by Justine Dell
“You don’t have to thank me. You’ll always be here for me, just like I’m here for you.”
Giving him one last squeeze, she drew away. “Yes. Always, Cole.”
He gave her a warm smile, wiping a tear off her cheek with his thumb.
Resolving not to have a breakdown in front of her grandmother, Samantha helped Cole into the house and then dashed to her room. There, in the privacy of her sanctuary, with the bright yellow walls that always made her feel happy, she allowed herself to break apart. Her heart slowly peeled itself from her chest, and she visualized Lance doing the two-step on it. How could he do this to her? She would never forgive him for this. Hell, she didn’t even know if she could look at him again without wanting to smack him over and over.
And for him to have the nerve to come to her house and tell her brother—his best friend—that he’d only wanted her for one thing? He’d stolen her virginity with a few sweet words and soft strokes, and then taken her most prized possession and turned it into something dirty. How long had he been planning on doing that? Surely he would have planned it.
She punched her pillow over and over. She would show him. Somehow, someway, she would get back at him.
Samantha sat at the dining room table, eyes still puffy from her entire afternoon of allowing her anger at Lance to get the best of her—not to mention her shame. Not only was she furious, she was also broken from the inside out. How could a man who meant so much to her do such a thing? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. But Cole would never lie to her about anything—especially not about something like that. He’d looked like he’d wanted to rip Lance’s head off his shoulders, and right now, she wouldn’t mind actually seeing that.
Her stomach tossed and turned as she pushed her spaghetti around on her plate.
“Are you hungry, dear?” Gram asked.
Samantha flicked her gaze to Cole. He was frowning, but his eyes said I’m sorry in a million different ways.
“My stomach’s a little upset,” she lied.
“Well, I think I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better.”
Samantha highly doubted that, but she put on a shaky smile. “Really? What?”
Gram got up from the table, and came back with a large manila envelope clutched in her hand. “This came for you today.”
Samantha’s eyes went wide. “Is that from—”
“The writing school in New York?” Gram beamed. “Yes.” She slid the packet into Samantha’s outstretched hands.
“You know what they say about acceptance letters, don’t you, dear?”
Her fingers skimmed over the envelope. “No, what?”
“The bigger the envelope, the better the news. Open it.”
Samantha grinned up at Cole, who still had a sour look on his face. She couldn’t blame him. If her best friend had said the things Lance had, she would be beside herself, too. But she was the one who had to deal with feeling rejected and used. Her throat still burned when she swallowed.
She ripped it open, scanning the words on the first page. Jumping up, she squealed. “I got in! I got in! I got in!” She rounded the table, planting a huge kiss on the side of Cole’s cheek, then made a beeline for Gram and did the same to her. She waved the papers over the table. “Full merit-based scholarship!”
After an initial burst of congratulations and excitement, Samantha settled back into her chair, another thought hitting her instantly. Lance’s betrayal had been a blessing in disguise, she mused. Here she thought she was going to have to choose between a man she loved and a dream she’d had since she was a child. Lance had made her decision for her without even knowing it. She glanced at Cole, the acceptance packet, and then at Gram.
“It says in the packet that I can arrive early and take some late summer classes to get into the swing of things, learn more about the campus and stuff. The early arrival date is next weekend. Do you think I could go ahead down there and stay until it starts?”
Gram still grinned from ear to ear. “Anything for you, dear. If you want to make a splash in New York City, the sooner the better! Let me make some phone calls and we’ll see about getting you there in a couple days.”
Samantha’s heart dropped. She needed to get out of town now. “I want to leave tomorrow, Gram. Like you said, the sooner the better.”
Gram’s expression folded quickly before she smoothed it out. “I get it. You really do want to get a jump on things. Don’t worry.” She patted Samantha’s hand. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You’re the best, Gram. I love you.”
Samantha shoved the last of her luggage into the back of Gram’s car. She spun about, giving the house one last good look. The birds were quiet, and the sidewalks leading to and from the modest craftsman home were empty. Closing her eyes, she thanked the powers that be for this escape, Gram for being willing to go the extra mile for her, and her brother for always looking out for her. She would be sad to leave both of them, but it was something she had to do for herself.
She would make a name for herself after graduating college. Her entire future was waiting for her—a future full of writing beautiful novels, full of men who didn’t take advantage of her, and full of fun she could never have in this town. She was going to live her life on her own terms without remorse or regret. She could thank Lance Cummings for one thing, and that was making her see that she really needed to focus on herself.
She would take his stinging betrayal and build from it. Grow from it. She wouldn’t come back to Burlington, Vermont, until she was whole again. And when she did, she would have a few choice things to say to the man who stole her virginity then made a mockery of it. She was stronger than this, and she would prove it.
“Ready to go?” Gram’s voice snapped her from her thoughts.
“I’ve been ready my whole life for this.”
Samantha ran over to the porch and gave Cole a bear hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for everything, Cole. I love you.”
He frowned and shook his head. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Promise?”
