No Promises

by N. Raines

  It's who you are.

  Time to man up and admit one more thing. "You asked me about Britt. Why I got back in touch with her after so many years. The truth is, I'm not sure. I think part of me was curious. The other part just wanted to go back in time. To the kind of guy I was when I was with Britt. The guy who had it all and thought he had all the answers.

  "When I found out she's gay, it threw me. The past I thought I had wasn't real. Seemed like I couldn't count on anything."

  "You can count on me," Sam said.

  He pulled her close. "I'm over Britt. And she was never on my mind when we were together. You were never her substitute."

  Crazy she could ever think so. Sam was special. One of a kind. After her, they broke the mold.

  And he knew that firsthand.

  ****

  "Sure you got everything?" Jay asked a few days later as he and Sam stood beside Rick's Jeep.

  Rick shrugged. "Not much to pack besides underwear, socks, and a few other things."

  "Got your laptop?" Sam shifted from one foot to the other. Good-byes always sucked. This one especially, since she didn't know what kind of good-bye it would be. Was she just a footnote in Rick's life, or was their relationship more than a couple of hookups?

  "Oh, yeah." He glanced from Sam to her father, awkwardly thrusting out his arm to shake hands. "Well, thanks a lot, Jay. For everything."

  Jay pumped his hand. "You bet. Now don't be a stranger. We expect to see you around here again."

  "Oh, sure." Rick glanced at Sam with fire in his eyes, and an answering heat surged through her. But she couldn't give him the good-bye he wanted with her father standing right there.

  But Pop was no fool. "Well, I'll leave you two alone."

  Sam swallowed hard. "Thanks, Pop."

  He eyed them knowingly. "Mm-hmm."

  When her father was safely inside the house, Rick snatched her close. "I think he knows we're doing it."

  "If he doesn't, he will when he sees you grabbing my ass like that."

  "Oops." Rick inched his hands higher, until he was holding her waist. "You sure you're feeling all right?"

  "I'm fine. I only needed a couple days in bed." She leaned into him to whisper, "I'm only sorry you couldn't join me there."

  He groaned and nipped her ear. "Don't get me horny, baby. I got to drive all the way across town."

  She laughed. "Aw, poor you. All that way?" A concern niggled her. "Have you talked to your boss yet?"

  His grin flattened. "I'm going to call him today. If they even want me back after all this time. Way I see it, I'll have to eat a lot of crow."

  "So you eat crow, so what? I hear it can be pretty tasty if you put enough ketchup on it."

  "Smart-ass."

  The intensity of Rick's gaze made Sam pause. "What?"

  "How come you have so much faith in me?" he asked.

  The warmth in his eyes made her want to melt like snow in the sun. "I just do." Her face heated. "I know you love what you do, and you're good at it." She patted his chest. "So talk to your chief and let me know what happens."

  His forehead crinkled in puzzlement. "Sure, I'm gonna let you know."

  She disentangled herself and stepped back. "Well, good. That's great."

  Rick's eyes narrowed. "What's up with you? You're acting weird."

  Awesome. She was being weird. He didn't know she was trying with all her might not to turn into some whiny clinging vine. What about us? Is it over? Will we still see each other?

  Do we have a relationship, or was I just a detour in your life?

  What did he want from her, anyway?

  "Sorry about that," she quipped. "I'll work on being less weird."

  "Hold up. What's going on?"

  Oh, the hell with it. This was her last chance to make a fool of herself. She might as well go for it. "What's going on is you're going back to your job and your life and you haven't said one damn word about…" Come on, Sam, take care of yourself for once. "About you and me."

  He blinked. "I haven't?"

  She wanted to punch him. "No, dumbass. You haven't."

  He grabbed her before she could walk away. "Wait, wait. I am a dumbass. I care about you, Sam."

  Cared? Like a friend? Like a booty call? What did that mean?

  He must have read the question on her face. He slipped his arms around her and tugged her close until they were breast to chest, face-to-face. When he exhaled, his breath ruffled her hair. "I'm not letting you go. I want to be with you."

