"Rory, will you fuckingwait?!" he calls out, exasperated.
I stop, and still facing away from him, close my eyes and count backwards from ten.Why did he follow me? Shouldn't he be with Kendall?
I hear him jog up behind me and stop to catch his breath. He takes hold of my arm to get my attention, as if he didn't already have it.
"For such astar athleteI'd have thought you'd be in better shape," I spit more maliciously than intended as I turn to face him.
Sam flinches and I feel instantly guilty. I take a deep breath and look down at my worn boots, contrite.
"I'll have you know I am in impeccable shape," Sam retorts through an adorable pout, and I can't help but rake him with my gaze to confirm what I already know - he's in incredible shape, all carved muscle and chiseled sinew. My eyes land back on my boots as I wait for him to explain why he's chased me out here when his girl is obviously waiting on him. "Will you look at me?" he asks, his words drowning in frustration. I meet his eyes, and they're beautiful, but turbulent with uncertainty - so very unlike him. "What's up? You okay?"
I shrug. "Why wouldn't I be?" I know it's a childish response, but right now I don't care. How I am is none of his business. I'm not his. He runs his fingers through his hair and I'm immediately assaulted with the image of Kendall playfully messing with it.
"I don't know, maybe that plastic smile you've had on all night? Something's off. Tell me, Ror, what's up with you?" he demands.
I'm momentarily stunned at how perceptive he is of my moods. It isn't the first time Sam's noticed I was upset about something while Carl and Tina hadn't a clue. "Why didn't you tell me you're a football player?" I counter, steeling myself for this conversation. "I mean, I know I didn't ask. I know it's not like you lied or anything, but-"
"No, Rory, actually it is like I lied," he says carefully and I blink at him. Sam sighs. "I did. I lied. You know, you weren't exactly easy to get to know. Your trust in me was never more than tenuous at best, and you'd been pretty open about how you feel about football and football players in general... I didn't want to give you a reason to dislike me before you even got to know me," he shrugs.
I'm astonished. He's right, of course. If I'd learned he played football when we'd first met, I never would have given him a chance. I wouldn't have let him tutor me. We'd never have become friends.
"I never asked," I whisper, vaguely wondering why he's the one convincing me he lied and I'm the one defending him.
"Yeah, but every time it came up and I said nothing, I felt guilty as hell, Ror," he admits. "You mad?" he asks anxiously.
The truth is I'm not mad. I'm just confused, and I don't know why Sam cares either way. "Football players are a real bad trigger for me," I reply, my voice low and shaky, and I can't look at him.
"Well I'm not a football player anymore, am I? The season's been over for months, it's not like I'm playing in college," he qualifies.
I don't reply. Honestly, I don't care that he's some football star. General trigger or not, I'm standing out here alone in the dark night with him. If he were any other man, I'd be freaking out. If he were any other football player, I'd have hyperventilated by now.
No, Sam isn't going to trigger a panic attack. Not tonight, probably not ever again, and no sport he plays or played is going to change that. I realize I only even said it to make him feel guilty, and I only wanted to make him feel that way because of Kendall. But he has nothing to feel guilty about, though his expression tells me he doesn't agree.
In my heart of hearts I know this whole football hang-up is stupid. I remind myself that Cam also played football. It just wasn't as much a part of his identity as it was for Robin. But, of course, maybe that's because I knew Cam so well. Knew all of the building blocks that made himhim.And football, for him, was just one miniscule, unimportant detail. Not a defining quality. Not his life; not his future. And if I'm willing to admit it to myself, I know Sam, too. I know who he is. And whether or not Sam plays football, he's not a footballplayer,at least not in the way I've defined it for myself.
It bugs me that he didn't mention it before, but I understand why, and I can't deny that it would have changed things for me if I'd known earlier. It's him and Kendall that has my stomach in knots, andthatI could never explain, so I continue to silently pick at my nails.
"Come on, Ror, I'm still just me."
"I'm tired. I just wanna go home. You should get back to your girl," I murmur, then turn to continue to my car.
"Rory, I need to know we're okay!" he calls out.
I take a deep breath and turn back to him. "We're the same as we've always been, Sam. Friends," I reply, and climb into my car before I can turn back again.
Through the rear view mirror, I do notice that he stands in the street until I drive off, before he returns to the party, and to Kendall.
****
Wednesday is a half day, and we're all flying out early Thursday morning. There's a party at some junior's house tonight, but I stay home with my mom, who's stressing about me leaving, even if it's only for five days. I help her do the dishes after dinner, then head upstairs to pack.
I've waited until the last minute, as I do with everything, but it isn't a difficult trip to pack for. I own mostly warm weather clothes anyway, and besides my purchases from my shopping trip with Carl, I just throw in my old jeans and cutoff shorts, some tee shirts, tanks, sandals, and I'm good to go.
I set my alarm for 4:00 AM. JFK is only about thirty minutes away, but with a 7:00 AM flight on such a busy travel day, we all agreed to meet at check-in by five. Being just about the exact opposite of a morning person, I'm not looking forward to the travel part of the vacation, but maybe I'll fit in a nap when we get to the hotel.
I'm dazed with exhaustion as my mom drives me to the airport. I sip my coffee in vain, knowing nothing will fully wake me at this hour. I call Carl to tell her I'm almost there, and hear Sam in the background telling her to go get her boarding pass - that he'll wait to help me with my bags. Ever the good friend.
We pull up to the terminal right on time and my mom squeezes me zealously until I tell her she's cutting off my breathing. I wince at my own joke.
