“I think I will head over to my grandparents’ place. I have uh … kind of been avoiding them since the summer kick-off party.”
She looks at me, confused, “Why? You love being around them.”
“I do,” I admit. “As much as I love and respect them, I also fear them.”
Becca lets out a surprised laugh. “It’s true! My Grammy used to chase me around the kitchen with a wooden spoon if I stuck my finger in the cooking for a taste. Or Grandad would give me the sternest look when he caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to. He rarely said anything, but that look terrified me.”
She smiles but doesn’t let me off easy. “But Sam, that doesn’t explain why you haven’t seen them.”
“Baby, they love me, but they adore you. I am their grandson; it is a requirement that they care. But you? Both of them know, like I do, that you’re God’s gift to this earth. When I have to come clean to them about how I treated you, it’s going to be a nuclear winter type of situation.”
Something crosses Becca’s face. “Sam, I don’t want to cause problems in your family. I never have, and I feel like that’s all I ever do.” Her voice gets quieter as she finishes the sentence.
I can’t stand the devastation in her voice. “No, baby, don’t say that. It’s not you, it isn’teveryou.” I bring her in tightly for a hug, rubbing soothing circles on her back.
“I should have talked to my family from the beginning, shut them down instead of ignoring them. I never cared about what they said; I was always too damn in love with you. But I should have realized their words and actions mattered toyou.And that should have been my priority, how you felt, not just keeping the peace.”
I hold her, feeling her tears fall to the top of my shoulder, and wanting to rip my heart out, never to have them fall because of me again. But at the same time, I’m so damn thankful for the privilege of holding her, hoping beyond hope I get to earn it back. And as suddenly as itcame on, she straightens her spine of steel and wipes her eyes.
“Sam, I know you are trying, I really do. It’s hard to let myself be back in that trusting place right now.”
I know where she is coming from, but it still breaks my heart to hear it.
“Well, I will get us there, one action at a time, I promise.”
She looks at me for a moment, and then, with a smile that could melt a glacier, says, “I’m starting to believe you.”
As much as I want to pull her into my arms, make her forget every ounce of distance between us and make her believe she is my priority through a sea of endless pleasure, I know that isn’t what we need right now.
“Okay, let’s finish this list and get you back home.”
It takesus another forty-five minutes to tackle a cleaning list a drill sergeant would have assigned. The place is immaculate. I look over at Becca, her hair is pulled back in a messy bun with a dirt smudge on her face, hands on her hips, and she’s looking at the cabin, her dream, with the biggest smile.
The sun is setting in the background, a ray of light coming through the trees, lighting her face. I take out my phone and snap a picture, knowing I have never been so proud to have this gorgeous woman in my life. I stare at her until she looks back and asks.
“Okay, I guess it’s all ready, they will be here tomorrow.”
“It’s perfect, baby.” I kiss her on the top of the head, not talking about the cabin.
“Now, let’s get you home.” I close my eyes, relishing that statement. Even though I won’t be there with her longerthan to grab my stuff, I know this is a step in the right direction.
I watch her walk toward her car, heading back toward the life I almost lost. And this time I’m not taking a single step for granted.
31
BECCA
Idrive down the familiar road to my old home, Sam’s truck following close behind. My stomach twists with nerves and something that feels dangerously like hope. From the front, the house looks mostly the same, but when I pull into a spot near the garage, unsure where I even park now, something new catches my eye.
A porch swing.
I step out and walk up the three wooden steps to the deck, my fingers drifting reverently across the smooth grain of the swing’s frame. It isn’t large, but it’s wide enough to fit two adults, maybe even a small child nestled between them. The back tilts enough to relax without feeling like you’re reclining too far. It’s perfect.
Sam watches me from the top step, arms crossed loosely, waiting.
“I built that in hopes of one day sitting out here with you, enjoying a cup of coffee before work or snuggled in a blanket in the evenings,” he explains unabashedly.
When I glance up, he moves toward the front door and taps in the passcode.
