He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. Someone was hammering at his door and with this group, he knew better than to assume they’d take a hint and back off. So he shoved his legs into his jeans and braced for a scene he knew was going to rip his heart out.
They were going to be devastated and confused, and he wasn’t going to be able to tell them anything more about what was driving Ava’s decision than she’d told them herself. He wasn’t going to be able to own up to the fact that he was the reason she was leaving. And while Ava was ambitious and dedicated to her career, there was no way any of the people who knew her best would believe she would put her job before them.
He could hear Maggie’s voice over the repetitive knocking and knew waiting wouldn’t get him anywhere.
Opening the door he was met with Maggie’s rapid-fire questions, Tyler’s sympathetic stare while he stood with one hand resting on his wife’s shoulder, and Ford—holy shit, bristling with a rage Sam hadn’t encountered since high school.
Shouldering past the rest of the chaos, he looked Sam square in the eyes. “You just couldn’t leave her alone.”
The accusation landed like a battering ram to his gut. After how adamant Ava had been about not wanting anyone else to know, he couldn’t believe she’d come clean and, more important, that she hadn’t warned him first. “She told you?”
“No, asshole,” Ford growled, his fist cocking, ready to throw. “You did.”
About fucking time. Sam’s head snapped back.
—
So yeah, there’d been a ruckus. Maggie shrieking, Tyler stepping into the fray with his arms out to keep Ford and Sam from each other even though no way was Sam going to hit back. Ford looked like the one solid-as-fuck punch he landed had taken the edge off. But then Tony—who had an uncanny sense about nosing out action—showed up and was cupping his hands over his mouth like he was talking into a mic, doing the whole “Let’s get ready to rumble” routine. Maggie was calling Ava, giving her voicemail the business, while Tyler checked messages on his phone from the corner.
In the kitchen, Sam packed a bag of frozen peas on his eye, while Ford leaned against the opposite counter with his arms crossed over a chest that looked a little broader than normal and gave him a pissed-off stare that demanded explanation.
“I’m sorry, man.”
“Yeah, me too.” Ford blew out a harsh breath. “About Ava and the eye.”
Sam shook his head. He’d had it coming. More than.
“I tried to talk her out of leaving, Ford. I told her I’d go. Move across the city. Start pruning back the Wicker Park business and branching out in other neighborhoods. But she said no.” It wouldn’t have been enough. If they were in the same city, she’d be looking for him around every corner and wouldn’t be able to move on the way she needed to.
They’d fought some more, because he couldn’t stand the idea of her sacrificing her friends and family just to get away from him. But her mind was made up. The job was there, it was good, and she’d already agreed to the transfer.
But that was Ava. Sam met Ford’s eyes. “I can move.”
He should. Without Ava there, it wouldn’t really be his home, anyway. Without Ava, there was no home.
Ford’s brows drew forward. “Do I need to slug you again? What the hell, man. I’m already losing my sister over this. You think I want to lose my brother too?”
Sam’s throat clamped closed, trying to contain the emotion there. Finally, he forced the words through. “I’m the reason she’s doing this. I didn’t know how she felt about me when we started—”
Ford’s scowl deepened.
“—what we started. And once I knew, I tried to fix it. But the one thing I couldn’t offer her was the only thing she really wanted, and I ended up driving her away.”
“Sam, people screw up. It doesn’t change that we’re family. And at the risk of finding out something I really don’t want to know about my sister, I’m going to tell you, I doubt you drove her anywhere. She’s had a thing for you forever. Do I think you’re an idiot for not seeing it? Yes. Do I blame you for not feeling the same way she does? No. How could I?”
“Wait. You knew?”
“Are you freaking kidding me, man? She’s my sister.” Then, pushing off the counter, Ford crossed to Sam, peeked under the bag of peas, and winced before meeting his good eye again. “And I love you like my brother, so I’ve got to ask you, are you sure there’s not something there, something you maybe just haven’t been willing to see?”
Tony rounded the corner to the kitchen then, cutting between them as he made a beeline for the fridge. “Maggs and Tyler took off. What the what, man? A six-pack?” he bitched, holding the door open as he leaned in. “How the freeack are we going to have an epic bro-bonding without more beer than this?”
Ford put his hands up and started backing out of the kitchen.
“Count me out. I’ve got to sort some stuff with Ava.”
Sam nodded. “All right, man. See you later.”
When the front door to the apartment closed, Tony cracked two of the beers and flipped one of the kitchen chairs around to sit. “I’m serious, man. We need more beer.”
Why not—the shower sure as shit hadn’t worked.
—
Shauni and Rafe were seated at the far end of the conference table, both deep in the due diligence that wasn’t doing nearly enough to keep Ava’s attention from that technological monstrosity vibrating every thirty seconds in her purse.
Shauni arched a sympathetic brow. “Sounds like someone really wants to talk to you. It’s after seven, if you want to call it a night.” Then, blanching like she’d just caught herself committing sacrilege, she amended, “Or, you know, take a break for dinner maybe…”
Not really.
She didn’t want a break. She didn’t want to think about anything but the bazillion documents the selling party had provided—
Another vibration.
—but that wasn’t going to happen. At least not until she faced the music.
“Okay, dinner sounds good.” She gathered up her bag and headed for the door, noting the relief on her team’s faces.
