Page 23 of And Then Came You

“I need you. Lexi, can you come be with me? I don’t think I can do this alone.”

I speak without thinking. “Of course. I’ll be on my way within the hour.”

The ride to the farm is uneventful. Even the traffic is cooperating. It’s like the universe is ensuring I can get to Sam’s side as quickly as possible. The pain in his voice wounds my heart. I’ve never heard him like that before. He volleys between sarcasm and charm, both equally deceptive of the true emotions bubbling underneath the surface.

It’s time for the true emotions to exit his body, before they take over completely.

There is a bevy of activity at the farm when I pull up. Speaking with Fakira, Sam’s mother, I learn Curtis is being laid to rest in the family plot on the far corner of the property. The service is today, per his request, and they’ve got no time to lose in getting everything prepared.

But I have one quest—to find my friend. After searching every room in the house, it hits me where he’s hiding. The orchard. It’s the last patch of earth his Granddad worked, and his energy is still strong there, as vital as the saplings stretching toward the sun.

That’s where I find Sam, crouched under the same old elm where Curtis and I picnicked. But instead of laughter and camaraderie, Sam’s body screams of defeat, his head buried in his hands. He looks so small, not at all the strapping, self-assured man who commands attention wherever he goes.

This man is breaking right before my eyes.

I close the distance between us, and wrap my arms around his frame, resting my head against his back.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

Those are the only words spoken for the next few minutes, but they’re enough.

Somehow, there’s a comfort being near him, as the reality of Curtis’s death washes through my soul. The finality hits like a bullet, reminding me of how precious and elusive time can be, particularly for a man like Samuel Bernard. His career skyrocketed him to fame and fortune, but it took him away from the one man who understood him.

Now that man is gone forever, and I worry Sam will never forgive himself.

Glancing at my watch, I squeeze his shoulders. “Sam, we have to go. The ceremony is starting soon.”

“I can’t go.”

“I know you don’t want to be there. Hell, neither do I. But your Granddad deserves the greatest send off in the world. For that to happen, he needs you there.”

“He needed me here, but I was too busy.” He pulls at the grass, his face stained with tears. “I was always too damn busy.”

“Don’t do this to yourself. Your Granddad was so proud of you, taking the world by storm. He understood you far more than you realize.” My words are all true. In my talks with Curtis, he often brought up his grandson and their many similarities—beautiful women among them.

Moving in front of him, I crouch, grabbing his hands as I try to coax him from this spot. But Sam won’t budge.

Instead, he raises his face, those emerald-hued eyes meeting mine. “He cared about me. None of those people at the house care about me. Hell, they only started caring about him after he died. In that respect, I’m no better.”

“Do not compare yourself to the well-wishers at the house. There’s a world of difference there, and Curtis knows it. Nothing got by him. He was so witty and sly. He knew who loved him. He knew you loved him. Those people? They’re background material at this service. But this ceremony isn’t for them. It’s for Curtis Bernard, a truly exceptional human being.”

“You cared about him.”

I can’t deny Sam’s statement. Despite only knowing his Granddad for a short while, I loved the man dearly. “Yes, very much.”

Sam clutches my face, tangling his fingers in my hair as he presses his forehead to mine. His breathing is wild and erratic, and I feel the pain brimming beneath his usually polished facade. “You’re the only one who gets me, Lexi.”

“Because you let me in. You let me knowyou. You have to let people in, Sam. Let them get close to you.”

He’s shaking his head before the words are fully verbalized. “People don’t care about me. They care about my persona.”

“That’s not always true.”

“Most of the damn time. People have hurt me enough.”

“People will do that. Humans are really good at that.”

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