Heart's Surrender (13 page)

Gillian handed the driver some more bills. “Thank you again for waiting for me, back at the bar. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. It was my pleasure.” He winked at her.

With a tired smile Gillian got out of the car and into the drizzle that was falling lightly.

“Should we get her inside?”

Sam leaned heavily on Thomas’ shoulder. Gillian knew she would have a hard time getting Sam inside without his help. “Yes, thank you.”

After a minor struggle, the three of them finally stepped through the front door of the apartment building. Crossing the hall to the elevator wasn’t as difficult as Gillian had feared. Sam was half asleep.

“She was still a teenager the last time I saw her this drunk.” Thomas shook his head.

“You’ve known her that long?”

“Oh yes, I worked for her father.”

Gillian pressed the elevator button. “We’re nearly there, honey.”

“Am not your honey. You…you shaid so.” Sam swayed a little in place.

“Sam, you’re still my honey if you want to be.” Gillian silently counted to five. “But let’s talk about this later. We have to get you into bed first.”

“Am not going to shleep with you. No shex for you tonight! I don’t wanna.” Sam shook her finger in emphasis.

Gillian’s face grew hot. She cast a glance at Thomas, who thankfully seemed more amused by the situation than anything else.

“All right, I got that,” she told Sam.

“No shex.”

“All right, no sex for me tonight.” Gillian wanted to bury her flaming face in her hands.

The elevator rumbled alive, sparing Gillian from further embarrassment for the moment.

She looked at Sam, propped against Thomas’ side, her head resting against the elevator wall. Even with dark shadows smeared like bruises under her eyes, she was gorgeous.
I wonder if she had problems sleeping?
Gillian had hardly been able to close her eyes, much less sleep since the café incident. Every time she tried, Sam’s face appeared in her dreams. The pain and betrayal written over it haunted her.
Will she be able to forgive me? I don’t know if I could if our roles were reversed.

The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened.

Happy to escape, Gillian stepped out into the corridor before she turned around to help get Sam out of the elevator. Seconds later Gillian entered the apartment, locating the light switch without difficulty. She turned around just in time to watch Sam stagger into the bedroom, leaving her alone with a chuckling Thomas.

“I guess that’s where my mission ends…right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I think I can manage from here. Though I can’t thank you enough for your help tonight.”

He beamed. “Ah, you don’t have to thank me. I’m happy I was here. Give me a call if you need anything. I’m here until seven a.m. You know…I remember Sam when she was this tall,” he gestured to his knees. “She was always a little daredevil. Her father hated that.”

Stunned, Gillian didn’t know what to say.

Thomas shrugged. “He wanted a daughter to show off and not a daughter who was as strong-willed as he was.”

“She…she told me that she left home early…”

“I left the job before she left home. So, I can’t tell you what happened to her. But knowing her father I’m guessing it wasn’t nice.”

“How—” Gillian broke off and cleared her throat as it threatened to close. “Did he hurt her?”

His smile vanished. “He did. Yes. Not physically. He beat her with words. She often came to hide in the garage where I worked for a while before I became the doorman in one of her father’s buildings.”

Gillian couldn’t speak.

“I have to go downstairs. Call me if you need help. Have a nice evening.”

She closed the door behind him. What a night, and it wasn’t over yet. She had left her home in the suburbs in the hope of finding Sam, talking to her, and making up with her if possible. Afterwards, she had planned to go home, not spend the night in town.
So much for well-thought-out plans.

So,
what do I do now?
One thing was sure: Right now
Sam was in no condition for a chat. Gillian had to make sure that she was okay. She rubbed her aching temples. Assaulted by confusion, guilt, and a host of other emotions, she went to the bedroom. Sam was lying fully dressed on the bed and soft snores floated through the air.

Gillian sat down on the edge of the mattress, taking in the slow rise and fall of Sam’s chest, the flutter of her eyelids, her strong features, and full lips. Tempted, she reached out to lightly touch Sam’s cheek before she carefully withdrew her hand again, tender feelings bringing a smile to her face.
What you do to me…
The power Sam already had over her life, over her heart made her dizzy. All she longed for was to lie down beside Sam, hold her, and be there when she woke up. Gillian sighed.

Sam mumbled something unintelligible, catching Gillian’s attention. Half tangled in the sheets and still fully dressed, she surely couldn’t be comfortable. Gillian could not leave her like that. It didn’t take much effort to pry the black boots off Sam’s feet. She put the boots down next to the wardrobe before she touched Sam’s shoulder. “Come on, honey,” she said. “You have to roll over on your side.”

