by S. M. West
“Oh my God.” I gasp, clutching my chest and blinking back the tears. Wrapping their arms around me, they both comfort me. “How do you know all this?”
My mind reels with this sad and terrible story. I think of Sam, and it doesn’t fit. He’s the epitome of happy and loving. To have known you came from such a violent act would be hard for anyone. I can’t reconcile this with the man I know, and how Bas knows all this when both Sam’s mother and grandmother were dead when he met Sam interests me.
“I didn’t know Samson’s grandparents, but I knew a family friend. Once I met Samson and he came into our lives, I sought information on him and his family. Also, his mother left him a letter, a beautiful letter. I never knew Annick. I wish I had. From her letter to her baby boy, you can tell she loved him dearly. She was troubled and tormented by what had happened, but she loved her boy. She did not blame him and in fact, he was the only positive thing she had. It pained her to have his life tainted by her misery. That letter made a world of difference to Samson, and his grandparents were wonderful people. I think it was their love and openness, and of course the type of person Samson is, that prevented him from growing up to be an angry and troubled man. Even when life knocked him down farther than most people ever go, he was able to rise above it.”
Tears spill onto my cheeks; I can hardly imagine what Sam’s mother must have endured. My heart pangs for her, for her parents, and for Sam. Living his life without a mother and knowing why she chose to take her own life is a burden many could not bear, and his grandparents—to have lost a child, their only child, in such a sad and wretched way must have been agony.
His tattoo, the Little Prince quote: But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart. It now makes sense why he chose that quote above all the other lovely phrases in that novel.
His mother’s love for him was with her heart, not her eyes. Seeing Sam every day could have been a torturous reminder of her tragedy. Instead, she looked with her heart. She loved him no matter the circumstance that brought him into her life. She loved him when many would have terminated or hated the child for the fate bestowed upon her.
When I turn to face him, Bas cups my cheeks, his rough thumbs gently wiping at the wetness, his blue eyes soft and loving. “Ma chérie, I didn’t tell you to make you cry.”
Alec soothingly rubs my back and speaks quietly over my shoulder. “Are you sure?” he jests. “I think he wanted you to know because Sam may never say anything.”
“True,” Bas gruffly says. “But I also told you because I want you to understand just how rare and wonderful Samson is. It takes a special kind of person to rise above that kind of beginning. He carries no anger or hate in his heart, and if anyone has a right to, he does. Take care of him. Be there for him. He’ll need you. That’s all he needs. Olivia, he may not have said it yet, but he loves you with all that he is.” My breath hitches and my heart skips a beat. “And you love him too,” Bas states. It’s not a question; it’s simply a matter of fact.
Sam
I’m such an idiot. I wasted half the night on Thibault, and what for? Bas is right—there have been too many hints of his controlling nature. I don’t want an investor like that, and to top it off, I wasted four hours I could have spent with Olivia.
Alec texts me to say he took her home to my place once Bas went to bed. When I get home, I find her sleeping peacefully in my bed, looking like an angel with her dark locks fanning my pillow. I slip quietly under the sheets and gently pull her into my arms. I may have goofed tonight when I didn’t leave with them, but holding her in my arms for the rest of the night more than makes up for it.
I wake before Olivia and she’s still snuggled into me, sleeping peacefully. I quietly slip out of the bed to go to the bathroom and upon my return, my steps falter—she’s too tempting in the scrap of fabric she calls underwear.
My Vedder t-shirt—the one she wore to bed—has ridden up to reveal her firm, irresistible ass, and her legs are slightly parted, providing the perfect view of her sex, inviting me to feast on her, to taste her. Never one to pass up the invitation to have my woman, I carefully pull the lace to the side and dive in.
Olivia wakes with a gasp and a whimper, my mouth on her sex, devouring her sweet pussy. My tongue circles and twirls her clit as her hands grab my hair. Her nails lightly scrape my scalp, each tug and pull of my hair directly linked to my cock and balls, which are lengthening and tightening as I consume her.
