”
“You know you want me for my mad chili-cooking skills.”
“I can buy a cookbook, teach myself.”
“Not the same, pal. Not the same. Face it. You need me.”
Sam lifted Charlotte from Riley’s shoulder. Her demanding whimpers for her next meal were escalating. He bundled her into a blanket, grabbed the diaper bag he’d come over with and prepared to leave. Dropping a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he squeezed.
“She needs us both. I guess it’s my job to make her see that. Poor Charlotte. Craziest damned put-together family I’ve ever seen.”
“I love you too, man. Now get the hell out of my house.” Riley’s voice was just a tad gruffer than usual.
• • •
Coming home to such a cozy scene, was it any wonder that Sam had the overwhelming urge to cross the kitchen and give Wynter a kiss? She wore her ratty bathrobe, her crazy hair freshly washed and already sticking up at all angles as it dried. Her skin glowed and he longed to wrap her in his arms so he could lean in close and let the scent of her bath soap tease his nostrils.
Charlotte chose that moment to let out a lusty screech, alerting her mom to the fact that they’d just slipped in the back door. Now he had an excuse to approach, not the one he would have chosen, but an excuse nonetheless. Wynter lifted her daughter from his shoulder and Sam felt a moment’s jealousy as she nuzzled the infant close. Oh, to be nuzzled by the woman who was fast occupying nearly every one of his waking thoughts.
“She told me she was done visiting Uncle Riley and would like some lunch—pronto.”
“Oh, she told you that, huh? That’s my smart little girl.”
Wynter headed for the living room and Sam trailed behind. He had some work to do but he could put it off for a bit. He waited until Wynter settled into the corner of the couch and then handed her the baby Boppy so she could nurse. It said a lot about their relationship, the routine they had developed, that she thought nothing of parting her robe to feed her child while he was still in the room. It said a lot more about him that he didn’t lower himself to stare.
“How’s Riley? I should have gone with you two to visit.”
“He’s fine and no you shouldn’t have. We gave you some well-deserved down time. You should now feel unbelievably relaxed. You’re welcome.”
Wynter chuckled, amusement creasing the corners of her eyes. Charlotte suckled greedily, the sound bringing a fresh round of laughter. Sam watched mother and daughter, the bond mesmerizing. Wynter stroked the petal soft skin of Charlotte’s cheek, working her finger into the infant’s grasp. Sam sat on his end of the couch, feeling as though he were intruding. They didn’t need him here, but heaven help him, he couldn’t make himself get up and leave.
“I’m writing your grandmother another letter.” Dread twisted its way through Sam’s veins, heavy and ice cold.
“You and Charlotte are welcome to stay as long as you like. I think we’ve got a good thing here. We make a good parenting team.” God, was he wheedling? The thought disgusted him.
“I agree, Sam. It’s just . . . ” She paused, seeming unsure how to proceed.
“You don’t like Braeden. I get that. It’s too quiet, not enough like Scallop Shores.” He was starting to panic. She was going to make him babble.
“You knew my plans all along. This is nothing new.” Wynter fixed him with a determined stare, held his unwilling gaze. “Come with us, Sam.”
“We’ve talked about this. I can’t go back there.”
“No, actually we haven’t really talked about this. We’ve never talked about that night. We’ve never talked about how you took off, how you cut ties with your grandmother, with Holt and me. It’s time we talk about it, Sam.”
“Now?” The word came out a squawk.
“Is there ever going to be an ideal time?” She quirked an eyebrow.
No. Because they didn’t need to discuss this. Not now, not ever. Sam’s focus flew to the doorway, mentally mapping an escape route. Wynter was in the middle of breastfeeding. She couldn’t get up easily and chase after him. He could cite work obligations.
“I don’t blame you for being scared.”
“I’m not scared. What makes you think I’m scared?” Besides the fact that his voice had gone up several octaves. Geez.
“Sam, we used to be able to tell each other anything. That night we were talking about the future. We talked about how scared we were, how it was only tolerable because we were going to be facing it together.”
And then he’d left her. She was kind enough not to say it out loud, but the fact was still hanging out there, shouting in his ear. ”You left your best friends. You left the girl you loved.” Okay, so she didn’t know that last part, but it weighed on him, nonetheless.
“I’m sorry, Wynter. I’ve never apologized for what I did after that night. I am so sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”
“Not sorry you left. Sorry you didn’t wrap it up neatly, file us away as a done deal.” He could hear the disappointment in her voice, the bitterness that he had caused.
“I couldn’t face you. Not after what I’d done.”
“Samuel Dennis, you did not have anything to do with your parents’ death that night.”
