Touch & Go (21 page)

But even knowing that, he couldn't stop the
what-ifs
from coming. So yeah, he'd been distracted. And it was spilling over into the one place he needed to keep it together.

Sam parked in the alley and took the back way into the building at a run. Inside, he cranked the tap and jumped into the shower before the water heated, a blast of icy water slapping him in the face.

He scrubbed the shit out of himself, for once wishing he had one of those scented man soaps to cover up whatever stink he might be missing, and sent up a silent prayer he'd gotten it all. No time to dawdle. He'd been able to push the meeting back, but only thirty minutes.

He toweled off, got dressed, and was half out the door when he heard it. The muffled
thunk
of something hitting the floor upstairs.

Everything screeched to a halt.

Because that sound where there'd only been silence for so long meant one thing and one thing only.
Ava was back.

Now he was taking the stairs, two at a time. It didn't matter that she hadn't let him know she was coming home or that she hadn't returned his texts or calls. Because she was here and—
Jesus,
his heart was pounding—he was going to see her. Talk to her.

He needed to talk to her.

The apartment was unlocked, and there were voices coming from the back.

Yes.

He swung open the door and stopped dead—blinked and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Boxes. Everywhere. The hall floor had a line of blue painter's tape dividing it and on one side there were a handful of items—a rack of clothes, some toiletries, Ava's jewelry, her JAMBOX, and her TV. On the other side,
Christ,
it looked like everything else.

Maggie stepped out of the kitchen with Ford at her side. He was holding a box labeled dishes—storage.

“Look, she said she didn't want the coffeemaker either, but I think we send—”

Her voice cut off as her eyes landed on him.

“What the fuck is this?” Sam demanded, sick because he already knew.

Ford set the box down on the side with everything else and walked over, clamping a hand over his shoulder. “I'm sorry, man. I didn't want you to have to see this.”

Shrugging him off, Sam pushed farther into the apartment. “Is she here?”

Maggie said “yes” just as Ford said “no,” and Sam started thinking that punch he'd passed on throwing the week before might see its day in the sun after all.

But then Ford clarified. “She came into town last night to wrap things up at work. But she's not even staying here. She's downtown at some hotel and then she's going to come by for a couple of hours before she takes off tomorrow afternoon. Maggie and I have been packing things up for her this week while you were at work. The movers are coming on Sunday.”

Sam's breath worked itself out in a slow, uneven flow. “She hasn't even been back here?”

Maggie's eyes were sympathetic. “She's having a tough time with this. And…she says she just can't face you. I'm sorry, Sam.”

He nodded. Ford made an excuse about needing to check something at home and Maggie claimed she needed to call in to the gallery. And then they were gone and he was alone in Ava's apartment, surrounded by all the pieces of a life they'd shared—dismantled and boxed for storage.

Jesus Christ.
He looked at what she was taking: nothing but the necessities. Wherever she moved, her new apartment wouldn't be any more a home than that damned hotel room in San Diego.

And the rest of it. Everything that made this space
hers
—fuck,
theirs,
because they'd filled it
together.
All the gifts he'd given her over the years. All the photo albums and scrapbooks and picture frames. All the trinkets they'd picked up together—all of it she'd boxed for storage. Correction: she'd asked Maggie and Ford to box, because she didn't want to see them even one last time.

She didn't want a single reminder of him in this new life.

He couldn't fucking breathe. He couldn't stand to look at what she'd done to their life, to the place he'd loved—but he couldn't make himself walk away. He couldn't do what she was doing and just fucking leave.

Going to the box Ford had set down, he opened the flaps and looked at the plates they'd eaten a thousand meals on. They'd picked them out at the big Crate & Barrel downtown—debating for what seemed an eternity whether to go with the plain white or the pattern. In the end, Sam had told her he liked the pattern because it reminded him of her. It was pretty, but somehow both delicate and bold all at once. She'd clutched the cereal bowl piece of the set to her chest and grinned like—the dipshit she was in love with had just compared her to a dish.

Shit.
How
hadn't he known?

Why hadn't he seen?

