Living With Regret (14 page)

His finger moves beneath my chin, bringing my eyes up to his bright brown ones. “Yeah, what did he say?”

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I try my best to pull sugarcoated honesty out from within. Sam’s heard this over and over since he moved to this town years ago, but I hate that the words have to come out of my lips. “I shouldn’t be hanging out with that Shea boy.”

To my surprise, his lips curl. “You should probably tell your daddy that I’m not a boy anymore.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “I think anyone under the age of thirty is a boy to him.”

“I have almost seven years left until I reach manhood, huh?” He laughs, cupping my cheeks in his hands. I stare up at his eyes, unable to look anywhere else. His smile fades. My heart races. His breath whispers against my lips. Being with him would be so easy … I feel it when he touches me, when he looks at me. I’m just not ready. Maybe I never will be.

Wrapping my hands around his wrists, I pull his hands from my face. There was more than one connection that needed to be broken. “Can we get out of here? I’m trying to avoid getting the same speech from my mom.”

He reaches his hand up like he’s going to touch me again but quickly pulls it back, smiling. This is too much for me, and I think he knows it. “Let’s go before your mom catches you with the town bad boy.”

He starts walking backward toward the front of the car, and all I can do is stare, wondering what just happened. Maybe it’s my tired, worn out imagination playing tricks on me. That whole line between reality and fiction is blurred again. It’s blurry a lot lately.

When he reaches the driver’s side, I open my door and climb inside. Five minutes was all it took for Sam to turn my mood from upset to happy to confused. I need a distraction from this messed up state of mind.

“So what are we making today?” I ask as I buckle my seatbelt.

“Well, I think we’re going to make the king of all toy boxes. Think you can handle that?”

“I almost had straight A’s in high school. As long as I have a good teacher, anything is possible.”

He laughs, the deep throaty kind that breathes honesty. “I’ve heard he’s pretty good.”

I lift the lid on the Tupperware container I’ve been holding, letting the smell of fresh muffins fill the old Camaro. “I wanted to make a good impression on my new boss so I brought him breakfast. Do you think he likes blueberries?”

“Hmm. I’ve heard that he does.” He grins, glancing at me from the corner of his eye as we turn into his driveway.

As we drive down the long gravel driveway, I notice that not much has changed since the last time I was out here. An old, small farmhouse sits on one end of the property, and a large shop sits on the other side. There’s nothing flashy about it, but I don’t think it’s a reflection of Mr. Shea’s success. He was known around town for his beautiful cabinets and furniture pieces. My mom was one of his biggest customers, and still buys things from Sam from time to time. In fact, the table my family eats at every night was handcrafted by him a few years ago.

He pulls the car up next to the door and turns off the engine. I can’t believe that in all the time I’ve known Sam, I’ve never been here. When we were younger, his dad didn’t want us anywhere near it because he was afraid we’d get hurt. Then, as we got older, we just didn’t care. There were the fields and nothing else mattered.

“Ready to get your hands dirty?”

“I’m yours today.” The second the words escape from my lips, his smile falters. His lips remain parted as his eyes journey to my mouth then back up.

“Watch what you say. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep,” he says. His eyes hold mine for several seconds before he climbs out of the car.

Thoughts of what happened earlier flood my mind, but I push them away and hurry to catch up to him. “I was referring to work, Shea.”

He stops dead in his tracks, causing the Tupperware container to hit his back. Every muscle in his body is rigid, so much so that I don’t even have to touch him to know. “What I said has nothing to do with work, and I think we both know it.”

I let the words marinate as we walk inside. Before Cory and I started dating, I liked Sam in a way that was different than just friends, but I always felt like I was too young. And then, there was that day when he could have kissed me but he didn’t. I know Sam, and if he wants something, he takes it. He made me feel like he didn’t want me, like he didn’t feel the way I did. Besides, I’ve known him to go on dates every now and then, but I’ve never known him to stay with one person long enough to have a relationship. In high school, that was all I wanted. I wanted to feel love—what I knew then to be a deep, euphoric feeling—but now, I know that most things that come with a sense of euphoria also come with risk.

No matter what happens, I’ll never regret falling in love with Cory, but there have been times I’ve wondered what Sam was doing. Was he dating? Was he happy? Those thoughts faded quickly whenever Cory walked in the room, but now that he’s gone, I wonder what could have been.

And just like everything else, I have no right to even think about these things.

“ARE YOU SURE YOU
don’t want me to take you home?” Sam asks after he puts the last bracket on the massive toy box he’s making for the Burtons. Neither of us has said much this morning because we’ve been too busy sawing and sanding. It’s been nice … to just be with him.

“I’m okay unless you want to get rid of me. That box is going to need some finish before you deliver it, right?”

He runs his fingers along the top, going over a few imperfections a second time. “Having you around isn’t that bad,” he teases, “but let me make you some lunch before we get started on phase two. You’re too skinny.”

“Did you say
make
?”

“Yeah, I have a small apartment upstairs, and I make a mean sandwich.”

I laugh, standing to stretch my arms above my head. “Show me the way. If I don’t like your cooking, I’ll just eat the last muffin.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have much choice since I ate the last one an hour ago.” He stands, picking the Tupperware up off the floor. “See.”

Shaking my head, I follow him to the back and wait for him to unlock the door. A steep staircase awaits, but I follow like a stalker behind his prey, anxious to see what Sam Shea’s apartment looks like. There’s something so personal about entering his home, especially when there’s this steady hum of electricity between us. Since the stare down we had back at my house, and what he said when we got out of the car, I’ve been on constant alert. When he talks, I listen for the hidden meaning behind his words. When he looks at me, I search his eyes like they hold a secret code. I’m not ready for anything like a relationship just yet. Something about it feels so wrong.

