Page 138 of Running to You

An hour later, Sam was still staring at the ceiling. So tired his eyelids felt like sandpaper, but he couldn’t manage to keep them closed. Couldn’t shut his stupid brain off.

It’d been a mistake to power up his laptop before bed.

The buyers had rejected Ernest’s latest demand and threatened to take the deal off the table. Sam had forwarded their email to Ernest and told him he’d call him later today. And then he’d forgotten, wrapped up in Eliza’s mess.

The email he’d read right before turning off the light churned like acid in his stomach. It was a short and terse letter from Ernest telling him his services were no longer needed.

Great. Just freaking fabulous.

He’d blown the deal.

And considering that Eliza had barely spoken to him in hours, he’d probably blown that too.

In the other queen bed, Michael had dropped off about three seconds after his head hit the pillow. Just like Dad, who’d always joked about his ability to fall asleep fast.

The blessing of a clear conscience.

There was truth in that. Because Sam wrestled with all his shortcomings. The things he’d said to Eliza that day. The accusations. The cruelty in his words.

The way he’d treated Kylee. The morning she woke up in his bed, he’d been honest about his feelings—or lack thereof. Pretty lousy timing, that.

He’d made her cry. Now, she was happily married and well over her crush on Sam, but he still felt the shame.

Kylee had deserved better. So did Eliza.

And now he was messing up the only thing he’d ever done well—his business.

No wonder he couldn’t get anybody to stick around.

And wasn’t that a lovely thought to curl up and go to sleep with?

Lovely and petty and small, focusing on himself when a crazy person held Eliza’s friend and mother and son captive. A person who’d harm at least two of them to get Eliza to do what he demanded. People were in danger, one of whom she loved more than her own life. Sam had to figure out how to protect them. This wasn’t a problem money could solve, but money was the only thing Sam had to offer.

His thoughts churned and circled and churned until he wanted to pull his hair out.

Whatever. Sleep was overrated.

He dressed in his dirty jeans and his blue sweater, eschewing the ugly Colorado State sweatshirt he’d bought that day, shoved his feet into sneakers, and slid out the door, sticking the key into his back pocket. Maybe a walk would tire him out. If nothing else, he’d get a break from his brother’s snoring for a few minutes.

He descended the stairs, thinking he’d look for food. They’d eaten on the flight, but that had been hours before. Maybe he’d sleep if he had a full stomach.

He was about to search for a snack bar or vending machine when he glanced into the dark living room. There was a figure on the couch in the light of the fire. Knees pulled up to her chest, blanket curled around her, gaze toward the hearth.

She must have added a couple of logs because flames danced, reflected on her beautiful face.

Not wanting to startle her—or talk to her—he crept, hoping to slip around the corner without alerting her to his presence.

But Eliza turned his way. “Oh.”

So much for that. “I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“Me too. We should both be.”

Obviously, avoiding a discussion about her son wasn’t bringing either of them peace.

He continued into the living area and settled beside her on the couch. She looked so small and vulnerable, and his mind flashed back to the previous Friday, the way she’d practically thrown herself into his arms. She hadn’t trusted Daniel or Camilla that night, but she’d trusted him, completely.

Today, thanks to his cruel, callous words, he’d lost that trust. Or, more likely, she just remembered that he’d lost it a long time ago.