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Afterwards we lay entwined in bed, silent for a long time. It's more than a comfortable silence, it's blissful.

Sam runs his fingers lightly over my skin as I trace the lines of muscle and sinew on his chest and stomach. I can't seem to stop touching him.

"Ror…" His voice is low and gravelly.

"Mmm?" Sex with Sam is always incredible, but it's this part, the part afterwards, when we're lazy and sated, just touching and talking that I love the most.

"I want you to promise me something," he says.

"Boy you must feel like it's your lucky day," I tease.

"I've never felt luckier." But there's no jest in his tone, and I'm surprised by his seriousness.

I stare up at him, waiting for his request.

"If you ever feel, you know, overwhelmed, like you can't handle it—
us
—I want you to promise you'll talk to me. That you won't just… run away."

I swallow anxiously. We never did talk about the night I left him here in Miami. I never told him the real reason I ended it. I guess its' my turn to confess.

I take a deep breath. "I have to tell you something."

Worry lines instantly mark his perfect face and I talk fast, desperate to vanquish them.

"The night we broke up—"

"You mean the night
you
broke up with
me
and then got on a plane in the middle of the night," he corrects me. I guess I deserve that. I look away.

"I was just trying to protect you," I say weakly.  

"You—wait,
what?"
he asks, puzzled.

I know I have to explain myself. "Look, Sam, we'd been together for a day and you'd already gotten into two fights because of me, got accused of assault and battery, and then got taken away in handcuffs for an entirely different reason, also because of me. You're a straight A student and star athlete heading off to freaking
Columbia
, and then twenty four hours with me and your entire future's at risk. I couldn't—"

Sam sits up and pushes away from me. He scoots over, like he needs to put distance between us, and it twists my gut.

"So you're saying you were fine with us, you just thought you'd push me away to
keep me out of trouble?"
His words are an accusation, and I suppose I deserve that, too.

"Like I said, I was trying to protect you," I repeat shakily.  

He stands from the bed. More distance. I hate every inch between us. I pull the sheet up to cover my body; Sam stands there, though, completely unabashed by his nakedness.

"You're not my fucking mother. I don't need you to decide what's best for me like I'm some little kid." He shoves his hands through his hair. "Do you have any idea how hard these past two months have been for me?"

I do, actually. I felt every ounce of that pain. But I don't say anything, because having his anger trained on me is debilitating. Even if it's well deserved.

"You lied to me. You used my promise not to pressure you against me." His voice is low and full of disappointment and he can't even meet my eyes as he turns, pulls his underwear back on, and walks out the glass door to the balcony.

I don't know what to do. I want to follow him, to apologize, but he doesn't seem to want anything to do with me right now.

Vaguely I'm aware that it isn't fair. That I forgave him almost immediately for the lie that caused my panic attack this morning—the one
he
told to protect
me
. But at the same time, I'd rather endure that again than the last two months of torment. I slip my tank top over my head, pull on my cutoffs, and just sit on the bed waiting.

Five minutes feel like a lifetime, and they're all I can grant him before I make my way after him. He leans on the rail, staring out at the waves crashing languidly on the sand in perfect rhythm twenty stories below us. It would be peaceful if I weren’t feeling such turmoil in my heart.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I really am. But… I love you, Sam. I loved you then, and I love you now, and I just thought… I thought that you'd be better off without me." My voice is quiet, but earnest.

"
Better off without you
," he mutters bitterly. Finally, he turns to face me. "What do you think now, Rory? Was I better off?"  

I loathe his sarcastic tone. It cuts me with every word. "I think… I think it's hard for me to come to terms with getting you into fights, into trouble. I think that two days after we got back together you took another giant risk framing Robin."

Sam glares at me. "Except I told you that's been in the works for weeks. We weren't even speaking when I went to meet with my father," he replies.

It would have surprised me a month ago, but not anymore. "I realized that I was wrong, Sam. That whether we were together or not you were still looking out for me. It's why…" My frustration grows, snowballing with each breath I take.
Does he think this was all easy for me?!