Because he hadn't wanted to.
Because for him everything had been perfect. He had Ava to come home to every night. To laugh with and talk with and share all the parts of his life with that he didn't trust to anyone else. They planned meals and vacations together. Grocery shopped and cleaned the kitchen together. He was the man she shared her problems with. The man who fixed the drain at two a.m. and held her in his arms for three days after the officer came to her door with the news of a freak accident that took both her parents' lives in one night.

Jesus,
no wonder he'd been so quick to ask her to marry him. In his head, Ava was already his wife. Just one he'd never had to take the risk to try and win. He'd had all the benefits of being married—sans the sex, which until recently he'd gotten carry out—but he'd never had to make that total commitment.

He'd never had to lay his heart bare and ask her for the whole of hers…
because he'd already had it.

He'd been so stupid. So blind and selfish.

And now he was paying for it. Another look at the blue tape dividing the hall and he realized that while he hadn't had an actual wedding, this looked a hell of a lot like a divorce.

She'd given him the house and the friends.

He'd give her the holidays—

Fuck!
He wanted to throw up it hurt so bad.

Worse even than his mom telling him goodbye while that fucking awful void opened up in the place in his heart he'd had for her. Worse than that brutal moment when he learned the truth about her. And worse than the moment so soon after when he lost the woman who'd loved him the way his own mother never had.

All these years, he'd been structuring his life to defend against a pain like this.

All those fucking walls. What good had they done? None.

In the end he'd lost everything that mattered.

He felt the first fissure deep in his chest. Then the second. The third. And he knew what was happening. His world was collapsing, because the woman who was his foundation had left him.

Sam's foot pressed down on the accelerator, then eased off as he reminded himself he'd never get there in time if he rolled his truck on the highway—and more than that, Ava would never forgive him…

But
goddamnit
!

Sam had tracked Ford down the night before, demanding to know where Ava was staying. He'd been losing it and in the harsh light of day, had to give Ford credit for shutting him down with a “No fucking way am I telling you where my sister is when you're like this.” There had been some threats. Some name-calling Sam wasn't proud of and more he hadn't realized Ford had in him, followed by two hours of Sam calling one hotel after another before giving up for the night.

But he hadn't given up entirely, because what Ford
had
given him was a window. And the promise to let him talk to Ava before she left.

Only now—“You said she wasn't leaving until four o'clock. That's what you told me.”

Ford's heavy sigh sounded through the line. “That was the plan. But then she walked in half an hour ago and told me she'd changed her flight and needed to leave for the airport at noon.”

Sam's heart was starting to slam. “Okay, so stall her.”

“Sam, man. I'm sorry. A cab's coming. She didn't even want me to give her a friggin' ride to the airport.”

Jesus.
It was already eleven fifty and he was still fifteen minutes out. He wasn't going to make it.

Blue skies and cotton-ball clouds.

The warm sun and a gentle breeze carrying all the sounds and smells of summer in the city.

God,
Ava loved this little corner of her Wicker Park neighborhood. She loved the bench she and Maggie sat on every Sunday morning while they made their plans for the week, and the low rumble of the L rolling over its tracks. She loved the hipsters and the eclectic mix of people, art, music, and pretty much anything else you could throw together. And she loved that every sidewalk square, every corner, every restaurant, shop, and bar held a hundred different memories for her.

But those memories and the man who was so much a part of them were the reason she needed to leave. The reason her throat was tight with the threat of more tears and her eyes burned from the pressure of fighting them.

Almost done now.

Five more minutes and the cab would be there.

She'd be taking the first step toward a life that was all about the possibilities rather than restricted by the singular
impossibility
that had held her back for too many years.

This was a good thing.

The security door closed behind her, and then Ford sat down on the concrete steps to her right.

“You don't have to do this, Sis.”

He sounded tired and worn, maybe as much as she felt.

“But I
need
to.”

He nodded and they sat another minute in a silence she took as acceptance. Then, looking out at the park across the street, he sighed. “Still gotta minute. How about I wait here for the cab and call when it comes. You take one last look at your place. Make sure there's nothing you want to shove in your bag before you go.”

Pushing up from her stair, she started down the walk she knew as well as the one that had fronted the house she'd grown up in.

Her heart hurt as she forced herself not to look into the window of Sam's place. He wasn't there. She'd made sure he wouldn't be, because as badly as she ached to see his face and hear his voice, they'd already had their goodbye.

She couldn't go through it again.

