Autumn Getaway (Seasons of Love)

by Gracen, Jennifer

  There was no answer.

  Sam knocked again. Still nothing.

  “Lydia,” he said gently, but loud enough for her to hear if she was in her room. “If you’re not in there, then I feel pretty stupid right now. But if you are in there, could you please open the door? Your friends are concerned about you. And… so am I.”

  He waited a few more seconds. Then, deciding she must not have been inside after all, maybe went for a walk or something, he turned to go. He took one step, and heard the door click open behind him. He whirled back around to see Lydia standing there, the expression on her face remote and slightly wary. It stopped him cold.

  “Hi,” he said, his dark eyes searching her face for clues.

  “Hi,” she murmured.

  She seemed too still, and very far away, even though they were less than a foot apart. Sam licked his lips; his mouth had gone dry at the unspoken confirmation of his fears: she was avoiding him. One last test… “Did I misunderstand your note?” he asked carefully. “I went downstairs to meet you, which is what I thought you asked me to do. But you weren’t there. And your friends hadn’t heard from you. They were worried. Melanie asked me to find you if I could. So I came to look for you.”

  Lydia pressed her lips together, the gesture of delay and unease he’d come to recognize from her. Her makeup was on and she was dressed, in a camel colored cowl neck sweater and jeans. But her hair was still damp, and he noticed she was still barefoot and wore no jewelry. She stared at him with a look of pained apprehension.

  “You weren’t coming down, were you?” He murmured it flatly, more of a statement than a question.

  She sighed but looked right at him and said, “No.”

  He nodded. “May I ask why?”

  “Why don't you go ask your brother?” Her chin edged up as she said, “Maybe I didn’t feel like facing a room full of people who now think I’m a whore. They’re all going to think that anyway; I don’t have to actually sit there and be their entertainment.”

  Sam blinked. His jaw set as he asked quietly, “What did Alec say to you?”

  Lydia blushed at the mention of the brief encounter. “Nothing much. Just enough. He was greatly amused by me, I'll tell you that. He had no problem telling me what he thinks of me.”

  “He’s a jackass,” Sam spat, fresh anger surging through him. “God, I could strangle him. Lydia, whatever he said or did, just ignore him. He probably didn’t really mean anything by it, he just likes to get a rise out of people, it's a power play.”

  “Oh, he meant it. Every nasty word. But I…” Lydia’s eyes closed, then opened again. “I didn’t… I just…” She shook her head at herself, and her voice faltered. “God, I’m sorry.”

  Sam looked at her face for what felt like a long time, trying to read her and failing. There were too many conflicting emotions in her eyes, too much going on. “Can I come in?” he asked quietly. “Can we talk?”

  Lydia nodded and moved aside for him to enter her room. He did so and she closed the door behind him.

  Sam moved to the center of her room. He stood there silently for a few seconds, rubbing his jaw; except for the tightness around his eyes, he seemed calm and controlled. Lydia envied that. She was certain he could hear her heart pounding from across the room; just seeing him again had made half of the decisions she’d made in the past hour turn to dust.

  “Did I not treat you respectfully last night?” he asked somberly. His gaze was steady on her face, compelling her to look back at him. “Did I ever, for a second, make you feel like a whore?”

  She cringed at that, surprised at his words. “No,” she sputtered. “No, of course not.”

  “Then why would you think anyone else would see you that way?” Sam asked, an edge to his voice. “And, more importantly, why do you care what anyone else thinks? Fuck Alec, and the hell with anyone else too. They don’t know a damn thing. They don’t know what happened last night. And it’s nobody’s goddamn business what happened last night. That was between you and me, two mature, consenting adults.”

  She blinked, thrown by his words and the fervor behind them.

  “We have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he proclaimed. “I’m not embarrassed. That’s a word that never even crossed my mind. I’m thrilled. I’m psyched. I’m flippin’ ecstatic. Or, I was, before you skipped out on me. That took some of the wind out of my sails.”