  He hadn't used the L word. He wasn't ready to say it, but maybe that was all right. Maybe she wasn't ready to hear it. What they had was still too new, too tenuous.

  And she had things to do in her life, too.

  He watched her nervously. "Are you good with that?"

  "I'm good," she answered quickly. "I'm great." She brushed her mouth against his.

  "That's it? Come on. Give me a real kiss. One that'll last."

  He lowered his head and kissed her slowly, hungrily. Showing the truth behind his words. How much he wanted her.

  Since she wanted him too, maybe they had a chance.

  Sam waved good-bye until the car turned the street corner and disappeared. Pop was seated at the kitchen table when she returned to the house.

  "Hey," he said. "I made coffee. Want some?"

  "Yeah, thanks." A nervous flutter tickled her insides. It wouldn't be easy, telling her father everything she needed to say.

  Pop gestured her to the table. "I'll get it, honey. You sit."

  She did, and he soon placed a mug of coffee and a plate of coconut cream cookies in front of her. "They're not as good as your peanut butter ones, but we're all out of those."

  "I'll have to make a new batch." She pulled out the item she'd hidden in her pocket and tossed it onto the table. "Here. Thought you might want these."

  Her father gaped at the crumpled pack of cigarettes that landed in front of him. "What—"

  "I found a butt in your jacket pocket and knew you were still smoking. I figured you had to have a stash somewhere. I found them the one place you thought I'd never look—under Ellie May's hood." She didn't mention she'd torn the house apart before sussing out his hiding place. Motioning to the pack, she told him, "Go ahead. You don't have to hide them from me anymore."

  "Sammy…"

  "I mean it, Pop. I'm not going to bug you any more about smoking or what you eat or anything else." She sighed. "I mean, I want you to take care of yourself and live a long life. I'm selfish. I want my father to be around for a long time. But you're an adult. I've been treating you like a kid." She steeled herself for what she must say next. "I'm an adult too."

  "That's right. You are." Pop gave her a long, hard look. "That's why it's time for me to kick you out of the nest."

  That she hadn't expected. Her mouth fell open. "Huh?"

  "Yep. I've been selfish. I've liked having you around. But it hasn't been good for you."

  Sam shook her head. "You haven't been selfish. I wanted to be here."

  "Sammy. Stop it." Pop's graying eyebrows lowered into a V. His stern tone sent a flush of guilt through her, just like when she was little and he'd caught her in a lie. "Let's be honest. You thought you had to be here. To take care of me. But I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself. I just haven't wanted to let you go."

  Tears of gratitude stung her eyes as she stared into her mug of coffee. Somehow he knew she'd been about to announce her decision to move out on her own, and he was easing her way. "We've both been afraid to let go."

  "After your mother died, I made you into my little buddy. I didn't know how to teach you the stuff mothers teach their daughters. Now I think I cheated you."

  She couldn't let him blame himself. "I wasn't cheated. I liked being your buddy."

  "When I had my heart attack, you came home from college to look after me. You gave up your dream of going away to school. I cheated you out of that too."

  Oh no. She couldn't let him think that. "P
op, don't."

  "Honey, I know you'd never say it, but—"

  "Please! Just stop talking." The trickle of guilt suddenly surged into an ocean of shame, swallowing her whole. Sam hid her face in her hands. She'd let the whole world think she was such a great daughter. That everything she'd done was for Pop. Because he needed her. She'd even convinced herself of that.

  Tell him. Tell him the truth. She took a deep breath and let her hands fall away. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. "There's more to it than that. A lot more."

  Pop gave a puzzled frown. "What, honey?"

  "You make it sound like I'm such an angel. I'm not. There's been times I was so pissed off…at being here, at you…for being sick. For needing me. I know that's messed up. You couldn't help it. But sometimes I've felt……"

  "Trapped?" Pop said.

  Sam was afraid meet his eyes, afraid of the hurt and disappointment she'd see there. When she found the courage to look up, her father's expression was tender, full of compassion. "It's all right, Sammy. I get it."

