One Last Gift, page 23
A coward. She remembered biting the word at him, back in March. But now who was the coward? She was running, rather than facing up to him, just like she’d accused him of doing. So she took a breath, ordered another gin and tonic, then walked back out into the gardens.
He was still standing where she’d left him, looking out to the wild forest beyond the gardens. He noticed her approaching and turned to face her. For a moment she hesitated, stumbling to a stop. What had he been planning on doing? she wondered. Why hadn’t he followed her, grabbed her hand, spun her around? That’s what she would’ve expected him to do—follow her, a little taunting, a little cocky. “Oh, come on, Cass, surely you must’ve known it was me, no one else could be that charming.” Or something to that effect. But he was doing none of that. He was just watching her, a little warily.
He took a step toward her, and this time she made herself hold her ground. “Cassie, look, I’m sorry, I—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She held out the second gin, forced it into his hand. That small, crooked smile appeared as he took it, the one that reminded her so much of him as a teenager. One that was pure comradeship. “Look, I shouldn’t have reacted like that, I was just…”
“Surprised?”
She let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Surprised about covers it, I guess.”
Without really thinking about it, they started walking, passing what looked like a little shed in among a wild, overgrown garden and crunching their way on the gravel path toward the lake. An actual lake on the grounds.
Cassie couldn’t relax. Her shoulders were too rigid, fingers gripping her glass too tightly.
“So,” Sam said, “how was the brunch?” It gave her a jolt, to realize he knew already, that she’d told him, thinking she was telling someone else, over email.
“It went well, I think.”
“Do you have to do anything else today, or are you free?”
She checked her watch. “I have to chat to the manager before they go, at four p.m.”
“Will you come sit with me until then?” She hesitated, and knew that he clocked it from the way he watched her. But he didn’t push, didn’t ask again. Maybe that was partly why she nodded, followed him to a wooden bench that looked out across the lake, evergreen trees surrounding it.
She glanced at him when they sat down, a healthy distance between them. “Why?” she asked, a little more bluntly than she’d intended. He looked at her questioningly. “Why did you donate all that money?”
He grimaced—it was clear he’d been hoping that the why of it all would come up a bit later. “Are you angry?”
It wasn’t an answer, and her automatic response was to snap back with a yes, to prod at him some way with words. She realized she didn’t really know how to talk to him without sniping—it had been so long since she’d tried to. “I’m not angry,” she said eventually. It was hard to put into words exactly how she did feel. She sat up a bit straighter, looked out at the water, pockets of it sparkling with sunlight while other, darker parts rested in the shadows. “I just…I’d hung on to the fact that it was a stranger, I suppose.”
His expression twisted again, his face trying and failing to hide the emotion, and she continued, a little hurriedly.
“It’s not that it’s you, specifically, that’s the problem,” or at least, she thought to herself, not just that, “but the fact that it’s someone that I know…I don’t know.” She couldn’t really explain it, the way it had made her think maybe she’d be able to set something up herself, because there were people out there who still wanted the small, the independent. It had felt like fate, and now, knowing it was Sam all along, it took away from that. She didn’t say any of that out loud, though. She didn’t want to see him look at her incredulously or scoff at her.
“I did it because I thought it was what Tom would’ve wanted,” Sam said quietly. “I was trying to find a way to…I don’t know…Honor him.”
She nodded. That, at least, made sense. Because whatever she thought of Sam, she knew he’d loved her brother.
“I wanted to do it for you, too,” he added softly. “Because I knew how much that place meant to you.”
She glanced at him, and he met her gaze. She held it for a second, felt her pulse thrum against her wrist. Then she looked down. “I wish Tom was here now.” It was easiest, somehow, to admit it to him. Maybe it was because she knew that, of anyone, he might come closest to feeling the same.
Sam smiled, and it was tinged with sadness. “He would’ve loved it. He would’ve had all of us out here, exploring the gardens, getting you to pose for photos everywhere so you could remember the day.”
Cassie laughed softly. “And he would’ve forced group shots of the three of us, even if we were arguing.”
“And he’d be getting all excited about the little things, making sure that we really made the most of, like, the complimentary shampoo or something.”
“And we’d have champagne in hand.”
“Oh, definitely.”
Cassie was smiling, and she could picture it, him here with them right now. Would Sam still have been here, then? She found that she doubted it. Tom would’ve come, would’ve wanted to support her, and would have been set on her having the best day ever. But there would’ve been no reason for Sam to come.
She thought then of Amy, too. Would she have come with Tom? She was several months pregnant, with Tom’s child. Would he really have let her raise the baby alone? Or would he have come to his senses eventually? She wanted, so badly, to bet on the latter, to think he would’ve gotten up the courage to do what was right. But how could she be sure? She glanced at Sam. She could ask him. He was the only person who might be able to explain some of Tom’s state of mind around Amy and the pregnancy. Tom might have talked to him about it, where he didn’t talk to her—as much as she hated to admit it. But she couldn’t bring herself to. She didn’t want the confirmation, if it wasn’t the answer she was hoping for.
