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I take a long shower, trying to wash away the day, trying to remove the image of Robin's glare, the memory of my father's accusations.

I slip on a camisole and the boxers I stole from Sam on our first night of spring break, and go lay down on the balcony in a chaise lounge. Even though Sam isn't here with me, it feels like he is. I can feel his support, his love.

I'm tired from the long day and from not sleeping last night, and so I let my eyes close for a little while as I wait for him to return from his walk.

I must fall asleep because my hair is dry by the time I become aware of his scent, of his strong arms slipping beneath my knees and back and carrying me to his bed. I don't even open my tired eyes, I just cling to him as he slips into bed beside me, and let myself drift off. In my barely conscious state I'm only vaguely aware of his whispered reassurances, promising me everything is going to be okay. I don't know if it's because I'm half asleep, or if seeing my old friend has affected me, or even if it's just Sam's love finally caressing its way into my psyche, but for the first time, I'm actually starting to believe him.

Chapter Nineteen

"
S
am."

I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to coax him awake. Sam's midnight blues lazily blink open to find me leaning over him, my hair hanging around my face like a curtain. He is beautiful when he sleeps. His lashes—too long for a guy, especially one with his rugged features—fan out over his cheeks, accentuating his sculpted bone structure. He's almost angelic, and I'd rather sit here on the bed and watch him sleep than disturb him. For a moment I forget why I even have to wake him.

He brings his hand up and threads his fingers through the hair at my nape pulling me down for a long, slow kiss.

"Mmm," he moans.

God, he tastes good, even just waking up.

I pull away laughing and he grins up at me. I suspect that in this moment he may have forgotten where we are, why we're here. My smile turns regretful because I know he's about to remember.

"I let you sleep as long as I could. We gotta get going," I say breathily, inexorably affected by his kiss, and a glance at the sheet bunched at his waist tells me I'm not alone.

I see the moment he realizes what we have to do today. He jumps up, suddenly anxious, and it's so unlike him that it gives me pause.

He turns and looks me over, as if to check for signs that I'm okay.

"Sam?"

He sighs, almost sounding relieved as he seems to assure himself that I am, in fact, holding it together. His behavior makes me wonder if he had a nightmare, and the thought makes my chest ache.

He leans down to plant a gentle kiss to my temple, and makes his way into the bathroom without a word.

At a quarter of eight Sam and I both receive a text from my mother.

Court delayed until after lunch. I'm at the Prosecutor's office. Everything is okay, just meet me at the courthouse at 1PM

I swallow anxiously, looking to Sam as if he might have the answers, but he looks just as puzzled as I am and even more worried.

All I know is this can't be good. I'm supposed to be testifying in a little over an hour and now I don't know what's happening.

Sam picks up his phone, looking nervous. "My phone needs to charge, Ror, can I borrow yours?"

"I just wanna call Chip first, he's supposed to meet us at court."

Sam nods slowly, almost reluctantly. He's not himself, and his reaction to this new development is feeding my anxiety, so I step out on the balcony to make my call, just wanting to give him some time to compose himself.

Chip doesn't answer so I text him instead. I decide to check my Facebook account. I usually only check it weekly—I was just telling Sam as much the other day—and I checked it on the plane. But I need to distract myself.

It's a mistake.

I have a new message, and though I've received a few of them from future classmates, I never expected to see this name in my inbox.

Or maybe I did. Maybe it was my worst fear, and the entire reason I was reluctant to make an account again in the first place.

I don't even know how he knew I had Facebook.

Robin hasn't changed his Profile Picture in the year since we've been out of contact, and it's his same smiling face, the same photo that incited my argument with Sam the night he attacked me here during spring break.

I stare at my inbox for what feels like an hour before I decide to open the message. Not opening it isn't going to make it disappear, and since it says he sent it last night around ten thirty, it's already been sitting there for hours.

I hold my breath, letting my thumb linger over the top slot of my inbox before I close my eyes and click it.

Rory,

I can't stand knowing you're right here, in a hotel a few miles away, but I can't see you. I can't stand watching you in court and not being able to talk to you. I can't stand hearing him talk about you being together. I won't stand for it. You are mine and I will never let you go.

Oh, God.

I gasp in a wheezing breath when I realize I haven't breathed since I clicked the message, but it feels like it won't reach my lungs. My pulse accelerates, and my breath races it.

Oh
,
God!

How could I have thought I was safe? What was I thinking?!

I'm instantly covered in sweat, my tank top sticking to my back, and then all too quickly black spots dot my vision, my head dizzy, the world spinning around me until my legs are overcome with pins and needles. I feel the rail of the balcony behind me and let it guide me to the floor.

I can't get my bearings. A steel band tightens around my rib cage, closing in on my lungs, and I just can't enough air. I'm going to pass out. I know it.

I try with everything I have to gasp in another breath. The loud, dramatic wheeze sounds as if it's coming from someone else, somewhere else. I try and try to fucking breathe but I can't stop thinking that he's going to come for me. I know it.

I will never let you go.