She nodded, allowing herself to smile despite the feelings still digging at her heart. “I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She bounded off the porch, jumped into the passenger’s side seat, and waved liked crazy as they drove away.
This was her time. She needed to get away from the sudden blackness that was her hometown, from the man she loved who had broken her heart, from everything that had hurt her. She would start fresh, find a new life, a new love, and show everyone that she could be a success.
Chapter One
“If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh?
If you poison us do we not die?
And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”
~William Shakespeare
SEVENTY-FIVE IN A SIXTY. Samantha gave the car more gas, wanting to get to her destination more than anything. A car swerved in front of her, and she jerked the wheel to keep from colliding with it. A semi came out of nowhere on the right, making her pitch the car back to the left. The rear end swung out a little, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to regain control. Her heart jumped into her throat.
Her phone buzzed on the passenger’s seat, and she glanced down, wondering if it was the hospital. Still fumbling for it, her eyes darted back to the road. She eased up on the gas as her fingers found it.
“Hello?”
“Where in God’s name have you run off to?”
She flinched, wrenching the car a little off the road. Ryan.
“What the hell do you want?” she bit out. “You aren’t supposed to call me.”
His voice was low, annoying. “You’ve got caller ID and you answered. I’ll take that as a sign you wanted to talk to me.”
“I’m driving on the middle of the goddamn freeway. I almost side-swiped a fre
akin’ eighteen wheeler when my phone rang. Caller ID was the last thing on my mind.”
“This is important,” he snapped.
“Nothing you say is important. After a year of being divorced, I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out.” Her hand cramped from her death-grip on the phone. If she wasn’t careful, she might snap it in two, and Ryan was so not worth that—or an accident on the freeway. “I’ve got to go. Talking to you while driving is bad for my health.”
“Listen, Samantha. Ava misses you.”
Her throat painfully restricted and her eyes burned. “How dare you—” She sucked in first one tight breath, then another. “You called me to tell me my stepdaughter misses me?”
“Ex-stepdaughter,” he corrected mildly.
“You divorce spouses, not children, Ryan.” She was shaking. Her grip on the steering wheel wavered. “You are the one who hasn’t let me see her in over a year!”
“That wasn’t for lack of trying, sweetie.”
“Are you for real? You haven’t tried. I’m the one who’s tried to see her. You and your flavor of the month have been traipsing all over the place so I couldn’t even track Ava down. Where in the hell have you been keeping her anyway? She doesn’t like to travel…and she has school…and dance—”
“I think I know how to be a father, Samantha.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she growled.
A car cut her off. She flipped the driver the bird and sped up to get around him. Honks blared around her as she dipped in and out of traffic, the speedometer climbing higher with each mile.
“Have you considered anger management classes?” Ryan asked, his voice still calm, smooth and grating at the same time.
“If I need anger management classes, then you need psychotherapy. You are, after all, the reason I’m angry. Don’t call me again, Ryan. Don’t make me call my lawyer and put the squash on this crap. You got what you wanted in the divorce, now leave me alone. If I have to tell you again, it’ll be in front of judge, and I’ll be getting back every penny I had to give you.”
“Jesus—wait—”
Seething to the point of hyperventilation, Samantha flipped the phone shut and flung it across the seat. Suddenly, red lights flashed in her rear-view mirror. Red clouded her vision as she swerved, braking hard and coming to a stop on the median.
Could her life get any worse? Get yourself together, Samantha. Ryan doesn’t own you. No one does.
But Ryan took things from her. Important things. And most of all, he had Ava, the big-eyed, bouncy-haired, cute-as-a button little girl who Samantha worshiped, not to mention raised.
A gloved hand rapped on her window. She rolled it down, plastering her best smile on her face.
A tan man with dark sunglass dipped his head down. “Do you know why I pulled you over, ma’am?”
Did she really need to answer that? She gulped, swallowing the sarcastic words on the tip of her tongue. “Uh…yes…speeding?”
He nodded, frowning. “You were doing eighty in a sixty-five.”
Her head fell into her hands. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m on my way to the hospital and I…I…people kept cutting me off and practically running me off the road. Then my phone rang and I thought maybe it was news about my grandmother so I answered it, got distracted and…jeez, sorry.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “Can I just have my ticket?”
As she yanked her license and proof of insurance out, all Samantha could do was hum a sad little tune she knew so well, courtesy of Eeyore in Winnie the Pooh.
The melancholy donkey’s voice rang in her head. Ava had loved Winnie the Pooh and, not surprisingly, Samantha had clung to the image and self-loathing of Eeyore ever since her stepdaughter—and her life—had been ripped from her hands. And all for what? Money? A young hot fruit-loop? It’s no wonder Samantha aligned herself with an animal most people called an ass. Samantha was one; she knew it and hated it, but didn’t know how to stop it.
Samantha swung the rental car into the parking lot of Cedar’s Medical Center and lurched to a stop in the nearest open spot. She shoved the car door open and stepped into the cool Vermont air for the first time in ten years, but barely registered the moment’s significance as she bolted for the hospital entrance.
