“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 around 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 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.” Bas clears his throat and it seems more like he’s giving me time to let his words sink in. “Let Olivia be there for you.”
He’s been doing that all day. Randomly offering words of wisdom, and sometimes he’s even talked about 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 theforehead. 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.
29
SAM
We leave after dinner. Bas is asleep, his breathing shallow and uneven, each inhale a fragile thread I’m afraid might snap. Alec and I linger by his bedside, talking in hushed tones about what to do if it gets worse through the night. Neither of us says it aloud, but we both know, there isn’t much left todo.
When we finally make it home, exhaustion sets in, though it’s a vacant kind—the kind that comes from watching someone you love fade a little more each day. Sleep doesn’t stick. Every hour or so, I check my phone, messaging Alec for updates.No change,he writes each time. The words bring no comfort.
By dawn, I’m awake again, staring at the ceiling, heavy with a different kind of ache.
Olivia leaves today.
Her time here, like always, has vanished too quickly, slipping through my hands before I could grab hold. The house already feels emptier just thinking about it. I’ve been racking my brain for ways to make the distance between us easier, some solution that doesn’t involve sacrifice, but nothing feels right. Not yet.
I can’t leave Bas. Not now.
As much as I love Olivia—and I do, God, I do—I can’t walk away from him. He’s more than my father. He’s my compass. My mentor. My home. Every part of who I am started with him.
And Olivia would never let me go, not for her. She’d be the first to tell me to stay, to remind me where I’m needed most. That’s one of the many reasons I love her, because she understands what family means.
Still, the thought of watching her pack up and leave unravels something in me.
I push off the bed and move quietly through the house, the faint light of morning spilling across the floorboards. She’s in the kitchen, barefoot, her hair a tumble of waves down her back, making coffee like she’s lived here her whole life.
For a moment, I just stand there, taking her in.
This—her soft humming, the smell of coffee, the calm that settles in her presence—is everything I want. Everything I can’t have right now.
She turns, catching me watching her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shake my head and try for a smile, but it doesn’t quite land. “Not really.”
“Me neither.” She studies me, eyes full of concern she doesn’t voice. Instead, she steps closer and rests a hand against my chest. The simple touch is enough to break whatever fragile composure I have left.
I cover her hand with mine. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to let you go again.”
Her lips curve, small and sad. “You don’t have to let me go, Sam. I’m just not here.”
The words hit me with quiet truth. She’s right. She’s always right. But knowing it doesn’t make it any easier.
I pull her into my arms, pressing my face into her hair, breathing her in, memorizing the scent, the feel of her, the way she fits perfectly against me.