  Her lips were pressed together so tightly they were almost white. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re absolutely right. I'm sorry for that. I’m acting like a child.”

  “No,” Sam said gently. “You’re acting like someone who’s running scared. And I understand that.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m just not gonna let you do it.”

  She stared at him. Her skin prickled with chills. She couldn’t think of a clever comeback. She couldn’t think of a thing to say that would make sense. Half of her wanted desperately to believe in him. But Alec's barbs were still fresh in her mind. The other half of her, even with Sam standing there looking so earnest, was screaming to turn away from him and put her armor back on.

  It was too soon. She had only recently gotten up off the floor after months—years—of feeling like she lived down there. If she let herself be open and got hurt again now, when she was still nursing her wounds from all of the previous battles, she didn’t know if she’d ever get up off the floor again. And as wonderful as Sam seemed to be, as sincere as he seemed to be, Lydia didn’t know if that was a chance she was willing to take. Alec was right: a one night stand was supposed to be just that, one night only.

  “I think you need to go,” she whispered, her eyes trailing away from him to fall to the floor.

  Sam swallowed hard. “No,” he said calmly. “No. Because I don’t believe you really want me to. I want you to hear me out. Would you do that? Please? Hear me out, and I'll go, I swear.”

  She closed her eyes, unmoving.

  Sam took that as a form of assent. He found his words pouring from his mouth, as quickly and fluidly as a rush of water, and just as uncontrollable. “You stayed with me last night because you wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with you. Because you felt the connection between us as strongly as I did, and it was something special and unexpected and amazing. And, as crazy as it seems, I believe it’s real. All that scares the hell out of you in the light of day, I get that. And my asshole brother probably put even more doubts in your head. But I’m here, Lydia. I’m here, and I’m telling you flat out that I want you, that I want to give this a shot, and I mean it.”

  Her eyes were wide open now, glued to his face, but she was still silent.

  “Tell me I’m wrong.” Sam stared back at her with compelling intent. “Tell me you didn’t feel the same things I did. Not just last night in bed, but this whole weekend. Hell, I was drawn to you the minute I saw you in the lobby, laughing at yourself that you’d knocked over your suitcase.”

  “Oh, come on,” she said weakly. “You can’t mean that.”

  “Why?” Sam said, exasperated. “I’m laying it all out here, telling you how I feel. How you make me feel. You know… I’ve been through hell too, Lydia, you’re not the only one. I’ve been where you are—scared to feel again, full of self-doubt, not being able to trust in something that seems good. But I got through it. I got past it. And so will you.” He scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration. “I want to be there to see you when you do, when you get to that other side. I know you’re afraid to contemplate that, that maybe you think I’m full of crap, but I’m not. I swear I’m not. I’ll be brave enough for the both of us if that’s what it takes to start something here, until you can trust me enough—trust yourself enough—to take a chance and consider the possibilities.”

  “I’m only just divorced, Sam!” Lydia cried, her carefully constructed dam finally showing some cracks. “For six days! Not that I give a crap about Matt, I don’t. But the fact is, as Alec said, the ink's not even dry on my divorce papers.”
r />   Sam shook his head slowly as his jaw set in anger. “That bastard. He had no right—”

  “No, he didn't. But it doesn't make it any less true. You're going to catch flak for getting involved with a woman who's barely divorced and has a kid. You really want that?”

  Sam's dark eyes flashed. “I told you, I don't care what other people think. Nice try, though. What else you got?”

  Lydia exhaled roughly, growing more edgy by the second. “Okay. You want to talk about this connection between us? Alright, yes, I felt it too. There was definitely something there, right away. I’m not going to insult you, or hurt you, by denying it or lying about that. I don't want to lie about that. So, no, you’re not wrong. You're wonderful, and this whole weekend has been wonderful. Last night, in particular, was amazing. Best night I’ve had in years. Being with you has been insanely great. Yeah, that scares me a little.” She huffed out a breath. “But now, to try to start a—long distance dating of some kind—is that what you’re actually proposing?”

