Heaven and Hell (Page 120)

I closed my eyes and held her tighter.

There it was. Thank you, God, there it was.

She got there herself.

Thank. You. God.

“Yes, Luci, honey, that’s what you need to do,” I whispered.

She nodded but said no more nor did she move.

Not until I felt a presence right before I felt a hand on the small of my back. I twisted my neck and tipped back my head to see Sam standing there. I nodded to him then shifted Luci into his arms. She looked up at him in surprise then her face crumbled again and she did a face plant in his shirt. Sam’s arms went visibly tighter.

I leaned in and kissed the side of her head. Then I reached up and briefly cupped Sam’s jaw. I smiled sadly into his intense eyes then dropped my hand and moved away.

I walked down the beach, the wind beating my insanely expensive robe against my body. Celeste, Hap, Maris and Skip were standing at the trailhead. I stopped at their huddle.

“She’s worked it through on her own,” I announced. “She’s letting him go.”

Hap closed his eyes and dropped his head. Maris pressed her lips together and turned her face away. Celeste gave me a melancholy smile.

Skip looked me in the eyes and announced, “You’ll do.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Burned in My Brain

It was night, dark and Memphis and I were hanging on the deck. Memphis on my lap, breathing easy. Me in a chair sipping an Amaretto.

Luci’s realization changed our plans for the day. Sam took her back to her house and stayed with her. Skip went wherever Skip had to go. Hap went back to the base. Celeste and I drove Maris to the airport. Then we spent the rest of the day together.

When it got late and there was still no Sam, Celeste got in Luci’s Corvette and went to her house. Fifteen minutes later, Celeste texted me with, “All is well. They’re talking on the deck. Sam says he’ll be home soon.”

So I got my dog and my Amaretto with a cube of ice, hit Sam’s deck, settled in and waited for my man to come home.

Sitting with only Memphis for company, it didn’t take long for me to come to some realizations myself. The first being, sitting alone on the deck in the night, the house empty behind me, watching the moonlight on the waves, that since I met Sam, I had very little of this. Solitude. Time to think. Time to be with me.

And once I realized that I realized that was by Sam’s design. Except for him offering to give me space the next night after the first time we had sex, that offer was never repeated. In fact, neither Maris nor Sam suggested they have alone time before she went home. That was my idea.

Dad had said it but I didn’t process it then and I didn’t understand it now.

Sam and I were inseparable.

I did not question falling in love with him because he was Sam.

And I did not question my decision earlier that day to hook my star to his, to restart my life after Cooter, however that came about, with Sam.

And I no longer questioned that Sam would want to hook his star to mine. We got along great (when we weren’t fighting). He was into me. He thought I was beautiful. He liked the way I dressed. We had great sex. I made him laugh. He made me laugh. His friends and Mom liked me. My friends and family liked him.

What I questioned was Sam announcing to everyone we were moving in together nearly upon waking the day after he made that mistaken assumption. It was almost if, in doing so, he was building a barricade I would find it difficult to break through if I decided to go back.

He wasn’t trapping me, I had free will, my life was my own, but he was throwing up obstacles, making it difficult, tying me to him.

And I didn’t get this.

Sam Cooper and Sampson Cooper didn’t need to do that with any woman. There was a desperation to it that alarmed me.

A desperation that might come from a man who lost a brother who was a brother bigger than blood then for over a year dealing with that man’s wife and seeing firsthand the devastating loss to a loved one left behind.

No.

That wasn’t all.

Seeing it at the same time feeling it for Luci wasn’t the only one who lost Gordo.

And thus I knew Sam loved me as in loved me for learning about loss by watching it and feeling it, he wasn’t taking any chances, he wasn’t wasting any time.

This worried me. I didn’t want him to feel this loss. I didn’t want him to feel this desperation. I didn’t want what we had to grow under that cloud. No one could tell the future and we might only have another day together or we might have fifty years. But even if we had only one day, I didn’t want Sam living it under a cloud.

But I had no earthly idea how to talk to him because this kind of thing, Sam did not share with me.

On this thought, Memphis’s head came up, it jerked to the house and I heard Sam’s truck growling into the drive then the gate swinging closed. Then I listened to the garage door going up. Memphis jumped down and her claws clicked on the deck as she ran to the porch door to wait for Sam to arrive.

Even with my heavy thoughts, this made me smile. My baby liked my man. Not a surprise. But my man liked my baby.

And that made life all the more sweet.

I heard a yap, twisted in my chair and watched Sam stride through the house I’d left lit softly with a few lamps. He hit the deck, scooped up a bouncing, happy Memphis on the go and came to me.

I tipped my head back, smiling gently at him and waited for his approach and kiss.

He didn’t give it to me. On the outside, he rounded the chair beside mine and folded into it, Memphis on his lap. She bounced, trying to lick his face and give him her brand of welcome home.

“Settle, Memphis,” Sam ordered firmly but not sharply.

Memphis, somewhat surprisingly, did as she was told.

She was immediately rewarded when Sam’s fingers massaged her fur at her neck and his eyes went to the sea.

I was a little troubled he had not greeted me but I let it go and asked softly, “You okay?”

“Hope to Christ this is a day I will not live again,” Sam answered immediately.

That didn’t sound good.

“How’s Luci?” I ventured.

“Lots of crying, hangin’ around while she talked to her folks, more crying and lots of listening to her talk about Gordo.”

“She’s processing it,” I deduced.

“She’s processin’ the shit outta it. She crammed a year of mourning into a day. She’s all over f**kin’ processing it.”

I pressed my lips together trying to read his mood and tone. It wasn’t frustrated but it was. He sounded tired. He sounded impatient and over it. The first and the last surprised me.