"What do you mean?" Sam asks carefully.
I take a deep breath and then gesture between the two of us. "This.Us. I'm sorry, Sam.Sosorry, but I- I just can't." I want to come up with something better, with some eloquent explanation. Some magic words to undo that past two days. To change us back intojust friends, though in the back of my mind I fear that's never really what we were.
"You're serious?" Sam asks simply, his jaw tense and his brow furrowed in that gorgeous way that makes my heart break even more, not only for myself but for him.
"You said..."Just say it, Rory!"You said if I couldn't handle it, I could just tell you, and we would go back to bein' friends," I shakily remind him.
"I... I did say that," Sam reluctantly agrees.
"Did you mean it?" I fight back tears, mustering all my strength, because there is nothing I could do in this moment that would be more selfish than to cry.
Sam hesitates, and I know him well enough to know he's holding back his own emotions, surely for my benefit. "I... Yeah, of course I meant it, Ror." His voice cracks on my name and I suppress my wince at his pain.
Every instinct I have is telling me this is wrong. That we should be together. Every cell in my body hurts being even just a few feet away from him, every fiber of my being desperate to be back in his arms, to feel his lips on mine.
But this is not for me, I remind myself,this is for him.
"But I think you're wrong, Ror. You can handle more than you think. I..." he trails off defeatedly, vaguely shaking his head. I don't think he can bring himself to give me a pep talk about my strength after the past twenty four hours. Or maybe he's finally realized how weak I truly am. I snicker silently at the irony - that he may finally recognize my fragility when I'm finally actually exercising strength in letting him go.
"Look, I'm gonna go back to New York," I murmur.
Sam looks as if he's about to argue, but mercifully he jumps to accepting my decision instead.
"Okay," he says, "I'll go with you."
I shake my head. "No way, Sam-"
"Yes, baby girl. You're not going alone, and whether you want tobewithme or not, I'm still your best friend, or is that over too?" he asks, his tone mildly accusatory. His words startle me, because he does have a point, but no way am I letting him forfeit the rest of his vacation when I've already ruined so much.
"My mom can fly down," I murmur, trying to hide the lie, because my mother is already en route, planning to meet me at the airport in just a few hours to fly back to New York,
"That's really not necessary, Ror. If I stay here I'm just going to worry about you. We can fly out together tomorrow. It's only a day or so early anyway," he argues.
I don't bother fighting him. "Let's just figure it out tomorrow, okay? I just want to take a shower and go to bed," I lie, hoping he hasn't yet figured out the significance of my lip biting. I need to pack and get to the airport. Carl will ride with me there and then come back to the hotel. Tuck will be at Sam's suite soon to do whatever it is boys do to get their mind off of girls.
"Okay," Sam mutters, but his eyes narrow in skepticism, and I question if he's buying my bullshit at all. I've never been a good liar. Even as a child, my parents could always detect if I was hiding something, and Sam knows me better than anyone now.
He walks cautiously toward me, and I don't back away. I let him hug me, sagging into his embrace, and tell myself it's just afriendlyhug. Just afriendlyinhale of his incredible, masculine scent. Afriendlyawareness of the muscle and sinew of his arms and chest. Afriendlywave of love and desire that threatens to overwhelm my senses.
I choke back tears, grateful I can hide my face in his tee shirt while I pull myself together.
"You're not going to sleep here, are you." It doesn't come out like a question.
"I... I can't, Sam."
He pulls away enough to look down at me, but doesn't release me. He tenderly brushes his fingers over my injured cheek. "But what about your dreams?"
"I have to get used to sleepin' alone again anyway," I murmur sadly, in awe that it has only been two nights when it feels like a lifetime. I swallow nervously and tell myself to do a better job disguising my tone.He's supposed to think this is what you want, I remind myself.
"Ror..."
Whatever he wants to say, I don't let get said. The wrong words, or the right ones, depending on how you look at it, could be my undoing.
I twist out of his embrace and mutter a forced goodbye, hoping he doesn't read too much into the fact that I saidgoodbyeand notgoodnight.
I walk through our adjoining doors and close mine securely behind me. The soft slam resonates in my bones. It's far easier to close a literal door than figurative one.
****
