Page 104 of The Love of My Next Life
I turn around and find Claire on the stairs. She’s frowning. I choke out a humorless laugh and push past her. I don’t have to be back until family Christmas dinner tonight at seven, and I can’t be in this house any longer.
I storm out the door and get into my car, pulling out of the driveway without a destination in mind. I barely register the cold as I drive, and soon I’m pulling up to a three-story historic colonial surrounded by a wrought iron gate. The tension in my body loosens the moment I cut the engine.
I don’t even know why I’m here.
It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t even care anymore.
I climb over the fence in the same place as last time and trudge up to the door. Briefly I worry I’m going to see Chase or the Senator, but something tells me they aren’t here. I knock and wait. When the giant door swings open, Sam’s on the other side wearing a pair of sweats with her hair in a messy bun. She pops a brow, then glances over my shoulder.
“Next time text first and I’ll buzz you in,” she says, then she turns and walks back into the house. I follow her.
The house is cold and silent. We pass by a Christmas tree, but the lights aren’t on and there are no presents beneath it. I follow her into the kitchen, where she silently pours me a cup of coffee and slides me a bottle of French Vanilla creamer.
“Want a bagel?” she asks, and I nod. “Toasted?” I shake my head.
She tosses me a bagel and a tub of cream cheese, then puts a knife down on the counter in front of me. She waits quietly as I spread the cream cheese on the bagel, then she puts the tub in the fridge and the knife in the sink.
“C’mon,” she says, turning to leave the kitchen. “I just startedDie Hardin my room. I’ll start it over and we can watch it from the beginning.”
She doesn’t ask why I’m here or if I want something. She doesn’t try to kick me out or threaten to call the cops. She just lets me in without judgement, and for the first time in weeks, I feel less alone. I feel like I could sleep without a nightmare ravaging the space inside my mind.
I never thought I’d feel more comfortable around Sam than Claire. I never thought I’d rather be with her than my dad or Andrea. Sam and I hate each other. We have for years. We probably still do. But Sam gets it, whateveritis. And afterthatnight, I need to be around someone who understands.
I smile to myself as I follow Sam to her room, taking a bite of bagel and chewing. Samantha Harper is watchingDie Hardon Christmas morning.
Then my smile falls.
Samantha Harper is watchingDie Hardon Christmas morning, and she is alone. No family. No friends. No holiday celebrations.
She’s alone.
Or at least she was.
She’s not anymore. And neither am I.
* * *
It’safter two as I tiptoe through the house. It’s past curfew, and no one knows I left after dinner. But I had to fucking get out of here.
Dad and Drea are taking us all out to a fancy dinner tomorrow for New Year’s Eve. Claire asked me to go to a party with her after, and I told her no. Then she started crying, apologizing, begging me to forgive her. I almost caved, but then she started back on her “Macon is bad for you” tirade. I’m so sick of hearing it, even if she is right.
I kicked her out of my room and told her I was going to bed.
Then an hour later, I snuck out.
I get to my room and shut the door quietly behind me. I flip on the light and about jump out of my skin when I see Macon sitting on my bed. My heart is in my throat, excitement that pisses me off surges through me. I shouldn’t want him to be here so much. I should make him leave, but I know I won’t.
“You need to stay away from Sam,” he says, and I scowl.
Nowhere have you been. NoI miss you. Nolet’s please try again.
“I don’t have to stay away from anyone,” I hiss, and put my hands on my hips. “I can hang out with whomever the hell I want.”
I’m not surprised he knows where I was. I was with Sam and Julian, and while I know Sam wouldn’t have told him, I can’t say the same for Julian. Truthfully, I was hoping Julian would snitch. I was hoping Macon would show up and haul me out of there.
Macon’s eyes bounce between mine and his brow furrows.
“Are you high?” he asks, shocked.