Her loud, pleasurable cries encourage me to bring her to the brink, and at the same time her gratification pushes me closer and closer to the edge. My tongue thrusts in and out, fucking her, tasting her, so wet, sweet, and tart. With one final plunge, my lips latch onto her sensitive spot and suck the ever-living daylights out of her. Like a firecracker, she explodes with shouts of my name.
Before she can catch her breath, my hands grab her hips and whip her over onto all fours. Without wasting time to remove her panties, I suit up, move the fabric to the side, and mercilessly impale her.
She gasps out, “God, Sam,” beseeching like I’m the answer to everything.
Rocking back and forth from behind, I’m at first slow and steady, then teasingly deep and hard. I want to hold on, make this last as long as I can for both of us. Her face is buried in the pillow, and yet her muffled moans are still audible. I fucking love hearing her need, her desire. Knowing what I do to her drives her crazy is like an aphrodisiac.
Pounding relentlessly into her, she’s so hot and tight, and I’m so fucking close. My orgasm builds in my balls, the pressure mounting and dancing up my spine, but not yet—not until she comes again.
Bending over her, my fingers flit through her slick folds and her head snaps up, mouth open as her breath catches. She arches and bows at my torturously slow rubs on her sweet, sensitive bud. It doesn’t take long before she’s panting and tensing, taut and ready to explode.
Pulling her up with her back flush to my front, my hand cups and kneads her breast as my thumb and forefinger pinch her tight nipple. She spasms, clenching around my cock. Fuck. She likes it, and I fucking love it. Knowing she’s close and that I brought her there feeds my fire.
Together, with long, hard, deep plunges, I hit the spot that drives her mad, that brings her closer to blinding bliss, over and over again. She spasms around my cock, her cries carnal and piercing as she peaks.
Seeing her come undone, shattered, at her most pure, sends me barreling toward my own release. Tensing, strung tight with a glaring intensity, I erupt on a roar of, “Olivia.”
Reluctantly, I pull out and remove the condom. Tying it into a knot, I toss it in the can, holding her all the while. Flipping her onto her back and myself on top, my mouth descends on hers. My tongue fills her, tasting her completely. All my want, every second of need since the last time I saw her, every minute of longing goes into our kiss.
“Damn, that was the best good morning I’ve ever had.” Her voice is breathy. “You can wake me up like that any day.”
“It’d be my pleasure,” I huskily whisper while trailing kisses down her neck. I could take her again. No matter how many times I have her, I can’t get enough of her.
“How’d it go last night? What time did you get in?” She runs her fingers gently through my hair.
“Sorry,” I murmur into her breastbone. Resting my head on her chest, the hypnotic beat of her heart settles the frustration of thinking back to yesterday. “It was a waste of time. I should have left with you. I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” she says, her hands holding the side of my face and lifting so our eyes meet. “No need to apologize. Why do you say it’s a waste of time?”
I’m surprised at her question because she dislikes the Thibaults, and while she has reason to after Yasmine’s ridiculous threat, she’s never said anything negative. She’s always been neutral, but I know she’d prefer that I walk away. I would think she’d be happy and not want to probe or know anything else.
“Bas is right.”
“He’ll want to hear that,” she quips, beaming with a twinkle in her eye.
Chuckling, I explain, “Yes, I’ll be sure to tell him, and he’ll love saying he told me so. Daniel is controlling. There have just been a few instances where he’s said things that haven’t sat well with me, leading me to believe he’d want to call the shots.”
Kissing me, she sits up, scooting ‘til her back’s against the headboard, the sheet secure around her. “What are you going to do? Don’t you need him?”
I pull her close. “I don’t need an investor, but I’d prefer to have one. There are other investors interested, a few actually, so it doesn’t have to be Daniel. It would mean starting from scratch with the vetting process, which isn’t a big deal. It just delays things a bit, and could impact a few aspects of getting started. I have options, and I know I’ll figure it out.”
She worries her bottom lip, her teeth nibbling her lush, pink flesh. My thumb stops her chewing as concern storms her wide eyes.
“I wish I could help.”