Taking the elevator down to One, she walked out into the evening air. It was about 72 degrees and breezy. Beautiful, but in a way that still felt like an off fit.
It didn’t matter.
The front of the building was empty, so Ava sat on the low concrete wall where it butted up against the building. It was shady and quiet, and as good a place as any for what she had to do next.
Own up to her lies.
Ava had read the first text a few hours earlier.
Maggie:…You and Sam??!!
And had been dodging ever since.
But no more.
Calling up the video chat, she waited for Maggie’s face to fill the screen. And when it did, her heart turned over in her chest.
“So Sam told you?” she asked, wondering if any of the messages were from him. If he’d tried to warn her or if he’d just been too pissed.
Maggie shook her head.
Ava closed her eyes and leaned back against the building. “So what gave it away?”
“Well, your brother slamming his fist into Sam’s eye was actually the first clue.”
That had her attention. “Is he okay?”
“Ford? Well, his hand’s a little swollen, you know, Sam having such a hard head and all. But—oh, you mean Sam. Yeah, he’s fine. Quite a shiner, but he’ll survive.”
She couldn’t believe Ford had done it. She knew he’d sounded funny when she got off the phone, and a few of the things he’d said were just leading enough to make her wonder if somehow he knew. Well, the answer to that was yes. Yes, he did.
Geez.
Maggie filled in a few more details about the bro-bonding she’d picked up from Ford. And when Ava wanted to know how Sam seemed, she told her to come home and find out for herself.
So, this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.
r /> Especially once Maggie sent Tyler out to get her ice cream and jalapeño Kettle Chips.
Maggie’s face filled the screen. “Okay, so I think we’ve all sensed there was something that went beyond just friends over the years. But you were so adamant in your denial, I just figured whatever there was between you guys, you’d worked it out and it wasn’t my place to press. Besides, the whole romance business wasn’t really my thing, so I was probably an easier sell just for that. But since I’m sensing this wasn’t exactly the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…how about you tell me the full story here and let me be the friend I think you might really need right about now?”
Ava nodded. And it took her a moment to find her voice, but when the words started coming, it was as though a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying lifted from her chest.
—
This was turning out to be one hell of a shitty day. Sam had screwed up the scheduling, sending Rawley to the Lakeview job when he was supposed to be working over at North Hoyne with Dwayne. And worse, thanks to the short fuse Sam had going, the kid had been afraid to ask about it. Now Sam had lost a couple of hours out of him because of the mix-up. Add to that the delivery he’d neglected to write down and Sam was about to kick his own ass. But what set this day truly apart was when, with only an hour before he was supposed to be meeting with the homeowners, Jim—who Sam told not to come in if he wasn’t feeling better—had walked up to him, frowned, and then hurled all down the front of Sam’s shirt and pants. So now Sam was fucking driving home in his underwear, with his puke-covered clothes knotted up in a bag on the seat beside him.
This wasn’t how he did business.
It wasn’t how he’d made his reputation.
He ran a tight ship and while shit occasionally happened, Sam didn’t like the avalanche of it that seemed to be rolling over them this week. Especially because the responsibility for the majority of the fuckups fell squarely at his feet.
He’d been…distracted. His thoughts veering off track as if someone with a bird-sized frame and an elephant-sized attitude had taken a sledgehammer to the tracks and dismantled them completely. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ava. About the what-ifs.
What if she’d said yes?
What if what he’d had to give had been enough? What if Ava married him and he got to keep her forever?
He knew how much she loved living next to Ford—maybe he’d buy the building from him and turn it into one big house with a front door that opened into a big, warm living room where they’d spend their evenings together. And the stairs that led up to the second floor would be about one part of their space flowing into the next instead of serving to divide what was his from what was hers.
He’d make it beautiful for her.
Expand the master bed and bath so they were big enough to accommodate every fucking hot fantasy that gorgeous mind of hers could conjure. He’d make her moan. He’d make her beg and keep her coming so hard, she’d never want for another. He’d be her friend and her lover. And even though it scared the living shit out of him, he’d give her as many kids as she wanted and he’d be the best fucking father they could ask for.
He used to have nightmares about being a dad. About finding out that his piece-of-shit DNA donor would rear his ugly-ass head in Sam if he ever became a father. But this week, he’d been seeing things differently.
When Ava told him she wanted babies, he’d looked at her and seen a hundred different stages at once. He’d seen her round and full with his baby, nursing their child, kissing bruises, and snuggling hugs. He’d seen the love she’d have for their boy or, God help him, girl, and it was everything he’d have wished for his own youth.
And instead of all those visions of happiness being soiled by Sam reenacting all his dad’s drunken fuckups, he was there, showing his little girl how to build a planter box for her mommy, and teaching his boy how to make a chest of drawers. At the dinner table, there’d be laughing and telling stories and—Christ, he’d wanted that. He wanted it with Ava.
Because as with everything, she was the only one he’d trust with something so miraculous. And he wanted to be the man she shared it with, because he knew how high the bar had been set for her family. And he knew how to be a dad—because Ava’s dad, her hero, had been the guy to show him how.
Only none of that was happening.
She wasn’t with him. She hadn’t said yes. And some other man was going to make all of Ava’s dreams come true.
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 i
t. 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.