Maybe she shouldn't have gone back into the apartment at all, because once she was inside she could barely breathe.

For six years this had been her home. She'd danced on the sofas that were now pushed against the walls and, after mixing a few too many cocktails at the bar Sam built into her living room, she'd skated down the hardwood halls in Sam's wool socks. She'd watched him demonstrate the extension duster he'd bought for her in the dining room. Made rotisserie chickens with him in the kitchen while they split a bottle of wine. They'd talked about everything and nothing in this apartment. Filled the empty spaces with all the things she'd loved. All the things she was leaving behind.

Her eyes slid to the right side of the hall, the stacks and stacks of books and trinkets, scrapbooks and CDs. The windup nun and the plastic dinosaur. Everything that had made this space her home—a home she and Sam had shared whether they'd slept with a floor between them or not—was going into storage because bringing it with her meant holding on to a past that wouldn't allow room for a future.

She knew it was time to leave. Past time. But Ford hadn't called about the cab, and the clean break she needed would happen whether she granted herself another minute or not. Her eyes had caught on the pink stuffed monkey Sam had won for her that last summer before she started school. Kneeling beside all the pieces of her life, she pulled the beloved prize free. It had stringy arms that weren't anything more than the fluffy fabric folded over on itself and a few stitches of Velcro attached at the hands. He'd told her it was for when she was too busy to make time for him but she still needed a hug.

She needed a hug now. Burying her face in the threadbare fluff, she choked back a sob.

When would it stop feeling like her heart was breaking with every beat?

Like her next breath wasn't waiting on the one thing that would never come?

Something soft brushed across the back of her hand and she let the tears fall. If her monkey just disintegrated when she needed him most—

Another soft brush against her skin, this one accompanied by something…
wet
?

Ava jerked back with a yelp, wrestling briefly with the hugging monkey stuck to the shoulders of her shrug before dropping her hands completely, too stunned to do more than gape at the silky pile of living, breathing fluff sitting at her knees and, well, and chewing unrepentantly on the hem of her cute pleated skirt.

She knew this puppy.

Reaching for the pink-collared puppy, she came up short, her left sleeve snagged on…something that was tugging with a might that matched the action at her skirt. A quick twist, and Ava gasped, finding a pair of gleeful brown eyes watching from above where little Mr. Green's teeth were buried in the pile of her sweater.

Ava laughed, snagging one attacker and then the other and pulling them into her lap as they wriggled and licked at her neck and anything their little pink tongues could reach. They were so warm and sweet and unexpected and exactly what she needed. It wasn't until the faded pair of blue jeans stepped into her field of vision that she came to the obvious conclusion about how these two puppies had come to be in her apartment.

They were Sam's.

“Buy yourself a couple of new best friends?” she asked quietly, and when she didn't look up at the man who wasn't supposed to be there, he crouched down next to her.

She should have looked away but his face was too good—too tempting. It was her favorite face in the world and it was right there when she'd dared to let herself think about how long it would be before she saw it again.

Eyes as blue and soft as the denim stretched across Sam's powerful legs met with hers.

“No, I like the one I've got.”

Another break in her heart. “Sam, I can't do this again. We've already said our goodbye.”

“I know.” He tickled Pinkie, then set her back in Ava's lap when the little tart tried to crawl over to him. “I'm asking for five minutes.”

“And if I don't give it to you?” she asked.

She saw a flash of the smile that had the power to destroy her.

“I'll meet you in San Diego and take it there. Five minutes, Ava. Promise.”

Five minutes. She knew the damage he could do in that time, but this was the end and he was already here. And since nothing would keep her from leaving, the part of her that couldn't stop worrying about Sam wanted him to have the closure he needed.

Pinkie had curled up in her lap, so holding little Greenbean closer, she leaned carefully against the wall.

“Okay, Sam. You have until the cab comes.”

He took a breath and she could see the relief roll through him. And then he started talking.

“I'm a builder. I've been building things from the day your dad put that first hammer in my hands,” he began, holding them up to study them from one side and then the other. “And mostly building has been good to me. It gave me a sense of pride and confidence when I was a hopeless little kid without either. It gave me a path and an independence when I was a teenager with nothing but uncertainty ahead. And it's led to a damn good career I sure wish your dad were around to see. But there are walls in my life I shouldn't have built.”