"Do you think you're the only one who suffered? It killed me—telling you I wanted to be friends! I missed you so damn much. But he was going to come after me again! He may not have really sent that message, but he wasn't going to just let it go. He was going to hurt me, and if you were my boyfriend he was going to hurt you too. You could've gotten killed! You think I could live with myself knowing—"

I'm only aware I'm sobbing when his arms wrap around me and pull me into his strong chest, cutting off my rant. He doesn't say anything, just holds me and rubs his palm soothingly up and down my back, letting me cry out the memory of that terror. Of the fear of knowing Sam could become collateral damage of my choices.

I'm afraid to pull back and look at him, so scared he's only holding me because of my pitiful tears, that he won't forgive me. "I'm sorry I lied. I'm so sorry Sam. But I just thought that if I gave you up as something more, then I could keep from really losing you. Because if he… Oh, God, Sam, please don't hate me," I plead with him. I don't know what else to do. I just got him back, and the lie that broke us up in the first place might destroy us before we ever even have a chance.

He pulls back then, but doesn't let me go, and it compels me to finally meet his gaze. But his words are the last ones I'm expecting.

"Cam's death wasn't your fault."

They startle me, and I try to pull away, but Sam doesn't release me.

"This doesn't have anything to do with—"

"The hell it doesn't."

I blink at him.

"You think you're to blame for his accident, and you're not. And you broke my fucking heart because you were afraid of history repeating itself."

My lips twitch in the mimic of a reply, but I don't actually have one. He knows me too well. He knows fucking everything, and right now I hate that. There's no point in denying it, so I don't. Instead, I correct him on the part he got wrong.

"I am to blame."

Sam shakes his head, and something tells me he was expecting my response. I hate that too.

"It was a car accident, Rory. He made the choice to get into that car in that weather. I'm pretty sure you told me you did everything you could to prevent him from getting involved."

Exactly
. "I lied to him too. I told him Robin was still out of town so I could have time to file the police report early the next morning, so Robin would be arrested by the time he even woke up. But he read my text messages while I slept. By the time I woke up, he—" I choke on my own words. I can't finish the sentence out loud, but in my mind the words ring loud and clear—he
was dying.

"So you think you should have been the one out on the road that morning instead." Sam seems almost offended.

"I…" I trail off. I don't know what to say. It's not that I think I should have died in Cam's place.

Or maybe that's exactly what it is.

I shrug, finding the waves that Sam seemed to have found so fascinating moments ago. "The fact is, if it weren't for me, Cam would still be alive."

Sam shakes his head. "You've got to stop measuring how things would have been if it weren't for you. Or if you're going to keep on asking yourself what would or wouldn't have happened if not for you, well then at least look at the whole picture. Cam would have been miserable without you—"

I stop him, I can't listen to this. "You have no idea—"

"He would have been without his best friend, whom he loved, without you."

I gasp and pull out of his arms. Sam is taking this way too far and I'm shocked at his gall. I glare at him, my blood on fire and my eyes awash with tears that I refuse to let fall again. "Don't you dare talk about him. You weren't there!"

Sam takes a step forward, and I take an answering step back. How could he bring Cam up like this? He doesn't know!
He wasn't there!

He runs his teeth over his bottom lip, and I can see in the tensing of his muscles that he wants to reach for me, but he doesn't. He wants to comfort me, but he doesn't want to push me, and so he keeps his arms trained stiffly at his sides.  

"But I'm here," he whispers insistently.

I blink at him, my vision blurred by unshed tears that I will away fervently.

"I don't have to have been there to know how he felt. I know how
I
feel. I know he chose to take a risk that morning, and I'm sorry it got him killed, Ror. I'm sorry you had to lose your best friend. I'm sorry you're hurting, that you may always hurt for losing him. But
I'm here
. And I know that I would do anything for you. I would do anything to protect you, to keep you safe. And if that means putting myself at risk to do it… well, it wouldn't stop me."