  “Yes,” he said evenly. “I actually am.”

  “Well, that all sounds romantic and dreamy, but you know what?” She wrung her ice cold hands, aware that she was losing control but completely unable to stop herself. She had unleashed the flood, and now she was flailing in the waves, just trying to keep her head above water. “This has been a wonderful getaway weekend, but I have to think about real life, my life, the one I have to go back to in just a few hours when I leave this fairy tale, when I go back to New York. Back to my practically silent son, and my overly passive, sometimes malicious ex-husband, and my crazy schedule, and all my responsibilities, and my tiny new apartment where I feel like the walls are always closing in on me.” She realized her voice had risen, and quickly stopped herself. She blanched in horror. “God, I didn't mean to shout at you, I'm so sorry.”

  “You weren't shouting, it's fine,” he said calmly, still watching her. “Go on.”

  She took a deep, cleansing breath before she continued in a calmer voice. “I have my little boy to consider. He is my first priority, not myself, not my own… happiness. Which is fine, since I've felt numb and empty for so long that I probably wouldn’t know what happiness looked like if it bit me on the ass. I'll admit that the closest thing I've felt to it happened in your hotel room last night, but still…” Against her will, hot, quick tears spilled out of her eyes, onto her cheeks. She angrily swiped them away and expelled a sharp breath. “Look at me! God. You really want to hop on this train, Sam? Seriously? What are you thinking about?”

  “I’m thinking about you, and the way you make me feel, both of which are pretty damned great,” Sam said quietly, the picture of grounded, gentle composure. “I don't want to just let this go. I don't want you to walk out of this hotel in a few hours and walk out of my life.” He gave her a persuasive look as he admitted, “I haven’t met someone who I’ve clicked with like this in Chicago, not in all the years I've been back there, that’s for sure. I haven't clicked like this with anyone in a long, long time. So, try a long distance thing with you? Yes, why not? At least to start with, to give this a shot, that’s what I’m suggesting. Because the bottom line is, the thought of not ever seeing you again after today is just unacceptable to me.”

  Lydia turned away from him, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She wiped at her face. Her voice was weary as she said, “I can’t do this. It's not fair to you. You… you don’t want to get involved with me now. You don’t.”

  Sam stepped forward, gently gripped her arms, and spun her around to face him. He stared down into her eyes and said with intensity, “Don’t tell me what I want. I know what I want. I want you. And I’m not talking about sex; this isn’t about wanting to sleep with you, as amazing as that would be. I’m talking about getting to know each other better, talking on the phone, sending emails, and spending some time together. I’m talking about possibly seeing where this could go. That’s what I want.”

  She gaped up at him, wide-eyed. Her heart pounded in heavy, quick thumps. She tried to think of a clever retort to push him away, but found her mouth dry and her mind a complete blank. She was using everything in her arsenal to push him away, and he was still standing there. She didn’t know what to do. She was warning him, giving him a graceful out, and he refused to listen. She could only look at him.

  “Lydia…” His voice softened, his gaze softened, his grip on her arms softened. “I know we just met, I know this all sounds crazy. But you make me feel things I haven’t felt in… in over a decade. You make me want to put myself out there again. I feel really alive, like any man who just unexpectedly met someone fantastic would. So, again, I have to tell you that if you think I’m going to let you just walk out of my life without a fight, I’m sorry, but hell no. No way.” He cracked a small grin as he added, “Don't worry, I’m not a stalker or anything. I’m just letting you know I’m going to fight for this… for you. I’m going to fight for this until I know you believe me, ‘til you see I’m not just playing games, or throwing out empty words. Because I just… I want to. I want to know you.”

  Something changed in Lydia’s face, Sam saw it immediately. There was a seismic shift in her eyes; her breath caught and she clutched herself as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Her brandy colored eyes filled with tears so quickly that they overflowed and streamed down her cheeks before he could even move.