She didn't know where he was going with this, but the way Sam was looking at her, she couldn't look away.

“As close as we were, Ava, I put a wall between us that's been there for twenty years. At first it was out of respect for your family. They very literally saved my life. They gave me a home when I wouldn't have survived in the one I had. And so when it came to acting on my impulses about you, I couldn't do it.
I couldn't even let myself think about doing it.
And later, when I was on my own, and once in a while I'd see you looking at me in a way I knew you shouldn't—because you were headed to places I was never going to go and I thought you deserved better—I told myself it was just a crush. A passing thing that I owed to our friendship to forget about.”

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. If only he'd been right.

“So I'd add it to the fantasy file and find a distraction that wouldn't cost me everything I cared about if things went wrong. And Ava, that's a trick that's gotten a lot of mileage over the years, because I could never totally stop looking at you. But I thought you deserved better, so I put up one wall and then another and another.”

She understood. She'd always known what was at risk for Sam with her family. It was why she'd never pushed. Why she hadn't confided her feelings to anyone.
She knew he needed them.
All of them.

“Ava, I loved you more than I've loved anyone in my whole life, but I was too scared of what I had to lose to let myself actually
fall.
”

Her throat was tight, and the tears she'd never quite gotten control of were spilling free and fast as Sam continued.

“Here's what I know: Falling in love is about hope, and to me, hope meant disappointment. It's about believing in what's possible between two people, but I couldn't see anything more than what would happen if I lost you. And it's about trusting another person to hold your heart in their hands—but I'd already lost too much. I didn't have that kind of trust inside of me, so I couldn't allow myself to be so vulnerable. Even with you. Hell, Ava, especially with you. Because you were
everything.
And if we didn't work and I lost you too—I knew it would ruin me. It
has
ruined me.”

That was it. Her heart that wouldn't stop breaking shattered completely.

She couldn't survive this. She couldn't bear what it was doing to Sam, to either of them.

Only he wasn't done. “But then maybe it's saved me too.”

Her head came up and she searched his face through blurry eyes. “What?”

“Something changed when I saw Maggie and Ford packing up your place and I realized that as hard as I'd tried to protect what we had, I'd lost you, anyway. Suddenly, there was nothing worth protecting inside me and all the walls I'd built over the years, all the defenses, they crumbled. The parts of my heart that I'd closed off so long ago were open and raw and exposed. And I finally saw what I've been trying to deny for too long.”

Ava needed to leave. She couldn't listen to the rest. She couldn't let herself start to believe again—she couldn't stand to be wrong even one more time. She'd never recover.

She tried to stand, but then Pinkie pushed up on unsteady paws and plopped down again, and Greenbean let out a little snore while straight-legging her belly. They weren't letting her up—and there was no escaping what Sam said next.

“Every part of my heart belonged to you, Ava. I hadn't kept you out with those walls; all I'd done was keep myself from seeing the truth.”

Her shattered heart was pounding now. The tears pushing past her lids, as unrelenting as ever—but suddenly, somehow different.

“Sam, what are you saying?” she asked, her voice barely there.

“I'm saying you have my whole heart, Ava. I love you with all of it. And when I look at you—I
hope.
” He was crossing from his side of the hall into hers. “I
believe
in what we can be together.”

His hand was on the side of her face, his thumb sweeping the tears away.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be real.

“I love you, Ava. I'm
in love with you
—falling deeper and harder with every look at your beautiful face. I know I don't deserve it, but if you'll trust me with your heart one more time, I'll trust you with mine forever.”

Sam was holding his breath, his heart slamming against his ribs. Because this was it. He'd given her everything he had, and now he was praying it wasn't too little, too late.

Her palm was resting over his heart, and he didn't know if she was going to push him away or—

Her fingers balled in the fabric of his T-shirt, and she drew him closer until her trembling breath was coming warm against his lips, only a scant inch separating them. “Tell me again.”

She was so unsure, like she couldn't believe what he'd said.

And how could he blame her, after everything he'd put her through?

“I'm in love with y—”

That was it. As far as he got, before she pulled him in the rest of the way and he had her sweet mouth beneath him, her arms locking around his neck holding him close. Closer. And—