After a mild altercation at the receptionist desk—and with a security guard—Samantha made her way through the corridors and up the elevator to the recovery floor. She couldn’t help but wince as the sterile, dry smell burned her nose. She appreciated the smell of a good, clean space, but this scent was not comforting. It was an unpleasant reminder of the death of her parents.
She took shallow breaths, hoping it would protect her from both the scent and memories. It didn’t. The farther she got into the hospital, the more they overwhelmed her.
Finally, Samantha made it to the nurses’ station on the fifth floor.
“Hello,” she said, smiling weakly at the gray-haired woman seated behind the desk. “I’m Samantha Douglas—I mean, Moore. Samantha Moore. My grandmother—”
“Ah, yes,” the elderly woman replied with a crackling voice as she rose to her feet. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Elizabeth Reed. We spoke on the phone.”
Samantha blinked and nodded. “Can I see her?”
“Of course.” Elizabeth waved her hand as she rounded the desk. “Please follow me.”
As her steps echoed in the barren hallway, Samantha turned to Ms. Reed. “Can you tell me what happened?”
The nurse’s face twitched in confusion as she stopped mid-stride.
“I mean, you told me she had a stroke,” Samantha added with a hint of irritation, “but is there anything else you can tell me?” Did she need to spell everything out for everybody?
Stay calm. Deeps breaths, pleasant thoughts. The words her therapist had constantly urged her to learn now ricocheted within her mind—especially after that episode at the front desk downstairs. Patience.
“About what?” she asked. “Didn’t your husband tell you?”
Husband? This woman was very confused.
“Forget it.” Samantha stepped past the nurse. “I’ll ask the doctor when I see him. Room two twelve, right? I’ll find it myself.”
After passing countless open doors, Samantha finally stood in front of Room 212. The silver nameplate screamed at her and the stark white numbers sent shivers down her back. Samantha shook her head as she reached down and pushed the handle on the door, hoping her grandmother would forgive the woman she’d become.
Samantha took a deep breath to steady her nerves and stepped inside. Gram was awake and sitting up in the bed, peering curiously in Samantha’s direction. She was pale with solid white strands of hair pulled neatly into a bun, a reminder to Samantha of how many years she’d been gone. She rounded the bed and took a seat.
“Hey, Gram.” She reached out and took her grandmother’s hand into her own. It was cool and soft, the skin as thin as paper. Her thumb caressed the back of Gram’s hand, trying to soothe her own nerves more than anything.
“I’m surprised to see you here, dear,” Gram said, the light flickering off her clear green eyes. Her voice was smooth; she sounded young and rested.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Those were the only words that would roll off her stiff tongue as she fought back tears. This was her grandmother and, aside from her brother, her only living relative. She was the one who’d shown Samantha that her dreams were worth chasing. What would have happened if Gram had died? Could she ever have forgiven herself?
Samantha tugged on the white blanket draped over the bed, meticulously lining up the edges and corners and smoothing out all the wrinkles before placing her head on the bed. Letting out a loud breath, she forced the tears away.
“I’m so sorry. I should have been here.” She raised her head and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I should’ve come back a long time ago.”
With surprising strength, her grandmother firmly squeezed her hand.
“Oh, honey,” Gram said kindly
, “now’s not the time to worry about all that. You’re here. That’s what matters.”
“But—”
“No buts, Samantha,” she said firmly. “You needn’t worry about the past. Let’s just worry about the future.” The stubborn set of her chin almost made Samantha laugh.
How was it that her grandmother always knew what to say? She could always make Samantha feel better, even in the worst of times. A pain stabbed her heart. It would have taken merely a phone call to Gram during Samantha’s darkest hours to put a smile on her face.
“Agreed.”
“Good then,” Gram replied as she started to get out of bed.
Samantha grasped Gram’s arm. “What are you doing?”
“Well, if you must know—I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
Samantha’s face flushed red. “Sorry.”
“No worries, dear. I can understand why you would be concerned.” She patted Samantha’s hand. “Don’t worry about ol’ granny here. I’m fit as a fiddle.”
Gram maneuvered herself to a stand with help from the walker next to the bed.
“Do you need help?”
“Heavens, no. I’m a grown woman. I can do it myself.”
Samantha had her doubts as she watched her grandmother’s legs and arms shake with each step toward the restroom. The clanking of the walker against the floor and the shuffling of Gram’s feet made her nervous, like Gram might fall to the floor any second. It took everything Samantha had to not run up and carry her the rest of the way.
Once settled back in bed, Gram turned to Samantha. “To what do I owe this visit?”
Samantha took a slow breath. “Because you had a stroke. You’re in a hospital.”
Once again, her grandmother waved a hand in her direction. “I know what happened, and I know where I am.”
“Well then, why did you ask?”
Gram made a sarcastic face at Samantha. “Because I was hoping you came for some other reason.”
Perfectly put in her place, Samantha hunched her shoulders and pressed her hand to her face. “I said I was sorry.”