I watch him intently, half in shock that he's talking about Cam, but mostly I'm just soaking in his words. Processing hearing him say he'd do anything for me. I don't want him in any kind of danger over me. Not ever. But there's a strange kind of comfort, of security, in hearing it. In feeling like I have someone who will look out for me. Who cares for me.

Who loves me.

And for the first time I feel my guilt over Cam's death start to lift from my shoulders, if only marginally. Because even though I would take it back in a microsecond, for the first time I consider that given the choice, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would always stand by his decision to defend me. It sure does sound like Cam.

"No one's to blame for that accident, Ror. Not even
that motherfucking bastard
. And from what I know of your friend Cam, he understood the risk he was taking. And he still took it. For you. Because he wouldn't have been able to live with himself otherwise. And he definitely wouldn't have been able to live with himself if it were you who ended up in an accident that morning." Sam takes a deep breath." He knew what he was doing, Ror. It's not your fault," he insists. "I know because I know that I'd risk my life, my future, to keep you safe. No matter what it takes, and I won't apologize for it either."

They're beautiful words, but they're also terrifying.

It takes me a few moments to find my voice, and when I do, it's weak and tremulous. "That's just it, Sam. How could I survive if something happened to you?"

"It won't."

"You can't know that!" He doesn't know what it's like—the suddenness of death. Cam was there one minute, holding me and comforting me, and the next, he was gone forever.

"You're right. I can't. But I do know that whatever happens, whoever tries to hurt you, whatever ends up happening, I'm always better off for being with you. There's no kind of life worth giving you up for," he says meaningfully.

"Well maybe I just feel the same way. What then?"

Sam smiles wistfully. "Then maybe I understand why you did what you did."

There's a long silence where we just stare at one another, at an impasse, and at the same time, coming to an understanding.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," I whisper.

"I'm sorry for being a total hypocrite."

I don't bother pretending I don't know what he's referring to. The lie of the Facebook message may have lasted only a few hours, but it came from the same place, one of wanting to protect the person he loved, and it caused pain. And I know just like me, he regrets the lie, regrets the pain, but doesn't regret where it came from.

"No more lies." It's my promise and my request.

"No more lies, baby," he agrees before pulling me back into his arms.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I
lead Rory back inside and guide her back to our bed. It still irks me, knowing the real reason she ended things with me. All this time I blamed myself. All of the things that upset her—my fighting, almost getting arrested—I was sure it was too much for her to handle. That
I
was. After all, it was what she told me. And now to find out that she'd blamed herself, that she thought she was protecting
me
…I can't help it, it makes me angry.

But not with her.

With myself.

I should have known what she was doing. And if I wasn't so blinded by my own self-loathing, I would have.

It makes perfect sense of course. I knew she blamed herself for that accident. She told me as much.

He died Sam, and it was all my fault.

I should have nipped that in the bud back then. But she wasn't ready to hear it. I hate that she lived in such fear
for me
. That she ended us because she blamed herself for the death of the last boy she loved and she couldn't bear the thought that I could be next. It wasn't rational, but I understand it all the same. I just wish I knew it then, wish I could have talked sense into her.

All of this heartache has been for nothing.

But at the same time, I finally understood something.

That Rory really loves me. That she loves me like I love her.  Enough to sacrifice her own happiness for my well being. To know that she loved me all this time, that she was hurting all this time, just because she thought it was the right thing for
me
… it's pretty damn humbling.

"How could you ever think I could hate you?" I murmur as I run my lips over her collarbone.

"I… You were so mad," she says nervously.

True. "I'm going to get upset sometimes, Ror. But I could never hate you. Don't ever think that," I tell her.

She sighs. I love the sound.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." It's probably not the best time to bring it up, but we don't exactly have a whole lot of time.

"What?" She asks, watching me warily. I guess the last time I said that it started that argument. I hope this doesn't start another one.

"Come with me to the prom." Shit. Too blunt. I meant to ease into it. Her eyes widen and I watch her long, delicate throat as she swallows anxiously.

"I don't think I can, Sam." But she sounds unsure.