  Pop understood and forgave her. A weight lifted from her spirit, freeing her, though a trace of guilt remained.

  "Oh God." As she let go a long breath, her whole body slumped. "I'm a rotten daughter."

  "You're a terrific daughter. Of course you want your freedom, your own life. You're young; you deserve that. It's me who hasn't been such a great father."

  He reached his hand across the table and patted hers. "We've always been close. Maybe a little too close. But now it's time for us to make our own ways. Separately." He inclined his head toward the driveway, where she and Rick had said good-bye. "That young man's well on his way to falling in love with you, if he's not there already. I'm betting you feel the same way."

  There was no fooling her Pop. "Yeah."

  "So here's what I think: we both need more freedom. You two kids aren't gonna want an old guy like me cramping your style." He puffed his chest. "And hey, I might like a little privacy to invite a lady friend over."

  That was a surprise. "You have a lady friend?"

  Pop leaned back in his chair. "You know Mrs. Rooney from down the block, right? And those poker nights? Well, I don't always spend them with the guys."

  Wow. She didn't know how to handle that. He wasn't really old, not old old. And he'd been alone a long time. But still, to think of him with a woman…

  Was probably as weird for her as it was for him to think about her and Rick. Some things were best not to dwell on.

  "Mrs. Rooney, huh? The widow?"

  Color rose in her father's face. "Yes. She's a very nice woman."

  Again, wow. But it must have been lonely for him all these years. She was glad he'd found someone. On the other hand…

  Hell, was she jealous? Don't go there.

  God bless Pop for trying to ease the way for her to move on. Her gratitude spilled into laughter. "So you're kicking me to the curb?"

  "Something I should have done a long time ago, for both our good. And I don't want you to worry about me anymore. No more smoking, no more greasy food—well, a lot less, anyway—and exercise every day. From now on, the only person you have to take care of is you."

  His gaze moved from her to the crumpled cigarette pack still lying between them on the table. "And just to prove I mean what I say…"

  Standing, his eyes glinting with determination, he grabbed the pack and strode to the trash can in the corner. He crumpled the package of smokes in his fist and tossed it in the can. A moment later, he shifted uncomfortably, then dug the pack out again.

  Sam, who'd been watching in fascination, now sat up in alarm. "What're you doing?"

  "This." He turned on the faucet and stuck the pack under the running water until only a soggy mess was left in his hand. That he shoved deep into the trash.

  Pop looked a little shaky, perhaps struck by the enormity of what he'd done. "So." He returned to the table, lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, and took several deep swallows.

  Sam felt suffused with warmth. "Proud of you, Pop."

  Her father hoisted his mug in a toast. She did the same and clinked her cup against his.

  She sent her mother a silent message. It's going to be all right, Mom. We're both going to be fine.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anthony Russo Sr. sat in the only comfortable chair Rick owned and surveyed the sparsely furnished living room. "What happened here?"

  "My roommate moved out with his girlfriend."

  "And took most of the furniture, looks like." He shook his head. "Well, once you start working for me, you'll be earning enough to get some decent stuff."

  Rick gritted his teeth at the implication that his present stuff was crap. He wouldn't let his stepfather get his goat today. They'd gotten into a bad habit. The only way they knew how to communicate was to needle each other. Maybe one day they could learn a different way to relate.

  Rick decided he'd get that ball rolling by trying not to assume everything the old man said was a veiled insult. "That's what I want to talk to you about."

  "Good. 'Cause there's still some details we have to work out—"

  "I'm not going to work for you." Rick dropped the words like a rock and waited as they sank deeper and deeper into silence. He pulled out his wallet, removed five crisp twenty-dollar bills, and held them out to his stepfather.

  "First, I want to give these back. I don't need it. I'm not hurting for money."

  His stepfather glanced at the bills but made no move to take them. "You're not hurting? Then why's your place looks like thieves cleaned it out?"

  He wasn't going to argue or get off track, no matter how much the man poked him. He laid the cash on the arm of the chair. "And I'm staying with my job at Willowvale Emergency Services."