With a bit of effort Gillian finally succeeded in turning her over. It wouldn’t do to let her lie on her back in case she threw up during the night. Gillian took the extra pillow and a rolled-up bedcover and put the items behind Sam’s back to keep her in the same position. Glancing around the bedroom, she noticed the wastepaper basket behind a chair. She placed it on the floor beside the bed within easy reach. Just in case.

Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to stop herself from touching her sleeping lover, Gillian caressed Sam’s soft cheek.
I don’t want to live without you
.
It was true. She couldn’t imagine going back to the kind of life she had lived before Derrick died. His death had freed her. Or at least begun to free her…as bad as that sounded. However, she was a realist. As much as she wanted Sam in her life, Gillian had no idea how a life with her could work. In addition, she didn’t know if Sam was even interested in taking their relationship to a more serious level. Or if she was even able to forgive Gillian.

A calloused hand wrapped around Gillian’s fingers, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

“No shex,” Sam murmured.

Gillian couldn’t help grinning a bit. “No shex. Not tonight. I promise.”

Obviously satisfied with the answer Sam began to snore again.

Gillian got up and walked back into the living room. She removed her stilettos and sank onto the leather sofa before she took her cell phone out of her purse and dialed her home number.

Tilde answered on the third ring.

“Hello, Tilde. This is Gillian. I have to ask a favor of you.”

CHAPTER 14

Laughter.
Somewhere people were laughing. Gillian pulled the blanket over her head.
Too early.
Too loud. Don’t wanna.

A door banged shut. Keys jingled. Again laughter.

Damn.
Groaning in frustration, Gillian opened her eyes. Sunlight filtered through the curtains. The city apartment…
Why…Oh. Sam.
Right, they were in the city apartment and Sam was in the bedroom. Gillian looked at her watch. Eight a.m. She rolled from the sofa and went to the half-open bedroom door, which she hadn’t closed last night. Just in case Sam needed her at some point. But all Gillian had heard from Sam had been snoring and an occasional grunt. So, at least Gillian had gotten a few hours of sleep, although she had frequently woken up during the night, unable to stop worrying about the morning.

Sam was still snoring away on the bed, pretty much in the same position she had been in the last time Gillian had peeked into the bedroom.

For a moment, Gillian wondered if she should wake her. But then…what for? She was sure that Sam would feel like hell. Sleeping didn’t hurt and Gillian didn’t have to be anywhere until later in the evening. Tilde had agreed to care of the kids.
Coffee. I need coffee.

The first sip of the dark brew was heaven on her tongue. Gillian closed her eyes and tried to find a Zen moment. So much had happened in the past twelve hours and yet nothing was clearer than it had been before she had found Sam at The Labrys.
Well, at least we’re in the same apartment. She can’t just run away. I won’t let her.

Gillian was just about to take another sip of coffee when the sound of retching cut through the apartment’s silence. She flinched.
I guess that means Sam’s up.
Suddenly the coffee had lost its appeal. She set her mug aside and followed the miserable sounds to the bathroom. The door was ajar. Gillian hesitated, torn between the longing to help and the fear of intruding on a very vulnerable moment. What if her presence made Sam feel worse? Guilt and insecurity held her frozen to the spot.
Quit dithering.
She reached for the doorknob and opened the door a bit more. Carefully peeking inside, she saw that Sam was hunched over the toilet.

Another round of retching started. Tremors shook Sam’s body.

All Gillian wanted was to hurry into the room and help and soothe Sam. But would she accept the offer? Gillian ran a hand through her hair. This wasn’t about their relationship. If Sam didn’t want help, she would have to say so. Gillian pushed her doubts aside. She knocked at the door to announce her presence. When she got no response, she knocked again, this time louder and more insistent than before. She didn’t want to enter before Sam acknowledged her presence.

“What?” Sam’s voice was hoarse.

“Can I come in?”

A choked moan was the only answer.

All right. That’s it.
Gillian entered the bathroom, the sour stench of vomit almost making her gag. Trying not to inhale to deeply, she took a towel from a shelf. “Hey there.” She wet the towel at the sink, and then knelt down next to Sam on the cool tile floor. “How are you doing?” She tenderly pushed the damp hair from Sam’s forehead before she dabbed the cold sweat away.

For a moment Sam leaned into Gillian’s touch. The connection—simple as it was—warmed Gillian inside. It was Sam who broke the contact and leaned back to the other side, her body resting on the tiles. “I hate this.”