Smiling, I kiss her forehead, breathing in her sweet scent that calms and comforts me. “You do help. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It’ll work out.”
Capturing her lips, my tongue invades her mouth. Her soft, warm skin against me, being this close to her ignites my need to taste her, be with her again.
“Nuh-uh, Samson Beaulieu.” I hear the smile in her voice as she pulls away. Beholding her warm chocolate eyes, I brush a stray curl from her forehead. “We’re supposed to be spending the day with Bas and Alec. We’ll never get out of here if you do that.”
Pushing up, she rushes from the bed with me close behind, grabbing, then picking her up from the waist. She’s not getting away that easily. She squeals but doesn’t fight me. In fact, she does the opposite, wrapping her arms and legs around me as I take her to the shower.
We end up at their house for the day. Bas is not well and remains in bed the entire time we’re there, in and out of sleep, and Olivia insists we stay by his side. It’s then I know that I love her, although I’m pretty sure it was so before this moment. I haven’t told her yet, not because I don’t want to—I do, more than anything—but because I know she’s not ready.
“Samson, there’ll be times to be strong and times to be vulnerable. Be both. Let Olivia be there for you,” Bas rasps.
He’s been doing that all day. Randomly, he’ll offer words of wisdom, and sometimes he’s even talked about times in his past, memories from his childhood or a moment with me or Alec. I gently squeeze his now frail hand.
“And ma chérie, the same goes for you. Don’t waste time because of fear or uncertainty. Life will always be uncertain and not always easy, but live it.”
Olivia’s lips quiver as she wipes the lone tear sliding down her cheek. “I will, Bas,” she reassures him, kissing him on the forehead. He closes his tired blue eyes, a slight upturn to his mouth.
Seeing her with my family, experiencing the love, kindness, and patience she has for us all cocoons me and fortifies my soul. During our stay, there are times when I must leave the room, unable to contain my anger at the unfairness of it all. Without words, she understands. She stays, takes care of Bas and Alec so I can leave, so I can pull myself together.
We leave after dinner. Bas is asleep, his breathing is labored. Alec and I discuss taking him to the doctor tomorrow, or if it gets worse through the night, the hospital. My sleep is restless and every hour or so, I text with Alec to see how he’s doing—the same.
When dawn breaks, I’m melancholy for a whole other reason. Olivia leaves today. Her time, like always, has flown by. I’ve been thinking of solutions to our distance dilemma, but can’t do anything about it right now.
I need to be close to Bas, and as much as I love Olivia and so desperately want to be near her, see her every day, I can’t leave him. Besides, she wouldn’t hear of it. She’d be the first to tell me no, to tell me that my place is beside my father, mentor, and best friend.
The call finally comes, the one I’ve been dreading since the day Bas was diagnosed. It’s three in the morning when I answer on the fourth ring. It’s Alec, his voice somber, low, and broken. He’s our pillar, Bas’s and mine, so strong and put together, and now, his world is being taken from him. His love.
I hear the anguish and despair in his four words: “Come, Sam. It’s time.”
Not even two hours later, he’s gone. Being with Bas when he goes is a blessing and a curse. He opens his pale blue eyes with difficulty, searching, likely seeing more than is here. Finally, his cloudy gaze lands on me. I’m not sure he knows it’s me until he speaks his last word to me.
His voice is quiet and strangled as my name graces his lips for the final time. “Samson.”
His eyes close. Watching his final breaths, I cling tightly to his hand, so frail and cool, his body a mere shadow of who he once was. He passes with Alec and me by his side. Both of us hold our breath as we wait, hopeful, praying for his next breath but knowing it will never come.
With a squeeze to my shoulder, Alec’s chin wobbles and his face crumples. With his body half on top of Bas, he buries his face into Bas’s stomach and sobs, mumbling his name and sweet nothings, hopes and dreams of years spent together, of a love that will never die.
My vision blurs as tears swell and spill down my cheeks. Everything hurts. My heart’s ripped from me. I can’t fathom never seeing him again, never speaking to him, arguing with him, or laughing with him. Never again.
