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“Temple…” I nearly whispered.
“Sam,” she replied in that femininely husky voice that fueled her success as a DJ.
Relocating my manners, I hopped up and pulled her chair out for her, her natural scent filling my nose, familiar and heady and intoxicating. Once I’d reclaimed my seat, I said, “You are so beautiful, love…just as beautiful as I remembered.”
Tilting her head to the side, she smiled, and my pants got a little tighter in the crotch area. “Thank you, Sam.”
Before I could respond, a waiter approached, taking our drink orders—wine for me, sweet tea for Temple. When we were alone again, she said, “I’m going to assume life’s been treating you well. You certainly look it. You’re staying here at the Sable?”
I nodded. “I am.”
“Then you’re rich, huh?”
Smiling, I shrugged. “I do okay. I’m no famous DJ with a syndicated radio show, though.”
“I do okay, too.”
That made my smile widen.
“You’ve barely aged. You look…good. Very good, Sam.”
“Thank you, love, but I see I’m not the only one who’s tapped into the fountain of youth. Time has done you well.”
Giving me a one-shouldered shrug, she said, “Eh, you know what they say about black not cracking.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a time or two, Ms. Lewis. It is Lewis, right?”
“No…it’s Camden. I’m married, Sam.”
My heart plummeted to my feet as my eyes shot to her left hand, where I could see a faint tan line on her ring finger.
“We’re getting a divorce, though, should be finalized any day now. My second one. Can’t seem to get this marriage thing right,” she continued. “But then again, relationships have never really worked out for me, you know? Shit, I can’t even maintain platonic friendships with people.”
Yes, I knew.
Regretfully.
My eyes found hers and my heart stuttered at the defeat I saw in them; all of her confidence seemed to have drained from her. This was my fault. Any heartache or pain she’d endured with other men was my fault, just like the heartache and pain I’d directly caused, so I said, “I’m sorry, Temple.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t your fault. At least the divorces aren’t.”
“Aren’t they, though? I…I owe you an apology, Temple. At the very least, I owe you that.”
Temple
When we met, he was a senior, and I was a junior. I was also an Army brat. This was yet another new school and new town for me, and I was already over it, wasn’t taking anyone’s actual or perceived shit, and so I basically became a full-time resident of detention.
He stood out to me—tall, dark, and excruciatingly handsome. I couldn’t understand why he was staring at me that first time we crossed paths. I mean, I thought he surely had a girlfriend. But he didn’t.
Two weeks after meeting him in detention, he rather abruptly asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, just for kicks and giggles, having no idea I’d fall for him, that he would become my greatest love and deepest sorrow rolled into one beautiful package.
Pulling myself back to the present, I stared at this man who still looked so much like the boy I’d wrapped my whole world up in all those years ago. His voice bore sincerity; his eyes were beseeching. He was genuinely remorseful. That was plain to see, but I instinctually knew his contention ran deeper than what happened between us on prom night. I knew in my soul that his repentance held within its core, a confession.
3
Sampson
Twenty years earlier…
