Felicia stands up and starts to walk past me. Then, she stops and lifts my chin. “I know how much you two love each other and how strong you are together. Take care of my son.”
For the first time in days, warmth and hope run through me. “I promise, I will.”
She leans in and hugs me so hard that it almost hurts. Her concern is as great as mine.
Sam, her son and the love of my entire world, is now my responsibility.
When I get back to the house, I find Costa heating up some broth on the stove.
“Where have you been?” His clothes are wrinkled from sleeping on the couch.
I don’t remember the last time any of us slept well. “Is Sam up?”
“Just woke up a few minutes ago. He’s hungry, but I’m starting him on something really light because I don’t think either of us feels like cleaning up his puke again.”
“I hear you on that.” I toss my keys onto the table. “Meet me in the bedroom. I have an idea.”
Costa raises his eyebrows. “Sounds sexy. I’m there.”
I laugh, and it feels wonderful to have even a moment of distraction. “History will not be repeating itself.”
“You never know,” he calls after me.
Sam is half-sitting against a pillow, and he shuts his eyes when I walk in. “I’m so sorry, Stella. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“I can’t even look at you. You must hate me.”
I take a pillow and sit beside him. “Sam, stop.”
“What I said to you yesterday…I wish I didn’t remember, but I do…every awful word.”
“That was you detoxing and trying to get what you thought you needed. I know you didn’t mean it.”
“There’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”
“Will you look at me now? Please?” I ask.
Slowly, he does.
“Do you see that I’m fine? Really. I’m here. I’m okay.”
Weakly, he lifts a hand to mine. “I love you. Always.”
“And I love you, too. Always.” I assess his appearance and notice that he’s gotten at least a little color back, but he still looks pretty wrecked. “And I have a plan.”
“Room service!” Costa says cheerily. “I have the high-class bouillon you ordered, sir.”
“I think I asked for a turkey sandwich.”
“Persons who are prone to vomiting all over the place do not get sandwiches of any variety. They get the aforementioned high-class bouillon prepared by a world-renowned chef. Me.”
Sam laughs silently. “Fine.” He reaches for the bowl but drops a hand. “Sorry. I’m just so tired. Give me a minute.”
Costa pulls over a chair to Sam’s bedside. “I gotcha.” He lifts a spoon to Sam’s lips. “I know you’ve always dreamed of me spoon-feeding you. Today is your lucky day.”
Sam takes another sip. “Thank you, Costa. Really.”