“I miss him too, you know,” Sam whispered, looking out at the lake.
Cassie nodded, a lump in her throat. “I know.” Because if nothing else, that much, at least, she knew to be true.
“There were times—still are times—when just the effort of breathing is difficult, painful.” She nodded again, felt tears burn the back of her eyes. But despite that, there was something weirdly comforting in it, in knowing that she wasn’t alone in her grief. Sam’s expression turned anguished. “Cassie, I need to apologize. I never meant—”
And she knew what he was going to say, and found that she didn’t want to hear it. Not anymore. So she shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.” She’d been coming to accept that for some time now, even if she hadn’t been able to at first. She’d needed someone to blame for it, someone to hate, somewhere to direct all her rage so that her emotions didn’t turn inward and ruin her. But she’d started to let that go, bit by bit, over the last few months, while she’d been following Tom’s clues.
“I should’ve been there,” Sam muttered. “If I’d been there, I could’ve stopped it.”
Cassie felt a fist tighten painfully around her heart. It was what she’d believed, wholeheartedly, and the reminder of it, the what if, was still something she found herself grappling with at times. But that didn’t make it Sam’s fault, and she knew that, deep down.
She blew out a slow breath. “Look, I don’t know as much about it as you, but from what I do know, I’ve figured some things out. You would’ve been too far away to reach him, if you’d been there, right?” He frowned, and Cassie made herself say it—it was something she needed to admit out loud, to finally let go of, as much as she knew he needed to hear it. “The equipment failed. It was an accident, Sam,” she said softly. And because he looked so anguished, because he didn’t seem able to look at her, she reached out, placed her hand over his. Odd, that comforting someone else should make her feel comforted.
“But maybe,” Sam whispered, “if I’d been there, it would’ve played out differently. Maybe we wouldn’t have gone to that mountain, or we’d have gone on a different day, so that the ropes weren’t dodgy.”
“Yeah, maybe.” And the “maybe” was something they were both going to have to learn to live with. “Or maybe not.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make it your fault, though.”
He flipped his hand over, linked his fingers with hers. Then he looked at her, gave her a half-smile that was so painfully familiar, and she felt her heart jump a little, in a way that made her think that, even now, she would have to be a little careful around Sam Malone, in order to keep her heart safe.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cassie slumped back into the squishy red-and-white armchair, nursing the rest of her gin and tonic. Well, not so much a “chair” as a sixteenth-century oak throne. She’d just said goodbye to Hazel, who had needed to get back for work, but Sam, it seemed, had his own room at the hotel and now it was just the two of them, sitting in one of the living rooms around a wooden coffee table, next to a huge old fireplace engraved with Tudor flowers and a coat of arms. Neither of them was speaking. With Hazel there, the quiet had felt peaceful, lulling her toward sleep almost, but now the silence felt weighted and she found herself wishing Hazel would turn around and change her mind, come back, be a buffer between her and Sam.
“So,” Sam said. He was leaning back against his chair, still looking casual as ever, blue shirt unbuttoned slightly, dark hair scruffy, less perfectly styled than he used to wear it. She liked it better that way, she decided. “Do you fancy one more drink?”
Cassie hesitated—would he take it personally if she refused? She felt on uneven footing, not sure how to behave around this Sam, the less cocky version than the one she’d gotten used to. But she thought she might really fall asleep in this chair if she had one more drink. “No, better not. I think…If it’s OK, I think I’m going to go to bed, actually. I’m knackered.” She expected him to protest, to tell her she was boring, to say one more wouldn’t hurt—the type of thing he used to do. But he got to his feet.
“I’ll walk you to your room.” She frowned to herself as she followed him out of the sitting room. He kept doing the opposite of what she was expecting, and it was confusing. She wondered if he’d changed since Tom’s death—if it had changed him—or if this side of him had always been there, buried somewhere, and she hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t looked for it. Or if, maybe, this was a front, some weird game he was playing. She didn’t think so, but then, she was sensible enough to at least consider it.
Cassie glanced up at him as they started up the stairs and he noticed, smiled at her. She felt herself flush, and looked down at the wooden steps, carpeted down the middle. “So I’ve been wondering,” she said, directing her voice at the floor.
“Wondering in general or about something specific?” She gave him a light punch on the arm as his lips twitched.
“You don’t really know anything about the hospitality industry, do you?”
He winced a little as he shook his head.
“And you don’t really have an interest in local pubs in general?”
“Ah, no.” Even though she’d known that, it still felt a little like something was hitting her in the gut, like the tiny kernel of hope she’d felt when she’d seen that house in Wales was being guttered out. It was stupid. It shouldn’t make a difference. But there it was. He glanced at her. “I just…I didn’t think I could tell you right away, because I was worried you wouldn’t take the money.”
“I would’ve taken the money,” she said firmly. And it was true. Wasn’t it? Would she really have been so petty as to throw the offer back in his face, if she’d known it was him? She doubted it. Not when the stakes had been so high. But the fact that she was asking herself the question at all helped her to see why he’d decided to keep his identity a secret.
