Page 18 of All In
They’re gone.
My head whips to his car, which is still there. So that means only one thing.
They went back into his apartment.
The sob that I was suppressing comes out, along with a scream that I can’t stop. My stomach aches, and I clutch it as tears steam down my cheeks. I’m crying so hard that I can’t catch my breath. Both hands land on the steering wheel. I need to ground myself to something as this overwhelming feelingconsumes me. My forehead falls forward, colliding with the black vinyl as my breaths increase.
“How is this happening?”
Wait, I know the answer.
Me. This is happening because of me.
I let Sam go. I drove him into the arms of Jennifer Snow.
The blame falls on me.
My life is a total disaster. Tears are pouring out of my eyes, streaking my mascara, wetting my dress. I’m trying to get my breathing under control because I need to get off of this street. I can’t take the chance of him seeing me. Although I’m fairly certain his attention is on something else. Orsomeoneelse.
I gasp for a breath, and I can’t fill my lungs with air. He’s in there right now, kissing her, touching her, loving her.
“Oh, my God, I’m hyperventilating.”
Focusing my attention on the car parked in front of me, I draw a huge breath in. I slowly let it out. I do this a handful of times until my breathing is stable. Raising my eyes to the visor mirror again, and with a shaking hand, I wipe away the black marks that are running down my face.
After a few more minutes, I have myself under control enough to start the car. Before I drive away, I glance one last time at his apartment. The living room light is out.
I lost him.
He’s gone.
Forever.
I pull away from the curb and start the drive home. Amidst the chaos of my racing mind, there is one undeniable truth.
This is my fault, my mess, my mistake. I have brought this upon myself. I deserve to be miserable.
And I hope Sam is happy. After what I did to him, I want him to find happiness.
Even if it’s with Jennifer Freaking Snow.
The nicest person in the whole wide world.
Chapter eight
Fall 1997
Dexter's
Sam
“Dude, this night is going to be da bomb!” Ricky exclaims as he shuts his car door. He takes a step back to admire his horrible parallel parking job. “Not too bad, huh?” He looks over the top of his car at me, satisfied with himself.
As he rounds the car, I walk up onto the sidewalk and take it in. It’s awful. “Um, it’s terrible, man,” I say, laughing under my breath as I look at the back tire up on the curb. Ricky can’t park to save his life.
He makes it to my side, studies the tire, and slaps me on the shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. We are here, and that’s what counts. Let me just feed the meter, and we can head inside.” Excitement is radiating off his body.
The inside he’s referring to is the country bar we are going to spend money in tonight. And I need it. Desperately.