"Of course you can," I encourage her.

She shakes her head. "Sam, I want to. I want to do everything with you. But school dances… they're a trigger. And anyway, everyone's had their plans made for months, prom is in a week!"

I lean down and nuzzle her. "It's not a school dance. It's not in the gym; it's at a country club. It's more like a wedding reception than a homecoming dance, Ror. Plus, barely anyone will even dance. We'll sit around our table and talk with our friends and pick at our food, then we'll go to the Hamptons for the rest of the weekend. It will be fun. And we already have a party bus and everything, all you need is a dress. And God knows you'd look beautiful in anything. You can wear your jeans for all I care." She'd still be the most beautiful girl in the room.

A small smile. I'll take it. "It's not in the gym?" she asks, obviously the trigger she was worried about.

I shake my head.

"You really want me to come?"

Now I shake my head incredulously. She's ridiculous. "Yes, baby. My friends would never let me get out of it, and I would never take anyone else." I look at her meaningfully. "I really want you to come."

She groans. "Ugh, fine, I'll go to the stupid prom," she concedes.

Yes.

I grin widely in triumph. "Suddenly I'm looking forward to next weekend," I admit.

Rory smirks. "What about this weekend?"

I smirk right back at her. "Let's just say I can't wait for Chip to drive back home so I can have you all to myself."

"You have me all to yourself right now," she says wryly.

This girl.

"Like I said, I've never felt luckier."

We don't make love again, though I definitely could. I always could with her. But I don't want her to think this is only about lust. It isn't. Instead, I just hold her, and we talk. She tells me how it felt to listen to me flirting with that girl in that bar and I apologize, but I also tell her that if it's what made her come to her senses and take me back, then I don't regret it. I was never going to hook up with that girl.

I tell her how it all felt for me. Trying to pretend she was nothing more than a friend. Wanting her all the time. And then hearing her call me a friend after we made love in her bedroom. My voice cracks at the memory. Rory tears up, and I kiss her cheeks dry. She tells me she thought I hated her after that. It amazes me all over again—how she could possibly convince herself of such a thing. She has more insecurities than she lets on and I need to be mindful of them. I need to tell her how I feel about her more, and I resolve to do just that.

I tell her I want her to relax after the stress of the last two days, so I call down to the spa and book her a manicure and pedicure. My mom and Bits always say it's what they do to relax, and since I'm pretty sure Rory wouldn't be up for a full body massage, even with a female masseuse, it's the best idea I've got.

I tell her I'll ride with Chip to take her mom to the airport so he doesn't have to drive back alone, but really I want to get to know him a little better. I also may have a few questions for him.

Rory goes to her mother's room to say goodbye and I go with Chip to get his car from the valet. We both hang back while Rory and her mom hug each other and exchange emotional, but apparently celebratory, words. Rory heads down to the spa, and Amy, Chip and I climb into his pickup. He really is a country kid, through and through. It surprises me that he's going to school in New York, but then again, I get the sense that he feels alienated from his peers in his hometown and I suspect it has more than a little to do with his choice to support Rory, and it wins him more points in my book.

I help Amy with her bags at the airport and I'm a little startled when she pulls me into a bear hug and thanks me for being there for her little girl. It's weird to hear. Sure, I'd kill for her little girl, but I also just fucked her little girl senseless barely two hours ago. And now I'm thinking about fucking her again.

Shit.
Grandma Lena, Grandma Lena, Grandma Lena.

Amy hugs Chip, too, their goodbye a little more drawn out, and then we head back to the hotel.

We're silent for a few minutes, each feeling the other out. I know he must have as many questions for me as I do for him.

"So…" he says finally. "You and Rory have gotten pretty close," he observes.

That's what he's going with? "You could say that."

"Can't say I was expectin' it. She only moved up north, what? Six months ago?"

Actually it's been less than five, but who's counting? "What can I say—we hit it off." I don't want to give him details about my relationship with Rory, but then, I do want information from him.

"She's been through a lot," he says pointedly. I'm not sure I get his meaning.

