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I settle for pacing my living room, trying to think through my options. The police are a no-go—I know who did this, and involving them would only make things worse. Briefly considering calling Ben, I decide against it. His well-meaning concern would just muddle things. It's not fair to him. I made my bed by breaking things off with him, and now I need to lie in it.
Staying here would be dumb, and Sam would never turn me away. I grab my phone and purse, ready to leave for her place. Requesting an Uber, I step out, determined to find solace away from the chaos of my violated home.
Chapter three
Tilly
Istep out of the car at the curb, staring at Sam's place—a cute little beach bungalow that once felt like home. Even after the horrendous night I've endured, pulling up here feels right. Moving out was tough; it felt like Sam was getting rid of me in favor of her new life. I was downgraded to a side quest in her adventure.
I chuckle to myself as I approach the door, but as I'm about to insert the key, a sound from inside halts me. The door swings open, and there he stands.
Tommy. My jaw drops as my eyes widen. Thinking I might be hallucinating, I rub my hands over my face. When I refocus, he's still there. Looking a little disheveled, he's shirtless, with sleep still clouding his eyes, which widen in surprise when he finally realizes who I am. "Til?"
By the time his name escapes my lips, I'm already turned around. Seeing him has opened the floodgates and I need to go. Now. Tommy and I hadn't spoken since Sam’s trial last year. I'd deleted his number, trying to erase him from my memory, but clearly, it was impossible. Seeing him now, on top of everything else—my quasi break-up with Ben, my trashed apartment—it’s too much. The sight of him rips open a well of emotions, and my tears can't be contained.
The fact that Sam had kept his presence here a secret wounds me deeply. I’m not stupid. I know they’re still friends. Greg has let it slip a few times that Tommy stays with them when he comes to California for surf contests or to visit.
"Tilly!" Tommy's voice chases me, his bare feet slapping against the pavement. He catches my arm, spinning me to face him, and flinches at the sight of my tears. "Oh shit. What's going on?"
"Nothing. I was looking for Sam," I manage between sniffles. Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I lift my chin. He can't see me cry. I won't fucking let him.
"She went on her baby moon with Greg." I nearly smack my own forehead. Of course, the baby moon. They must be somewhere along Ventura by now, unreachable until Tuesday. It slipped my mind entirely with everything else that has been going on.
"Yeah, sorry. I'll call her in the morning," I mumble, already pulling out my phone. I need a new ride before this man sucks me into his world again.
Tommy runs a hand through his hair, and my eyes can't help but wander to his toned abs, noticing a dusting of dirty blond hair that leads down below his waistline. Was he always this sculpted, or is my shitstorm of a day just making everyone look like they walked out of an underwear ad? "I know I'm not Sam, but she wouldn't want me to leave you like this. I mean, come on, Til, you're obviously upset about something."
I shake my head, denying the need for his concern, but he persists. "Jesus, Tilly. We've known each other for eight years. Whatever it is, just forget you hate me for a moment. I'm here, let me help."
"I don’t hate you, Tommy," I say softly, arms wrapped around myself.
"Then come inside." He turns back towards the house, leaving the door open for me. I watch him go, feeling an old, familiar pull—a longing that I've tried to forget. I know I should leave; stepping inside with him is bound to reopen old wounds. But there's something about him, a gravity I can't resist.
Before I realize it, my feet carry me inside after him. What we'll do or talk about once we're off the street is a complete mystery. The alternative is being alone and right now, that sounds about as fun as a dental cleaning. Besides, Tommy and I, before everything fell apart, were great friends, spending almost every night together in laughter and fun.
For just one night, I tell myself, I can set aside my feelings and lean on him as a friend. He's always been a great listener, and after all, he lives in Costa Rica—this doesn't have to mean anything more. Just one night to collect myself, and then I can move forward, back to my own life, however tumultuous it might be.
Once we're inside, Tommy locks the door behind us and flicks on the lights. The cozy living room is bathed in a warm yellow glow, the soft light enhancing the inviting atmosphere. Sam isn't very materialistic, but she's done well with decorating the place. Light blue pillows accentuate her tan couch, and a new floral rug rests under the old wooden coffee table. Without lingering, he heads straight into the kitchen and comes back with two light beers in hand.
I'm sitting on the edge of the couch, clutching my purse in my lap, still dressed from my date since all my other clothes were ruined. He takes a seat on the other end of the couch and hands me a beer.
"All right, spill. I'll do my best to act like Sam." He tucks his feet under himself and sits up straight, adopting what he thinks is Sam's demeanor. Mimicking Sam in a tone that suggests half concern with a flair that would make a soap opera star proud, he squeaks, "What the fuck, Tilly? What did he do, steal your TV? I swear I'll have Greg throat punch him."
I'm mid-drink when I hear this and end up spitting some beer out as laughter overtakes me. Tommy's face lights up with amusement, joining in the laughter. "Uncanny, right?" he asks.
"It's like she's here. Only less pregnant and with more facial hair," I manage to say through my sarcasm, wiping away the beer from my chin. He strokes the scruff on his jaw. “Yeah, her beard is much more impressive.” I laugh again and he smiles. Just like that, the awkward tension between us seems to lighten. Tommy gives me this smug look, clearly pleased with himself for making me laugh. He's always had this ability—sometimes intentionally making me laugh, other times just by being his naturally goofy, yet somehow incredibly sexy, self.
Once I've regained some composure, I clear my throat, trying to mask any hint of my thoughts from my expression. "How do you know something happened?"
Tommy sets his feet back on the ground, his leg bouncing slightly. "Well, you're all dressed up for a date. But, thinking about it now, I'm surprised any guy could make you cry."
I smile a bit, setting down my beer. "Well, it wasn't just any guy."
He tilts his head, curiosity piqued. "Someone special?"
"Very." I notice a flicker of disappointment cross his face, so I quickly add, "My father."
His expression shifts to understanding as he forms an 'o' with his mouth. "Dads, yeah, I get that. So, you went out with your dad, and he said something about not liking your tattoos?" He gestures towards my arm with his beer. When I had left Costa Rica, my tattoos were few, but since then, I've completed a full sleeve. It's an ocean scene, with waves cresting under a sunset sky, but the centerpiece is a solitary mermaid perched on a rock. If his hungry gaze is any indication, he likes it. A lot. My face warms as I try not to linger on his lips.
