Page 98 of Wicked Little Game
And when he told me about his past, it felt like a slap in the face. A very needed one, because it forced me to accept that Sam has his own life. His life that he has to return to.
He doesn’t exist in a vacuum just because he stepped foot into this house where I act like reality doesn’t exist and where I treated him like a doll that could be used to make me happy.
Yes, we had something, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t justslowly developing Stockholm syndrome on his side, but it still wouldn’t justify me telling him to stay. And Sam seemed to be relieved, or at least content with it, as long as I try not to think about the way he looked at me. Or the way he held me, his fingers tangled in my hair as he kissed me.
As I enter what had been his room, reality finally sets in. The severity of my words hits me and I sit down on his bed. The bed that still smells like him, I realize as I cry into the pillow.
I cry for hours until I’m pretty sure that there’s not a single drop of water left in my body. I cry until it gets dark again and I fall asleep in his bed.
Three days, that’s how long I keep on repeating this shitshow. But then the doorbell rings, forcing me out of hiding.
The courier looks as if he is contemplating calling an ambulance while I sign his papers. I rip the brown envelope open right in the hallway and the entryway to my new life lays in front of me on the white marble. Well, at least a part of it.
A medical certificate about my father’s cause of death, an autopsy report; it’s all there. I feel sorry for the poor guy who really died, but at the same time, I’m thankful that all of this went smoothly so far.
It’s just like Sam promised me. I would thank him, but I don’t know how. I don’t have his private number, only the one of the burner phone he used around here. The one that’s still lying on his old desk upstairs.
Not that it would be a good idea to contact him either way. What we had was nice for the time being, but now it’s over and I’ll respect his decision. I disrespected his boundaries enough when he was still around.
I have Max’s number though, and he frantically encouraged me to use it, so I send him a message to let him know I got the documents. He replies in an instant, asks me how I am, and apologizes for not saying goodbye when they left. He tellsme something about having to catch a flight, as if he’s worried that I’m mad at him. I’m not. He’s a good guy. All of them are, and I’m not mad at them for having Sam’s back.
The worst thing is that I can’t be mad at anyone but myself. If Sam had said that he loved me only to take it back a few hours later, I would have been devastated. Would have been pissed and hurt, and certainly not as sweet and understanding as he had been.
I should be happy that he just left while I was asleep. It hurts like hell and I’m pretty sure it’ll hurt forever, but at least he spared the both of us an awkward goodbye.
Three days really seem to be all the universe grants me to get myself together, because just when I’m done with showering, putting on fresh clothes after way too long, and applying a bit of makeup to trick myself into thinking that everything is going to be okay, someone knocks at the front door.
“—told you that’s a bad idea.”
Dom’s voice comes from behind the door as I put my hand on the handle. He looks surprised as I open it, just like the big guy behind him.
“You look like shit, peanut,” Vinny blurts out. Guess hiding my swollen eyes behind makeup didn’t work that well.
“Where’s your father?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?”
“Dead.”
Dom looks at me as if he is waiting for me to say that I’m joking. It takes him a few seconds to get himself back under control, and he hugs me while Vinny eyes me knowingly.
I gesture at them to come in, only now seeing that the living room still looks like it had three days ago when the guys were here.
“Did you have good company or did you start smoking like your old man?”
I sigh and Vinny respects me enough to stop asking about the mess in here. I toss him a beer and bring two glasses of water for Dom and me before I join them at the dinner table.
“When’s the funeral?”
“No funeral. He died abroad, was a bit of a hassle. They cremated him already, and if I’m honest, I don’t want to hold one.”
They nod, and Vinny sets the can down again. He’s huge, bigger than I remember him. He must be in his early sixties by now. I have known him since I was little. He was basically my father’s right-hand man, and even lived with us for years, back when mom was still around.
“So, you’re the boss now, peanut?”
He gave me the name peanut after I came running to him as a kid, hysterical, because I got a peanut stuck in my nose. It happened once, fucking once, but I guess the name sticks.
