Page 13 of New Year's Faye

She snorted. “Don’t try to change the subject. Tell me everything. And I meaneverything."

I winced, feeling exposed, like she’d peeled back a layer I wasn’t ready for her to see. There was too much swirling inside me—confusion, embarrassment, a nagging ache that maybe, just maybe, she’d hit on something real, something I wasn’t ready to admit even to myself.

I closed my eyes against the bright lights of the room. “Do you mind if I call you tomorrow instead? I think I might have a concussion.”

“Shit, how?”

I cleared my throat, mumbling into the phone.

“Did you say you fainted and are at the hospital?”

I made a noise of affirmation.

“Damn girl, what a wild wedding night. Go rest. Text when you feel better.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too, Faye. Be safe. And remember—Sam is one of the good ones.”

Samwasone of the good ones. The kind of good that felt rare, almost too rare to belong to someone like me. And maybe that was what terrified me most—the idea that I’d fallen for someone without even realizing it, that this chaotic, spontaneous mess of a night was more than just a mistake.

Nope. Not going there. This is a mistake fuelled by booze and good cheer. Nothing more, nothing less.

It had to be. Anything else would be unacceptable.

I slipped my phone back into my bra, only to for it to buzz once again as Sam returned to the room.

I pulled out the offending object as he resumed his seat, tossing it on the bed. “Deal with that, would you?”

“Isn’t that your job?” he asked, picking up my phone.

“I’m taking a personal day.” I forced myself to relax against the thin, plastic mattress, closing my eyes to the brightness of the room.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. “Ah, Mister Moyo, lovely to speak to you.”

I jerked upright, reaching across the bed to grab the phone from Sam. The bastard stood, walking away from me.

“Give it to me,” I hissed, my heart slamming against my chest as Sam ignored me.

“Yes, sir. We’re at the hospital. Faye’s had a bit of a fall and appears to be concussed.” Sam nodded as he listened to whatever my dad was saying on the other end of the line. “I understand, sir. If you like, I can arrange to fly you out here today if that might give you and Mrs Moyo some comfort?”

I shook my head frantically and immediately regretted the movement as a tidal wave of nausea burned up my throat. I grabbed frantically for the collapsible vomit bag beside the bed. I heard a clatter then Sam was there, sweeping up my braids and holding them back as I vomited into the plastic bag.

“Oh gods,” I groaned as my world spun wildly. “I’m going to kill whoever thought footboards made of wood were a good idea.”

Sam gently took the bag away, disposing of it as I lay back, pressing the icepack to my aching forehead.

“Close your eyes,” he said, gently holding a small cup of water to my lips. “Rest while I finish talking to your parents.”

I took the cup, swishing water around my mouth as I listened, too dizzy, in pain and embarrassed to stop him.

“Sorry for dropping the phone. Faye needed my help.” Sam plucked the cup from my hands, placing it on the bedside table. “I understand. It’s been a surprise for us too.”

I closed my eyes, desperate to silence the pounding in my head.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, yes, Chidi.”

That was enough to have me opening my eyes. My father hadnotpermitted any of my previous boyfriends to call him by his first name.

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