My nerves are still present and accounted for. They rattle my bones and make my voice quiver, but they aren’t the best of me. I’m bigger than my fear. I’m stronger than my anxiety.
I’m proud of me.
THIRTY
______
TRISTAN
Fucking storms.
I left the cemetery yesterday with grandiose plans forming in my head. After eight years of self-inflicted torment, I was determined to throw off my shackles and show up in time to rescue the love of my life from the need to endure any more of his trip alone than he absolutely had to. As romantic gestures go it was destined to be a bit anti-climactic. But in my head it came with a soundtrack, so I figure it counted.
Then the long line of storms that had been building in the west rolled in and let their fury loose upon the entire south-east corner of Queensland, with the northern suburbs of Brisbane copping the worst of the deluge. The airport was closed for nearly four hours. Passengers booked on earlier flights were bumped to later ones and the whole thing turned into a shit show of delays. I finally managed to get a seat on the second Sydney-bound flight out of Brisbane this morning.
I never even made it down here in time to go with Sam to the television studio. Instead, I’m standing in his empty hotel room—which I only managed to get into because my name still happens to be on the booking—while I curse the fates and hope like hell he forgives me for being a useless, disloyal prick.
Heaving a sigh, I drop my bag on the floor and go on a hunt for the television remote. Sam’s interview is due to start any minute.
I’d feel better if I knew how he was getting on down here alone. My calls yesterday went straight to voice mail and my texts went unanswered, except for the one terse message last night to say he’d talk to me today.
As it turns out, though, him not answering my calls was probably a blessing in disguise. Telling him I was on my way, only to not show up in time to go with him, might have been worse than not coming at all.
I find the remote buried in the covers on the bed and turn to the right channel just in time for Sam to be introduced.
The mop of blond hair has been tamed into stylishly tousled waves and his cheeks look flushed. He flashes a wide, charming smile as he talks about the benefits of theSleep with Meapp, then he turns bashful when questioned about his nickname. The interviewer makes a light, teasing comment and Sam lets out a genuine laugh. Springing up from the bed, I can’t help joining in. Holy fuck, my boyfriend is hot. By the time the short segment comes to an end, my heart is about ready to burst with pride.
I’m desperate to talk to him, to congratulate him on his success, but it will probably be a while before he has a chance to check his phone.
Turning off the television, I pull off my clothes and hop in the shower to wash away the grime of air travel. Instead of refreshing me, the hot water lulls me into a sleepy stupor. I stayed at Sam’s house last night, unable to face the cold lifelessness of my apartment after failing to get on a flight, but it wasn’t the same without Sam. I had his voice to keep me company, but I missed his arms around me, his warmth pressed against my back. Apparently, his disembodied words in my ears are no longer enough to sustain me. It takes the man himself to keep me satisfied.
Getting out of the shower, I manage to dry off and put on some fresh boxers before the lure of the empty bed grows too strong to overcome. I’ll only lie down for a few minutes. Sam won’t get back to the hotel for a while yet. I want to surprise him when he arrives. I hope he’s happy to see me.
Sometime later, I wake to the feel of fingertips running the length of my spine, starting at the waistband of my boxers and working their way upwards. “Sam,” I murmur, rolling over. He’s standing beside the bed, looking down at me with a gentle smile on his lips.
“You came for me,” he whispers.
“Yeah.” Rising up onto my knees before him, I slide a hand around the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says against my lips.
We kiss, gently at first, then with more thoroughness. Something inside me unfurls and relaxes. This is right. This is where I want to be. Always.
Then Sam takes a step backwards and I see the uncertainty in his eyes. The wariness behind the warmth. I run my fingers across his cheeks, wanting to banish all his doubt. They come away slightly oily. “You’re wearing make-up.”
“I am and it feels kind of gross,” he says with a small laugh. “I’m going to wash my face, then we can talk?”
“Sure.” I sit back down on the bed, watching him take off his suit jacket and shirt before heading into the bathroom. “I saw the interview,” I call through the open doorway.
Sam groans as he splashes water on his face. “How bad was it?”
“You were amazing,” I assure him. “Not to mention gorgeous as all hell… and informative,” I add for good measure. “Have you checked your subscriptions? Are there any new ones?”
He’s grinning when he comes back into the room, still drying himself off with a hand towel. “The reports are still updating but… let’s just say my bread box will be empty for quite some time to come.”
Jumping up from the bed, I throw myself at him in excitement. “That’s incredible. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you.” He wraps his arms around my waist, holding on tight, but then he moves away again. “How long will you be here?”
