Page 6 of Forsaken Vows

The neighbors had said he was mean. Abrasive. The kind of man who made children cry at barbecues and never waved at anyone unless they waved first—and even then, maybe not.

So why was he being nice to me?

He shut the door gently.

I sat there and let him drive.

He didn’t talk, didn’t ask where I wanted to go. I stared out the window, watching the city slip past in shadows.

I don’t know how much time passed before he pulled into a gated drive in one of the most expensive neighborhoods inClearwater and punched in a code. The gate slid open slowly. The house on the other side was small but expensive—clean lines, dark wood, quiet money. I followed him inside without a word.

He pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

I did.

He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. I blinked at him, still heavy with everything I’d seen. In my feelings.

“I don’t drink that,” I mumbled. “It’s too strong. I’m a lightweight.”

He frowned, like me saying I didn’t drink annoyed him for some reason, but didn’t say anything. He tipped the bottle and poured it anyway. Two shots. One for him. One for me.

I noticed how thick his fingers were around the glass.

“Drink. You need it,” he said, shoving the glass in my direction.

I did need it. So I did.

It burned going down. I asked for another.

He took a seat across from me in a leather reclining chair. We sat in silence for about thirty minutes—him drinking, me sipping.

Then, out of nowhere, Sam said, “I haven’t wanted to be married to her for a long time. I’m glad your husband’s fucking her.”

I looked at him, surprised by his admission.

“I love my husband, I think, but I don’t like him. I’m not glad he’s fucking her, but it makes sense… He hasn’t fucked mein forever. I like sex. I like the way it makes me forget everything else. The push and pull, the heat, how it quiets the noise in my head. I miss being touched.” At this point, I was rambling, and I didn’t know if it was the fact that I was able to say how I felt out loud without being judged, or maybe it was the liquor, but I kept going either way.

“I knew something was going on, but I didn’t say anything. I've just never been good with confrontation. I’m still not. My mother says I’m a pushover, and Mark’s the type that’ll walk over you if you let him. And I let him.”

I didn’t know why I was telling this man everything.

Yeah! I’d blame it on the liquor later.

Sam nodded. “Seems we both stayed too long in a place we didn’t belong.”

It was my turn to nod.I raised my glass to my lips, and swallowed, letting the alcohol burn its way down and warm my insides.

“Yeah, seems that way.”

We drank more. The burn stopped bothering me after the fifth glass. It dulled the edge of my pain. I welcomed it.

Sam didn’t talk much. Just sipped slow, his eyes distant. Like he was trapped in his own thoughts, probably replaying every mistake he’d made that led to tonight. Same as me. He sat with his legs spread in that chair, his knuckles resting on the arms.

I stared at him. Really looked at him for the first time.

The light from the window behind me cast a soft glow over his face, catching the neat line of his beard. It was shaped to his jaw, connecting to his mustache. His hair was cropped lowin a tight Caesar, the waves barely visible but still there. His skin was light, a warm golden tone. I wondered if he was mixed-race. He looked young, but older than me—early thirties, maybe—but there was something in his eyes that made him seem older than that. Like he’d seen things.

He had long lashes and these deep, soulful, grayish eyes.

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