  “What just happened?” Sam asked with a touch of nervous desperation.

  Lydia shook her head and impatiently brushed the tears off her cheeks, but more came rolling down anyway. She opened her mouth to speak. All that came out was a heart-wrenching sob. She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror and shut her eyes, which just made more tears spill over—big, round tears that streaked down her cheeks and over her fingers.

  “Come here,” Sam said gruffly, pulling her to him. He held her close, kissed the top of her head, and ran his hand down her damp hair. He could feel her whole body trembling. “Let it out,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay.”

  She shook her head into his chest, but another gut twisting sob escaped from her throat. She hugged herself even tighter.

  Sam wrapped his arms around her securely, stroked her back, and waited. His mind was reeling—he wondered what he’d said to trigger such a reaction.

  “Tell me,” Sam murmured in her ear. “Say whatever you want. It’s okay. I promise.”

  “You want to fight for me?” Lydia cried incredulously, pushing back to look up at him. Her face was hot pink from the overwhelming rush of emotions, the crying. Her wet eyes were huge as she said, “You don’t even know me! Matt never fought for me, and I was his goddamn wife! Not in nine years of marriage, he never fought for me once. I asked him to move out, and he didn't fight for me. I asked him for a divorce, and he didn't fight for me. He never fought for our son, for us as a couple, for our family.… He was always quick to fight against me, though, he had no problem with that.

  “And me? I’ve been doing nothing but fight. For years now, on my own, alone. Sometimes I feel like nothing but a worn out soldier—fighting Matt, fighting for my son, fighting the system, and doing it alone. No one’s ever stepped up and wanted to fight for me… How can you—why would you…?” She shook her head and shuddered again, dissolving into sobs.

  “Oh, Lydia.” Sam pulled her to him again and held her as tightly as he could. “Shhh. It's okay. Shhh.” He stood there and held her as she cried, stroking the damp, heavy curtain of her hair, caressing her back, shushing her softly, doing everything he could do to soothe her.

  After a few minutes, she calmed down, drawing jagged breaths as she worked to compose herself. When she was quiet, he gently pushed her over to sit down on the edge of the bed, and he sat next to her. He drew her close with one arm, holding her snugly against him, while his other hand reached across to hold her wintry hand. She sniffled and stared down at their intertwined fingers, lying together on her lap.

  “I’m so, so sorr
y,” she said in a low, ragged voice. “I just totally lost it, didn’t I? Again. Again! I'm completely humiliated. Oh my God.”

  “Don’t be humiliated, and do not be sorry,” he said. “I’m glad I broke through somehow. You obviously needed to do that. I’m thinking it’s a good thing.”

  She snorted and shook her head. “You sucker punched me.”

  “Ha!” He shot her a soft grin. “I didn't mean to. But if you feel better now, and now I understand some more of why you've been holding back on me so hard, then I hate to tell you this, but I'm fine with it.”

  She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “Ugh, I’m a mess.”

  Sam shrugged, reached up to wipe her cheeks with his thumb. “Nah. Just damp.”

  Again she snorted and shook her head, but smiled. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” she asked, standing up. She went into the bathroom. Grabbing some tissues, she mopped her face dry, blew her nose, and took a deep, cleansing breath. Only then did she finally dare to look in the mirror. “Uuuugh,” she groaned. Her makeup was smeared, her skin was blotchy, and her eyes were puffy and a bit swollen. She splashed her face with cold water, then washed away the remnants of all cosmetics, deciding she had no choice but to start from scratch.

  Sam appeared in the doorway. He leaned up against the frame and joked gently, “You gonna make it?” The lightness of his tone was a stark contrast to the concern that hooded his warm brown eyes.

  Lydia gave a short laugh and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” She dried her hands and face on the towel that Sam held out to her. “God, Sam. Why are you still here? You’ve watched me fall apart more than once this weekend. Are you nuts, or just a masochist?”

  “Shut up.” He grinned. “You want me here.”