It doesn’t mean I don’t think about it … I thought about it years ago before I even knew Cory existed. Obviously, the thought has crossed my mind a few times lately with all his touches and looks. It’s hard to tell if what I’m feeling is residual thoughts or the beginning of new ones. Maybe it’s all in my head because I’m going up to a guy’s apartment. The nervous energy travels through every inch of my body, almost enough to make me want to forget about lunch and run back down the narrow staircase. But the rational part of me screams loudly … I’ve been friends with this guy for over eleven years, and this skittish bullshit is ridiculous. I trust Sam, and he would never hurt me.

At the top of the stairs is one more door, which he opens easily, giving us access to a studio-like apartment. A half-wall separates the bed from the living area, and in the corner opposite the door is a small kitchenette. It’s not much, but the stained cement floors give it a modern design, and large windows give it an open, airy feeling. The whole place reminds me of Sam.

“What do you think?” he asks, watching my reaction carefully.

“I like it. It looks like you—contemporary yet simple.”

“Are you calling me a simple man?”

I shrug, walking toward the kitchen area. “No, you’re just not a flashy guy.” I stop, running my hand on top of the metal countertops, feeling the coolness against my fingertips. “I thought only restaurants had these.”

“Most people don’t like the look of them,” he says, standing on the other side of the counter.

“I do. They’re different.”

Looking up, I catch him watching me like I’m that scene in the movie that changes everything. The one the suspenseful music cues up to, leaving you breathless until the big reveal. It’s just Sam, the guy I’ve known for years, but there’s something different about this version of him. I hadn’t even noticed his hand coming up until his fingers brush my cheek and slide into my hair.

My first instinct is to escape his touch, move far enough away that he can’t reach me, but his fingers curl behind my neck, holding me in place. “You had a woodchip in your hair.” He loosens his hold on me but doesn’t break our stare.

I’m free to back away, but his eyes hold me in place like a belt fastened on the tightest notch. I’m pulled into something that’s impossible to escape.

“Rachel,” he breathes, closing the distance between us. The space around us is quiet. My mind’s been stripped of the ability to think clearly, making this ten times more intense than what happened this morning. I have no control as his eyes leave mine, making the journey to my lips.

And then, everything comes through with clarity. One reason to panic is drained away to make room for another, and I turn away, afraid and ashamed of what almost happened. Life gives us moments to get lost in, but I’m not ready for this one. No matter how many times I’ve thought about it in the past, I’m not ready for it. Not only that, but I don’t deserve it. Cory can’t have this. His heart will never race from merely having someone look him in the eye … it won’t beat at all.

A hand grips my shoulder, turning me back around. “Rachel, I know you felt it this morning,” Sam whispers. His eyes are desperate for the one thing I can’t give him. It’s all hitting me too hard, the powerful cocktail of regret and misery.

“Felt what?” I swallow hard, knowing exactly what he’s going to say.

“Us. We were never meant to just be friends.”

I take one step back.

He takes one step toward me.

“Don’t,” I say, shaking my head.

“Don’t what?” He comes a little closer. Another step and our toes would touch.

“Say stuff like that,” I reply, waving my arms up in the air. His shoulders slump in defeat. Sam hasn’t been on the losing side of many battles, but this is one he won’t win. I won’t let him.

“It’s the truth. You’re just too scared to admit it,” he finally says. He’s right, but he’s wrong. I don’t even know the difference anymore.

“I should probably go home,” I say, closing my eyes to hold in the tears that threaten.

“Stay,” he begs.

“I can’t. What just happened … I can’t,” I whisper.

“I’m not sorry. I got lost in you for a minute, and I’d do it again if you let me.”

A tear slips into my lashes. I can’t stop it. I can’t seem to stop him. “You deserve someone to get lost in. It just can’t be me.”

“Maybe you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to lose myself in.”

I start toward the door, swiping tears away. “No. Please don’t.”

“It’s true, Rachel. Every time I tried to be with someone else, I compared her to you. It was wrong, but when you know perfection exists, it’s hard to settle for anything less.”

I spin around, giving him a glimpse of what he’s done. When pain’s already hanging around the surface, it doesn’t take much to pull it back up. “I’m not perfect. Not even close.”

He steps closer. “But you’re perfect for me. That’s all that matters.”

“Why are you doing this now?”

He grimaces, searching my features for a hint of what to say. “I’ve done my best to hold back the last few months. Years actually. Today there was nothing to hold me back, not after I saw that look in your eyes earlier.”

Words rarely fail me, but nothing seems to be working right for me today. “I need to go home.”

He shakes his head, staring at me with sad brown eyes. “Please stay. I know you’re not ready, and I promise I’ll back off, but I want you to stay.”

“I can’t do this. Not now.”
Why won’t he just listen to me?
Looking up at the ceiling, I blink away tears. Sam and I could have been something … in another time. Maybe even a different life … that’s what makes this hurt so much. “Please just take me home.”

When my eyes land on him again, he’s pleading with me. I don’t give in. I won’t.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

I start down the stairs, and he follows close behind. I can’t see him, but I hear his boots hitting against the metal, a weightier sound than when we’d made on our way up. I wish things didn’t have to be this way. I wish he’d just made lunch like we’d planned. Why do things always have to get so complicated?

When my hand grips the knob at the bottom of the stairs, his hand wraps around my elbow, holding me back. “You don’t have to go.”

“Yes, I do.”

He lets go, allowing me to disappear through the door. I woke up with hope this morning, but all I got was a glimpse of it before reality hit again.