They reached her room and Cassie stopped, jerking her head to indicate this was her. They faced each other, her with her back to the door. She couldn’t help noticing how close they were to one another. It would be so easy to reach out, run a hand through his hair. Silly thought. It must be all the gin.
Sam slipped his hands into his pockets. “So, what are you doing tomorrow?” The question made her jolt a little. Why did he want to know? Was he going to ask her to spend the day with him? Her stomach did a sort of uncomfortable twist and she crossed her arms to try to hide it. It was normal, if he was going to ask her—they’d known each other practically their whole lives after all and they were…friends? It had been a long while since she’d described him as such, but was that where this was going?
“Not sure,” she said in the end. “Breakfast here and then home, I guess.” It was a true enough answer—tomorrow was Monday and she had work on Tuesday so should really be getting herself home and getting sorted tomorrow.
He nodded, looked away from her, down the corridor. His eyes seemed a little glazed and she could tell that he wasn’t really taking in their surroundings. “Tom and I were supposed to go away this week,” he said quietly. “Thursday and Friday. We booked this festival ages ago.”
“Oh,” Cassie said, unsure how to respond, even as it pulled at her, the reminder that Tom would have no more festivals.
“Yeah. I’d actually completely forgotten until today, but I got a reminder email about it. I’ve still got the tickets.” He smiled sadly.
“Do you still want to go?”
He shook his head. “It would feel wrong, without him. Maybe in the future, but…not yet.”
Cassie nodded. She got it. There were still things she couldn’t do—things she thought she’d never be able to—without her brother. And maybe because he’d offered up this nugget to her, she felt she could confess something too. “I’ve been doing the treasure hunt,” she said. “The one he did for me before he died. You know, to find my Christmas present.”
Sam stared at her and she felt her face warm at the intensity of his gaze. “You’ve got the clues?”
“Yeah. Linda found the first one, gave it to me.” She didn’t tell him when she’d gotten the first clue—right after she’d slammed the door in his face.
Sam pulled a hand through his hair, dropped it to his side. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I guess I just thought…” But he didn’t finish the sentence. She knew what he’d been thinking, though—he’d thought the clues would be lost, like Tom was.
“I’ve done the first few already. It’s weird, they’re bigger than usual, almost…almost like he knew that it would be the last time.” It was impossible, of course, because his death had been an accident. She knew it must just be her brain, molding things that way, but still.
He smiled. “I remember him talking about it. He wanted this year to be bigger and better.” She nearly asked him if he knew what the gift was at the end, but changed her mind immediately. Her reasoning still stood: Tom wanted her to figure out the clues, so that’s what she’d do. Help, though: she didn’t think that was cheating, not when Tom would have given her hints if he’d been here—and not when she’d figured out most of it by herself.
“I can’t work out this most recent one, though, so I’m stuck.”
“What’s the clue?” She told him and he frowned. “I feel like that’s somehow familiar.”
“I know that it’s about a beach and a lighthouse, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.” She chose not to tell him that she’d only figured out the lighthouse part this morning.
He nodded slowly. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.” He looked at her for a moment, then ran one hand across the back of his neck. “See you at breakfast?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said, working up a smile. It shouldn’t feel difficult to do that. She shouldn’t be feeling disappointed that he didn’t suggest something else to do tomorrow. This was Sam—she shouldn’t want to spend time with him. But it was a new him, and it seemed to change the rules of play, neither of them sniping, both of them treading carefully around each other. He was still looking at her, and she cleared her throat, gestured to her door behind her. “Well, I’ll get to bed then.”
He hesitated, then leaned in, pressed his lips softly against her cheek. The tingle ran from there all the way to the back of her neck, where it stayed. She heard herself suck in a soft breath, unable to stop it.
“Night, Cass,” he whispered, his breath softly caressing her ear, in a way that lingered after he had walked away down the corridor.
* * *
—
She woke to the sound of banging and went from groggy to alert in a matter of moments. Why was someone trying to hammer down her door? She jolted upright in bed, switched on her lamp, and stared at the door, heart beating extra fast. A murderer, trying to break in? She scrambled out of bed at that thought, glanced frantically around the room. But no, a murderer was unlikely to knock, bad tactic. A fire maybe? But surely they had alarms for that?
The banging stopped and she waited, hovering by her bed. When it started up again, she crossed the room tentatively. “Hello?” she called out, still with the door safely shut.
“Cassie?” His voice was a little muffled. “It’s me.”
She let out a whooshing breath and opened the door. “Sam! What the hell’s going on?” She pushed her hair out of her face. “What time is it?” Had she overslept and missed breakfast or something? The curtains in the room were too good—they effectively blocked out all morning light.
“Six a.m.,” he answered impatiently, as if that were completely irrelevant.
She stared at him incredulously. “Six a.m.?! But…it’s my day off.” OK, so maybe she was still a bit groggy from sleep, if that was the best she could come up with. Slowly, she became aware that she was standing in front of him in her old pajama top, no makeup on, her hair surely a complete mess. She crossed her arms over her chest.