"I know that."
Obviously
. Does he think I thought we just came down here for a quick vacation?

"You seem to really care about her…"

He's fishing. I resent it. But I also appreciate that he cares about her enough to pry. So I give him the truth. "I love her."

He nods like he was expecting it, but also like he needed to hear it.

A few more minutes pass before he speaks again. "You know, I didn't just mean about Forbes. When I said she's been through a lot…" He glances at me, and I wish he'd keep his eyes on the fucking highway in front of him. "You know about Cameron Foster?" he asks.

"Yeah. She told me what happened."

Chip nods. "It was hard on all of us. But for her… it's what sent her over the edge." This is it, my lead in. I shouldn't need to ask. I should be secure enough in my relationship not to feel threatened by her past. But here I am, just the same.

"What was their deal?" I ask him, feeling like the world's biggest fucking pussy. But this might be my only chance to really understand what I'm dealing with here.

Because I can accept that she loves him. I can accept that he'll always be here, in everything we do, because he's a part of who she is. I'm okay with that, honestly. I can even accept that they may have had unresolved feelings that went beyond being platonic best friends. But I need to know how deep that went.

Because as much as I wish it wasn't true, her heart has a past.

She had real feelings for
that motherfucking bastard
at one point, too. After all, she stayed with him for months, even before he started hurting her.

And she had his fucking football tee shirt by her bed.

And then the day after they broke up, she was making out with her best friend, who she loved, and who certainly loved her. And while her heart has a past, mine has known only her, will only ever know her.

So I need to know what we're taking with us into this relationship. Because I'll do whatever it takes to keep her, to make her want to stay with me.

Chip watches me curiously, as if vaguely suspicious of my angle, but also kind of like he understands why I'm asking, and that pisses me off. I don't want it to be understandable. I want to be overreacting. I want there to be nothing to be worried about.

I don't blink. I just wait for him to answer me.

Finally, he sighs and shakes his head. "They had a special bond, you know?" he says.

No, I don't fucking know.

Yes, I do know.

"They were like brother and sister… but then
not
brother and sister, you—"

My glare tells him that asking if
I know
again isn't the best strategy in making me take this any better. I just hope it doesn't make him change his mind about opening up.

He shakes his head again, as if amused by me, and that pisses me off even more. But he keeps talking so I let it go.

"He was in love with her. Cam. Always. Since we were little kids… I mean, we all loved Rory. But Cam… it was just different," he says.

I don't say a word. I just listen, trying to understand.

Chip sighs again. "It's not like he talked about it. It was just obvious to most of us. In the way he treated her, the way he talked about her. He spent most of his time with her… He was my best friend, but she was his best friend. We were all close, but he just… he lived for her. That's the best way to explain it.

"Cam was the shit, too. He was good at sports, ridiculous at football, he just wasn't as into it as he should have been. He liked writing shit, had a journal. Never let me near the thing… And Rory loved him, too…"

My heart stills. I hold my breath. I hate hearing about her feeling for another guy the way she's supposed to feel only for me. I know it isn't fair to be upset over her past. But it's not like I'm angry with her. I'm just jealous that another man had her heart before I did, when she's the only one to have ever even come anywhere near mine.

"But not like he loved her… She was also naïve. You know, she was friends with all guys, and we were talkin' about her tits before she even realized we'd noticed she'd grown them."

He stops talking abruptly when he realizes I'm barely holding myself back from clocking him. I know how twelve year old boys talk about girls, and the thought of him talking about Rory like that makes my already doubly pissed off mood land straight into fucking mad.

I notice Chip swallow nervously, and though I'm trying my damnedest not to show my feelings about that last fucking comment he made about Rory, I'm not sure I succeed.

"We were guys, and we didn't talk about this stuff in front of her, so no one did. Until she started hanging out with these bitchy chicks junior year. That includes her dickhead ex's extra-bitchy sister. So Rory kinda went from innocent late bloomer to thrown to the fuckin' wolves in a matter of months."