He's said it before. But now he's here, in the same city, and he could be anywhere. He could be somewhere in the hotel, just lying in wait.

He's going to kill me. He's going to kill
Sam
, I know it!

"Ror?" I can barely see him with my vision compromised. "Oh, fuck,
Ror!"

He's at my side, I know because I can feel his hands brushing the sweat soaked hair from my forehead, rubbing at my arm like it could be enough to comfort me right now.

I whimper.

I can't form words, can't warn him, when it's all I want to do. Terror overtakes everything.

He's coming! You've got to get away, Sam!

He needs to leave, to be far away from me when he finally comes for me!

If only I could communicate, if I could show him my phone, but I dropped it. Where exactly, when exactly, I don't know. I don't know!

Then he's slipping something in my mouth—
a pill,
I realize—and holding a water bottle to my lips.

I try to sip, try to swallow, but I can't even intake
air.

Baby, baby, baby.

He's been speaking this whole time, I realize, but I've barely heard him.

Swallow for me, please baby.

He's begging.

Pleading.

I want to beg and plead too.
Get out of here!

I'm sorry, baby. Please, baby! I'm sorry!

I can't even make out which are my thoughts and which are his words.

I focus all of my energy, all of my concentration, and I do it—I swallow the pill, bitter and chalky having spent too much time soaking in the water sitting in my mouth.

Encouragements.
That's it, baby girl. Thank you. Thank you, baby. I'm so sorry, baby.

It feels as if it gets stuck in my chest, further cutting off my windpipe, and somehow also as if it's grown, like there's a golf ball there instead of a little bar-shaped pill.

Just breathe for me now, okay?

Loud breaths. Like he's coaching me. Like a childbirth class I saw in a movie once.

In and out, in and out.

I listen to his long, deep breaths. They are calming. I try to mimic them.

My breaths come in double time to his.

But they come. Finally.

I breathe.

I breathe, and breathe, and breathe. Hours pass. Or minutes.

My vision is still black.

No, my eyes are just closed. I blink them open.

My vision is blurry, but I can see.

I'm not sitting on the ground. But Sam is. I've been pulled into his lap, my head cradled against his chest, his arms holding me, stroking my hair, breathing with me. Breathing for me.

"
Sam
." I breathe his name, a prayer on my lips.

Slowly I feel it—the magic of the pill. I sit there, letting him hold me, waiting, breathing. My vision clears, and I see my phone in his hand. He saw the message. Did he have time to read it? How much time has even actually passed?

"Fuck, baby, you scared the shit out of me," he whispers.

"I'm… okay." I'm not. I'm not panicking anymore, thanks to Sam and my medication, but I'm in danger. We both are.

"I'm sorry. So sorry," he murmurs, like he's still recovering from my panic attack.

But he has no reason to be sorry. I force another deep breath before I ask. "Why?"

Sam seems to startle. Like maybe he's coming back to the world with me. But he doesn't answer. Instead, he presses his forehead to mine, and I breathe in his breath like it's my lifeline.

"Everything is okay. Do you hear me? Don't pay it any fucking attention, baby girl. He can't touch you. He won't touch you."

He's so adamant, but the passion behind his words doesn't make them true. He can't control Robin. I'm not sure anyone can.

"He's not going to let me go, Sam. He's going to hurt me. He's going to hurt
you
." I whimper again at the thought, like a pitiful frightened puppy.

"No, baby girl. I swear to fucking God—you're safe. We're safe." He takes a deep breath and wipes the tears, or sweat, or both, from my cheeks. He stares intently into my eyes. "You saw the photos yesterday, yeah? Of what happened the last time he tried to hurt us?"

I saw them, yes. And I know Sam won that fight, that he's stronger. But Robin is crazy. Who knows
what
he might do?

"But—"

"I know you're upset, Ror, and I'm sorry. But baby, I need you to trust me. I am going to keep you safe. I promise you nothing will come of that message, okay? We'll report it to the prosecutor, and they'll revoke his bail. He's not allowed to contact you, remember? This whole hearing just became moot. He just violated the restraining order anyway."

My mouth drops open as I process his words.

Is he right?

Robin's not supposed to contact me. This is contact. This is a violation of the Injunction for Protection. Even if the judge believes he didn't know I'd be in Miami, that he didn't knowingly seek me out,
this
is undeniable.

I can't find words. I just stare at Sam, gaping.

He nods at me as if confirming what I'm finally starting to grasp.

"
Sam
." It's the only word I can form.

He brushes my hair from my face before his lips press hard against mine. He does it again, and again, in chaste, closed-mouthed, hard kisses.

Finally he lifts me up and carries me from the balcony.

"I can walk," I tell him.

"I know," he replies, but he doesn't put me down.

He tries calling my mom because I know I can't bring myself to say the words that Robin wrote, but he tells me it went straight to voicemail.

Well, we'll be at court in a couple of hours either way.

Sam orders room service and a in-room movie that I pay no attention. Sam keeps watching me, like he's checking to make sure I'm not going to panic again, and though I know I've earned his concern, what I don't understand is the hint of guilt that colors his features.