“I know that, Wyn. I’m not saying I caused it. Or that anything I did could have prevented it.”
Sam braced his elbows on his knees. Leaning down, he scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He couldn’t do this. Why was she making him? Talking about it didn’t change things. His parents were still dead. Nothing would bring them back. He peered between two fingers.
She switched the baby to the other side. Waited for him to continue. Calm as could be. Like she couldn’t see the turmoil he was facing. The exposed feelings, the raw nerves peeled back and bleeding. Real friends wouldn’t do this to each other. Real friends would be supportive. And what? Encourage him to bury his head in the sand? Tell him it was okay to keep hiding from what happened, from what he was feeling?
He stood up from the couch, pacing to the window, to the bookcase along the side wall, and past the doorway he wished he’d escaped through before they started this conversation. He wiped sweaty palms on the back of his jeans. He worked the kinks out of his neck, wincing at the unusual loudness of the cracks and pops. He shoved a hand through hair that was way overdue for a cut.
This was why he had cut ties with his friends. Not because they were a painful reminder of his life that was, but because he knew, eventually, he’d be having this conversation. Wynter wouldn’t want him to hold on to the hurt, the pain, and the guilt. The guilt he’d held on to for so long it was a part of him, impossible to separate from any other facet of his personality.
“I was supposed to die that night. Is that what you want? You want me to admit it? Okay. I cheated death.”
Sam stopped treading the carpet, faced Wynter head on. The look in his eyes dared her to contradict him. Her jaw dropped. The look in her eyes was utter disbelief. Oh, come on! This was no big surprise.
“Is that what you think, Sam?” She shook her head vehemently. “No. There was a reason you fell asleep in my bed that night. God had other plans for you. It wasn’t your time. Your life was spared.”
“I was supposed to be there. If I hadn’t snuck out of the house, I would have died in my sleep, the same as them. I was supposed to die that night.”
In his head he was back there, that early summer day, so long ago. He’d woken up, completely disoriented. Where was he? Shit! He’d only meant to watch Wynter as she slept. He’d never meant to fall asleep beside her.
Home. He had to get home. He had to slip out of Wynter’s window and down the tree, before his parents found him missing. Sam didn’t want to make them angry. He’d just graduated. They were so proud. His dad told him to expect a big gift the next morning, but not to go snooping. He’d seen the look his parents had exchanged. They’d decided on this together and it was going to be huge. They were so happy. But if he disappointed them, if they found out that he’d snuck up to see Wynter, they might decide not to give it to him. He had to hurry home.
Breath coming in short pants, he turned, confused. Had to find the window.
Then suddenly Wynter was with him, wrapping her arms around him. He cupped her head in his big hand. Her hair. What had happened to her long, curly hair? She kept saying she was sorry. No. Everything would be okay if he could just get home.
“Sammy, come back to me. Please. You’re scaring me.”
“Have to get home. They’re gonna be mad.”
“They’re at peace now, Sam. They are so happy. They love you. They will always love you.”
He gripped her so tight he was afraid he’d leave bruises. He buried his head against her shoulder as the rest of the memories came flooding back.
It was far later than he’d realized. Dawn had turned the sky a hazy gray by the time he’d made it home. The house was so quiet. They hadn’t heard him slip back inside.
That was when the alarm had gone off in his parent’s bedroom. His dad had always been an early riser. Rain or shine, he ran five miles every morning. He always set his alarm for 5:30 am. Only this time, the alarm continued to blare and no one was bothering to turn it off.
Why weren’t they waking up? Why were they letting the alarm clock just clamber away like a screeching banshee? Unsettled, Sam slunk down the hallway toward the last room on the end. They were sleeping so peacefully, too peacefully.
He could still see their faces, in sweet repose. If he reached out, shook their shoulders. He just had to wake them up. If only they’d wake up.
“Sam, I’m so sorry.”
Wynter’s voice. It grounded him in reality. It brought him back, made him realize that it was too late to save his parents. The past was in the past.
He lifted his head from her shoulder, mortified to discover that her bathrobe was soaked in his tears. He slapped at his wet eyes, turning away so Wynter wouldn’t see a grown man cry. He flinched at the touch of her hand on his back. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He needed to be alone.
“Yeah, so it was great reminiscing and all, but I’ve got to get some work done.”
He swept past her on his way out of the room. Her lips were pressed tightly together, like it was taking all the strength she had not to try to continue this horribly painful conversation. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
No. He couldn’t deal with this right now. Lock it away, down deep where it can’t hurt. That’s what you did with memories like this. He practically ran for his office, locking the door before sliding down it to crumple on the floor, where he wept for the boy who had lost both his parents to such a stupid, senseless tragedy.