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Sam drops his hands from my face as he steps away, turning around in the rain. His head falls back as the rain continues its assault upon us. My heart is drumming against my chest threatening to break free.
Chapter 16
Samuel
The raindrops fall, a symphony of liquid notes, but my gaze remains fixed upon her. She stands there, a vision carved from moonlight and stardust. Her eyes, deep pools of mystery, hold secrets that beg to be unraveled. The delicate curve of her lips, a half-smile, hints at stories untold. And her hair, a cascade of red silk, dances with the wind, defying the storm.
In this tempest, she is my lighthouse, guiding me through the chaos. Her presence ignites a fire within me, a warmth that defies the cold rain. I wonder if she knows the power she wields—the way her laughter can chase away the thunder, the way her touch can heal wounds unseen.
As the rain continues its relentless assault, I find solace in her existence. She is my refuge, my muse. I am a moth drawn to her flame. Nothing can diminish her radiance; it only grows stronger with each passing moment. I stand here, drenched and mesmerized, lost in the storm but found in her beauty.
The rain intensifies, its rhythm echoing the rapid beat of my heart. She glances at me, her eyes holding so much emotion. Without hesitation, I step closer, needing the warmth only her soul can give. The raindrops cling to her lashes, glistening like diamonds. I reach out, brushing a droplet from her cheek and she smiles.
The world fades away, leaving only her and me—a flame burning against the darkness. And as the rain washes away our pasts, I know that this moment is a beginning, an unwritten chapter waiting to unfold.
“I’ll say it then. . For years I sat on the sidelines of your life never giving us a chance because–” because I was a fucking coward, but no longer. I run my hands over my face trying to find the perfect words. I grasp her cheeks in my hands eliciting a magnetic pulse that races through me.
“Fuck all the excuses, mine and yours. You’re mine, sunshine. Do you understand me? You are the one for me. You always have been, but circumstances were never right but now…now there is nothing in our way. It’s our time now. When you walked onto that rooftop, I felt your presence before I even turned around. This is where our story begins. Life is too short to hold back any longer. Tell me you don’t feel the same. Tell me this isn’t what you’ve always wanted.”
Her emerald eyes, like shards of jade, pierce through the veil of my composure. Each blink, a razor’s edge, flaying my defenses. I stand there, vulnerable, caught in the crossfire of longing and fear.
She reaches up to brush the hair from my eyes. Her gentle touch, like a whisper of silk against my skin, sends shivers down my spine. The way her fingers trace the curve of my brow, brushing away stray strands of hair, feels like an intimate secret shared between the two of us. It’s as if she holds the power to unravel me completely, leaving me breathless and yearning for more.
“Sam, of course it's what I want. It has always been you for as far back as I can remember.” Her words send jolts straight through my heart. I lift her up against me tightly and her legs wrap around me as our lips crash together in a fevered kiss. Our moans tangle together as we rock back and forth.
“Home?” I whisper against her lips. When her head tilts slightly, lips pressing against mine, her eyes lock onto mine with a nod. It’s a silent agreement, a shared desire. Shifting her in my arms, I pull the door open to my car, setting her inside.
“Wait! What about my car?” she questions.
“I’ll take care of it.” I reach in to buckle her then kiss her temple. I race around to the other side seeing the discarded towel on the ground. I throw it into a nearby dumpster. I’ll buy her ten more.
Jumping into the car, the engine purrs to life. Marcy slipped off her shoes and has her legs pulled up against her body shivering. I can't have that. I have this deep rooted need to protect her from everything, even sickness. I crank up the heat and reach in the backseat for a hoodie I threw back there the other day.
“Here, put this on until I can get you into some dry clothes.”
“T-thank you.” Her teeth are chattering as she reaches out with trembling fingers to grab the sweatshirt. I turn up the heat as we head back toward the city. The gentle notes of the music envelop us, creating a cocoon of tranquility. It’s as if the melody knows our unspoken words, weaving them into the fabric of the car. The silence feels like a shared secret—a comfortable pause in our conversation.
Darkness falls over the roads with the exception of the street lamps as the storm continues to blast from above. The normal chaos of New York City is eerily quiet, allowing our journey to be a quick and easy one. As I park in my usual spot at home, I look over to find Marcy fast asleep bundled up in my sweatshirt. My eyes trace the outline of her soft face against the dark features of the car. She glows bright without trying, beautifully mesmerizing. I truly don’t know how I kept my distance from her for so long but once I felt the electricity in her touch at Matt’s funeral and again at her party, our fates were sealed.
Looking out of the window at 40,000 feet above ground, my mind wandered back to the expression on Marcy’s face after I kissed her. When I came home for Matt’s funeral, I didn’t anticipate finding my best friend’s younger sister to have grown into such a gorgeous woman since we had been gone. I know the years drifted by but I didn’t expect them to have affected her so much.
When Matt and I left, Marcy was a silly fourteen year old with braces, but when she opened that door I felt like my brain misfired. Gone were the slouched shoulders, braces and frumpy clothing, replaced with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen, perfect posture and clothing that hugged her curves in all the best ways. She was a vision, a goddess. Fucking stunning.
What was she doing right now? Was she crying? Did she need me? Did she hate me? The questions cycled through my mind so much that I debated reaching out to her but as soon as I picked up the phone or began an email, I would decide against it, telling myself that she wasn’t thinking of me.
I’ll never forget the way her black lace dress made every man at the funeral turn their heads. I wanted to snap them all off for daring a glance at what wasn’t theirs. Not that I believed Marcy to be mine. But fuck did I want to fall to my knees and beg. I knew her. I grew up with her always tagging along. I’d always loved her but somewhere along the line it blurred into something more. More time thinking about her witty comebacks, more dreaming about how her red hair fell in waves down her back and more fantasizing about her pouty lips on mine. She was everything I wanted but never thought I would deserve.
When Marcy and I ran through the rain after the funeral something came alive inside me. It was like I had been a zombie over the past week just going through the motions until she lit me up, mending the part of me that had died with Matthew. I never intended to kiss her but when I pressed her up against the limousine there was a fire in her eyes that I knew mirrored mine. My hands cupped her cheeks as the rain around us seemed to slow like we were in the eye of a storm. It was just us. Me and her. Together. Suddenly everything made sense but nothing was as it seemed and so I fled.
The hurt I saw in her eyes gutted me more than anything had in my life. I knew I couldn’t be what she needed while I was in the service. She had already lost so much and I couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason more tears ever touched her cheeks again.
Once I got back to base, I threw myself into work and missions. I worked harder and longer to keep the memories at bay. It was going for the most part until a package arrived for me. For a moment, I thought it was from Marcy until I opened the letter.
Dearest Samuel,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you’re healthy and happy. I know the toll of losing a best friend can take on a person. The heart breaks in a unique pattern each time, taking a special person to glue the pieces back together in their own way. The heart may never be the same but in many ways it's better and more beautiful than before.
Do you remember the lovely antique Japanese vase that you asked me about once? Well, I bought it because of its intricate design. Once you asked me about it, I began researching the item. I came across the word ‘kintsugi’. It’s an old technique for repairing broken ceramic. Instead of trying to piece it back perfectly, the Japanese believed there was beauty in flaws. So, they made the glue gold before adhering it together again. Everyone would know that it had been broken at one time but would see the piece as more exquisite and meaningful than it was to begin with.