Olivia, I need her. She answers on the third ring.
Her voice is soft and groggy. “Sam?”
“Bas.” I barely get the word out, my voice unsteady, foreign even to my own ears. It’s all I can manage to say.
“Oh, no. Sam.” Her voice cracks. “I’m coming.”
That’s all I need to hear. I need her.
Olivia
The past few days have been a blur of numbness and planning. The funeral is tomorrow, in Bas’s hometown. We leave Montreal and travel about an hour to the Eastern Townships, which are known as being a taste of New England with French flare. It’s picturesque with rolling hills and old, sometimes majestic country homes nestled along several lakes bordering Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine.
Alec and Sam try to keep a conversation going, both boasting about the culinary treasures the region is known for in a manner much like Bas would have done if he were here. With pride for his home, his heritage, and the region’s fine foods like canard and the freshest organic produce in the country, Bas would have regaled me about the lavender fields, flavorful cheeses, vineyards, and top-notch hotels.
Sam tenderly holds my hand. Since arriving, he and I have been inseparable. While he’s been quiet and subdued for the most part, he won’t let me out of his sight, and when I’m near, he takes any chance he can to touch me like he needs me to breathe.
During the drive, he shares stories of Christmases spent in Bas’s home through his teens and early twenties, a place he still visits for several weeks twice a year. The mood sobers even more and we all sink into silence as it’s apparent this Christmas will be different. No doubt Bas’s absence will change things. It’s a sad thought that he will never return to his childhood home and make more memories with them.
Bas’s home is a simple, small two-story house on a large piece of land near one of the lakes. The home is old with wood and tile floors, baseboard heating, small bathrooms, and two wood-burning fireplaces. Of course, the kitchen is state of the art, feeling like one you’d find in a Michelin-star restaurant. Alec is quick to tell me that was the first renovation Bas did to the house, his eyes lighting up as he’s taken back to a younger and happier time when Bas was still here.
As the day drags on and Bas’s funeral nears, Alec becomes more unresponsive, holing away in the office with a bottle of cognac and a cigar. As night falls, Sam insists on taking me out, assuring me that Alec needs the time alone.
We drive to Mont Mégantic, the world’s first dark sky reserve, located i
n Mont Mégantic National Park. He explains that with the limited light in this part of the province, the park is one of the darkest and best places on the planet to stargaze.
As we walk through the dark, my hand in his, he eagerly shares tales of countless times the three of them ventured to the park on the spur of the moment for the most exceptional celestial display. While I’m unable to see his face, I can hear the love and laughter in his voice as he relives his wonderful memories of Bas.
Laying down the big woolen blanket he brought, we sit, him perched beside me, pulling me close into his warm and inviting embrace. He tugs us down until we’re lying on our backs, and the vast, starry night sky is boundless, a lit-up canvas lain out before us. It’s not only stars and planets that are visible; we can also see the Milky Way, like a cloudy path of twinkling lights traversing the night sky.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks. I nod, in awe of the beauty. “Thank you for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I want to be,” I whisper, low and emphatic. Taking his hand in mind, I kiss his knuckles, loving him and trying to convey the depth of feeling I have for him with my touch.
“I feel close to him here. Being in his childhood home and now here, I feel him around me. God, I hope I never lose that.” His voice is low, wavering toward the end.
“No matter what, you’ll never lose him. I know it sounds hard to believe, but he’s with you Sam.” Placing my hand over his heart, I firmly press against his chest. “He’s in here. He’ll never be far.”
Amidst the enormity of the sky and universe, it’s easy to feel alone, yet also part of something so much bigger than yourself. I hope—no, I believe Bas is up there, somewhere, looking down on us. On Sam and Alec. Forever loving them and watching over them.
The day of Bastien’s funeral is somber. Dark gray clouds burden the sky, threatening a downpour. The wind is unusually cold and fierce for September, whipping my hair all over the place. Finally, no longer wanting to fight with it, I grab hold of my wild tresses and crudely tie them back into a low bun.