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Gillian got up and rushed into the kitchen. She remembered from her last pregnancy that one of the worst things about throwing up had been the graveyard taste left in her mouth. She picked up a glass, filled it with cold water, and hurried back to the bathroom, where she knelt down next to Sam again.

“I wanna die.” Sam’s voice was hoarse.

“No, you don’t. And I wouldn’t have a clue how to get rid of your corpse anyhow,” Gillian said, softly enough to take any sting out of her comment.

Sam let out a dry chuckle. “Just leave my body in the hallway. Someone will pick it up.” She clutched her stomach. “Oh, that hurt.”

Gillian touched Sam’s back. The T-shirt was clammy with sweat but there was nothing she could do about that. She didn’t keep a spare set of clothes in the apartment. “Would you like to rinse your mouth? I have a glass of water.”

“Yeah.” Sam took the offered glass, her hand shaking. “Thanks.”

Gillian rubbed soothing circles over Sam’s damp T-shirt. “Do you feel like getting up?”

Bloodshot eyes turned toward her. “Why?”

“You’ll feel better if you lie down,” Gillian said. “Your stomach must be all cramped up by now. Sitting on the floor hugging the toilet won’t do you any good. You need to relax.”

Sam slowly shook her head. “No, I’ll only have to throw up again.”

“Sitting like this will not help. You should lie down.” Gillian had enough experience with sick children to know that much. “I’m going to put a bucket next to the bed. You’ll feel much more comfortable lying down. You need to drink a lot of water and take some aspirin as soon as you feel like you can keep them down. It will help. Trust me.”

A bitter smile slashed a hard line across Sam’s face.

Gillian flinched. “Sorry, I―”

“All right. I guess I can give it a try.”

Surprise and relief washed through Gillian. “Good. Would you like to use some mouthwash first?”

A forced smile appeared on Sam’s face. “What? You don’t like the aroma of dead rat and wet dog?”

“No, and I’d guess you don’t like it either.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Gillian helped Sam up and stood guard beside her at the sink while she gargled and rinsed with the minty mouthwash. Thankfully, this didn’t trigger another attack of throwing up.

“Would you like some help―”

“No, thanks.” Sam struggled toward the door. “I can manage.”

The dismissive tone hurt even if she deserved it. Gillian swallowed hard. “All right.”

Watching Sam creep weakly into the bedroom was tough.
At least she hasn’t asked me to leave…yet.

“Shit.” Sam breathed heavily and held her stomach. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Gillian hurried over. “Come on.”

She took Sam’s elbow and led her to the bed before she carefully helped her to sit down. “Stretch out. It will help your stomach.”

For once, a pale-faced Sam followed her instruction without questions or comments.

“Can I…?” Gillian bit her lip. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah, this really feels better.” She looked at Gillian through bloodshot eyes. “You wouldn’t have a clean T-shirt laying around, would you?”

“No, I’m sorry. Maybe we could,” she swallowed, “If you sleep some more now and when you’re feeling better later…I could take you home?”

“Home? Yeah, that would be great.”

Gillian watched Sam for a while until her breathing was even and her face relaxed. This was going to be an interesting day. Gillian leaned against the doorframe to the living room. Sam hadn’t sent her away and she had even agreed that Gillian could take her home.

One step at a time.
She had to take one little baby step at a time before she could dare hope that everything would be all right.

Gillian was beyond relieved when the taxi driver announced they had arrived at their destination. The late afternoon traffic had been a bitch. She cast a careful glance at Sam who was pale and looked utterly exhausted. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.” Sam hesitated for a moment before she took hold of Gillian’s hand and climbed out of the taxi. “Never better.”

Gillian sighed. She wasn’t sure how much of Sam’s temper came down to her being here and how much was the hangover from hell. Still, she hadn’t asked Gillian to leave her alone. Even though there was one moment, earlier, when Sam had looked long and hard at her. Gillian had expected to be sent home, but Sam had kept quiet. For Gillian, being here at Sam’s apartment was more than just a baby step. A small blossom of hope had begun to grow inside her. She looked up at the house. It wasn’t huge and probably held around ten apartments. “So, which floor are you on?”

“Ground level. Thankfully.”

“All right.” That really was a relief. Less walking was good. Very good. “Do you want me to help you inside?”

“No.” Sam took a few steps before she murmured, “Thanks.”

Gillian followed on Sam’s heels, ready to jump as soon as Sam’s knees buckled.

With shaking fingers, Sam took keys out of her pocket and opened the front door before she turned around. Sam wet her lips. “So…would you…”

Gillian held her breath.

“I mean…do you want to go home?” Sam’s face was an unreadable mask.