  The old man frowned. "I thought they canned you."

  Don't blow up. Don't lose it. Just stay cool. "No. I wasn't canned. I was on temporary leave. But now I'm back." The chief had welcomed him back with the condition that Rick talk to a counselor on the crisis-management team. Cris, when he heard the news that Rick was returning, had been jubilant.

  There was a stillness in his stepfather's face, a gravity Rick had rarely seen. "So what was it about, this temporary leave? Did something happen?"

  The question stopped Rick cold. He hadn't expected it, hadn't thought the old man would be interested.

  Should he tell him? He'd be giving the guy something to hold over his head for the rest of his life.

  Don't wuss out now. Rick took a deep breath and began to talk. About trying to save Dylan. About the scene in the hospital with the boy's mother. About finding Sam in the cellar at Shankey's.

  "That's it," he finished. "I'm going back. So go ahead and tell me I'm a failure. I don't care."

  "Failure?" Frown lines in the old man's face deepened. "When the hell did I ever call you that?"

  Rick gave a snort of derision. "Are you kidding? Come on. You've been saying it for years."

  "Wait a minute." The man was up and out of his chair in an instant, wagging his finger in Rick's face. "I admit to giving you a hard time about living up to your potential. I wanted more for you than driving around in an ambulance, putting yourself in harm's way for a pittance. I've told you for years I could get you a job making decent money without the crazy hours you work and the crazy people you have to deal with. You've been as stubborn as hell, and an everlasting pain in my ass. But I have never, ever considered you a failure."

  Rick's mouth went slack with surprise.

  Anthony Russo Sr. shook his head. "I wouldn't do what you do in a million years. I think you're nuts, but…what the hell. If that's your decision, I've got to respect it."

  Respect. The one thing he'd always wanted from the old man. It was the cool drink he'd been thirsting for his whole life.

  ****

  Just as Sam was about to knock on Rick's door, it opened. A husky older man stepped out, almost colliding with her.

  She took a step back, moving her overnight bag t
o her other hand. "Uh, hello."

  "Hello." He looked her up and down, his laser-sharp gaze zeroing in on her bag. "Who are you?"

  Who are you? "I'm Sam. Rick's friend."

  The man's bushy eyebrows lifted, and he rocked back on his heels, his face lighting with humor. "Sam. Ah, so you're the one."

  Who was this guy? Before she could ask, Rick appeared in the doorway. "Leave her alone." His tone was mild. He gestured her into the apartment. "Come on in. This guy breaking your balls is my father. Anthony Russo."

  Mr. Russo thrust his hand out. "Tony. Happy to meet you." He shook her hand with vigor, continuing to look amused.

  "Hi." The man's grip was powerful. She glanced at Rick uncertainly.

  "Uh, weren't you about to go?" Rick asked his stepfather, giving him a narrow look.

  "Sure. Don't forget to give your mother a call. Good-bye, Sam." Mr. Russo nodded to her. "Pleasure meeting you. Nice to know my son has good taste in women."

  "Good-byeee…" Rick drew out the word as he started to shut the door in his stepfather's face. The older man held out his hand to halt the door's progress.

  "Hold on." He stuffed a wad of bills into Rick's shirt pocket. When Rick opened his mouth as though to argue, he said. "Just take them, all right? Quit being a pain in my ass."

  Rick shut the door, then puffed out a breath and turned to Sam. "Sorry about that. He likes to bust people's balls."

  She smiled. "That sounds familiar. I've said the same about Pop."

  "Yeah. I know I talked a lot of crap about him before, but he's never treated me as anything less than his son. Oh, he rode my ass plenty, but he's done the same to my brother. He's actually a decent guy." Rick gently squeezed her hand. "I told him I was going to keep being a medic. I figured he'd tear me a new one, but we had a pretty good talk." He lifted a shoulder, playing it off like it was NBD, but Sam could see that the discussion meant a lot to him.

  "So." She glanced around the room. "How does it feel, having the whole place to yourself?"

  "Feels fine. I can lie around in my underwear, playing video games whenever I feel like it."