Page 55 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

“He works with wood. He makes things… tables, rocking chairs, cabinets, that sorta stuff. He’s made a few houses too, but I figure he prefers the smaller things that go inside, since that’s what he does most.”

Sammy nods contemplatively, but then Lily lets out a burp louder than anything I’ve ever heard in my life – and Britt is an impressive burper. Sammy smiles magnificently. “That’s my girl.”

She stands with the baby in her arms, and a small, fluffy blanket falls to the floor. I lean past my guitar and pick it up, and we’re both careful not to brush fingers as I pass it to her.

It occurs to me that, apart from accidentally kicking her, I’ve not touched her yet since she’s been back. My mind spins as she walks toward the spare room with Lily in her arms, and I wonder about all things Sammy. I wonder if she feels the same. Does she feel different? Is she softer? Firmer? Her breasts have grown, I know that from looking, but how do they feel? I wonder if her hair still smells like sweet candy. And if she’d still have the urge to jut her chin out until I leaned down and our noses touched.

I sit back again and start playing, because it’s the only thing that has simultaneously calmed me and psyched me up over the years. Music has helped me process the magnitude of emotions that ran through me after she left. It even helped me work through my feelings while she was still here. For every ten songs I write, nine of them are about her.

Writing music helped me compartmentalize and order, and it helped me transfer frustration and heartbreak into something a little more productive.

Sammy is gone for a long time, and it’s at least thirty minutes before I realize that maybe she’s making good on her ‘you won’t see me again tonight’ thing, and maybe she’s gone to bed.

I shrug to myself, and because I know I’m not wrong, I continue playing anyway. Because Lily loves it. I know she does.

Sammy’s trying to provide Lily with a perfectly silent environment, but I just know that she craves the noise. And the music. She was born into a noisy hospital, where she stayed and was probably interrupted and poked and prodded non-stop for months. Silence probably unsettles her.

I play the song I drunkenly wrote for her, for my Rosie, and I think about my next steps. Sammy and I had our entire lives planned out once. We had careers we wanted to pursue, and a lifetime of happiness and kids and friends.

Ironically, we’re both kind of where we said we’d be – career wise. It’s like the universe knew having a baby at eighteen was just the wrong timing, so some greater power split us until it was time to meet again. But thirteen years of loneliness and bitterness isn’t so easy to sweep away.

I look up again as long creamy legs reenter my vision. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m just grabbing water, then I’ll be out of your way.”

I shrug and keep playing and watch her walk away. Her tiny sleep shorts made me angry and jealous and ready to rage earlier, but now, I smile and watch her legs and the slim thighs that carry her away. On every third step or so, when the angle is just right and she limps just right, I can see the smallest tease of ass cheek.

Yep. I’m a fucking creep. And she’s still pretending not to limp.

I set my guitar aside and sit forward on the couch, resting my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands, and I wait for her to walk through the living room again.

As soon as her feet reenter my vision, I lift my head. “Hey, wait up a sec.”

Sammy is mid pink-panther pose as she attempts to sneak past me, but she stops and looks back with raised brows. I pat the couch beside me. “I know it’s late and you’re probably tired, but do you have five minutes?”

Nervously rolling a water bottle between her hands, she studies me for a long minute and bites her lip. She nods softly, then moves toward me. “Sure.”

I wait until she gingerly sits down on the very opposite end of the couch before I turn. “Samantha--”

“Are you going to shout again? Because I know this is your apartment, and I know I’m a bitch for leaving… it’s just, I’m so tired right now, I might literally sob if you wake Lil. I can’t do another night without sleep, and it’s already midnight, so I have less than three hours before I have to be up again, and that’s assuming she sleeps at all.”

“No, I won’t shout. I promise.” I nod my chin at the back corner of the couch. “Sit back.”

She looks at me in question, but I grab her ankle and pull it into my lap before she tells me not to. Running my fingers along the purpling bruise, she dramatically falls back into the couch and sighs. I run my thumb and pointer finger gently along the edge of the bruise, digging into the muscle, but gentling as soon as I near the sore spot.

“Sam--”

“I’m sorry I hurt you. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I know it was an accident. It’s fine.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s not fine. Any man ever hurts you again, you do something about it, okay? Don’t hobble around only when no one is looking. If a man hurts you again, you rip his fucking dick off.”

She lies back in the corner of the couch, with her freshly manicured hand sitting on her flat stomach and the other in her hair, and a lopsided smile pulling up her lips. “Okay.”

I nod and continue to massage. “Okay.”

“Listen… Luc and I--”

“It’s fine. Luc’s my brother, and there’s not a chance in hell I even considered anything was up. We don’t do that to each other.”

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