Gillian’s first impulse was to say yes, to turn around and leave. She knew that she was a coward. And leaving now would be her way out, the coward’s way out. And she would hate herself later for running instead of fighting for a chance to win Sam’s trust again. Maybe she would also hate herself if she said no, stayed and found no redemption. But then at least she wouldn’t be a coward. She cleared her throat. “I’d rather stay a bit with you. If that’s okay.”

Sam turned around and stepped through the open door. “All right.”

From the outside, the house was nice if a bit run down. Inside it was light and looked well-cared for.

Sam opened the door to her right and walked into the apartment.

Gillian followed and found herself in Sam’s living room. Cream-colored walls, a flat panel LCD television on the wall opposite a brown leather sofa that looked unbelievably inviting, and shelves full of books.
So, she’s a reader.
Gillian hadn’t known that. There was so much about Sam she didn’t have a clue about.

Dark rings had taken residence under Sam’s eyes and her face looked ghostly pale. “I need to lie down.” She walked into another room.

Unsure what to do, Gillian hesitated a moment before she followed. Her need to know that Sam was okay was stronger than the fear of rejection.

Sam was sitting down on her bed. “I’m still…could you bring me a T-shirt?” She pointed at the wardrobe.

“Sure. Wow.” Gillian couldn’t hide her surprise at the T-shirts, sweatshirts, and pants sorted into neat piles on the shelves. “That’s quite impressive. You really like strict order at home, eh?”

“Saves a lot of time,” came the grumbled reply.

Gillian’s own closet looked more like a war zone. She picked a comfortable looking T-shirt, the cotton fabric soft and smelling of bergamot and sandalwood, scents she would always associate with Sam. Gillian handed the shirt over. “Do you…Can you manage changing on your own?”

“I’m not physically handicapped, you know,” Sam snapped.

A palpable tension sizzled in the air.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Gillian answered, a bit more sharply than she had planned.

“I’d like to change. Either you leave or you turn around. It’s up to you.” Sam slowly sat up, grabbing the hem of her T-shirt.

Gillian turned to face the wall. A naked Sam wasn’t something she needed to see right now. Her senses, however, seemed to be of a different mind. The rustle of fabric triggered them and reminded her treacherous mind of the softness of Sam’s skin, the way her eyes turned nearly black when she was aroused, pupils expanding to swallow the light brown. Heat rushed through Gillian’s belly.
Don’t. Think. About. This. About her.

“I’m ready,” Sam interrupted her thoughts. “You can turn around now.”

Gillian looked at Sam, startled. Sweat gleamed on Sam’s cheeks and forehead. She was as white as a freshly bleached sheet. “You really need to lie down,” Gillian blurted.

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, I’ve been better but…Look, Gillian, I really appreciate you helping me and all that.” She rubbed her forehead and looked down at the duvet. “I don’t…I guess you need to be home or something, so…I think I can manage from here.”

Cold fear gripped Gillian’s heart. Was that it? Did Sam want her to leave? She had to be sure before she walked away. “Do you want me to go?”

Weary eyes met hers. “I don’t know. Why would you want to stay?” Sam’s voice cracked.

Maybe she doesn’t want me to go but believes I don’t want to stay
, Gillian thought, a spark of hope flaring bright.
Only honesty had a chance of repairing the gap between them, and she had nothing to lose anyway. “There’s more than one reason why I want to stay, Sam,” she said, pointing at the bed. “May I?”

The muscles in Sam’s neck tensed. Her jaw clenched and unclenched in turn. Finally she nodded.

Gillian carefully sat down on the edge of the mattress, close enough to be able to reach out and touch Sam but with enough distance so she wouldn’t feel crowded.
Please let me find the right words.
“I don’t have to be home until later this evening. I...” She swallowed around the lump in her throat. This wasn’t easy. “I want to talk about what happened in the coffee shop if you’re willing to hear me out.” She wanted to say so much more. The need to explain, to apologize burned inside her. “But for now I would like to take care of you and make sure you’re doing okay. If you’ll allow me to, that is.”

Sam looked up, a quick brush of their eyes, before her glance fell back to the duvet. She smacked her lips. “I feel like I’m under a dehydration curse.”

“Would you like some more water?” Amazed she had not been thrown out already, Gillian got up, ready to get whatever Sam asked for.

“Yeah. Thanks. The kitchen is the next door to the right. And Gillian?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being here. I can’t make any promises, all right?” Sam rasped. “But we can talk.”

“Thank you.” Gillian hurried into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water.

Sam gulped half the glass down before she lay down on the bed and turned her back to Gillian.