Page 25 of One Last Gift

As the elderly couple let the doors swing shut behind them, Sam risked a glance behind him. Cassie wasn’t with the two men anymore, and Sam felt his shoulders relax—she’d gone. But then, “Sam?”

His head whipped around automatically, toward the sound of his name. Somehow, Cassie had gotten behind him, on the other side of where she was supposed to be, and was coming his way. Walking right toward him.

Shit. Shit!

But there was no point in pretending he hadn’t seen her. “Hey, Cass. How are you? You’ve, err, done a great job with everything so far.” He tried very hard to make his voice casual, like it was no big deal to be caught by her, like he was just stepping out for a sec. Breezy, breezy. But he could hear that it didn’t work: the words sounded too strained, and he felt hot under his double jackets as she leveled a look at him. He couldn’t help glancing behind him—had Jessica gotten the message yet? Would she come down and look for him? Jesus, he needed to get out of here. What had he been thinking, lingering like that?

“Sam.” She said his name pointedly, then frowned. She opened her mouth, clearly trying to think of something to say—this was the first time they’d seen each other in months, after all. Then she closed it, glancing between his face and the bag in his hand. Then toward the exit. She narrowed her eyes, and the brown that was usually so warm turned hard. “What are you doing?”

“I’m…Nothing, I’m…” But he found himself floundering, unable to think when she was looking at him like that, disapproval and hurt etched across her face. His palms prickled with heat. Fuck, why couldn’t he think of an excuse? What was a reason he’d be rushing out of the hotel, bag in hand, still in his tux?

“Are you leaving?” Of course she’d immediately think the worst of him, wouldn’t she? But then, maybe she was right to do so, because he was doing the worst thing, wasn’t he? And besides, she’d always seen through him. He’d never been able to bullshit her, the way he could with other people. So it made sense that she’d understand immediately what he was doing, what he was thinking. It didn’t stop him from trying to deny it, though.

“No,” he said quickly, “I’m just—”

“You are,” Cassie said, her tone biting. “You’re leaving Jessica. Now? Are you seriously running out on her on the day of your wedding?” Her voice was too loud. Jesus. The dick and the redhead would hear her, would alert the whole bloody hotel if she kept on like this. He acted on instinct and grabbed her by the shoulder, holding firm when she tried to shake him off, and pulled her through the double doors and out onto the pavement.

He ignored her noises of protest, kept a grip on her as he marched away from the white pillars of the hotel building, out of sight and to safety.

“Get off me!” She managed to shake his hand off, her eyes flashing.

He pulled his hand through his hair and found he couldn’t even find the energy to lie to her. Everyone would find out soon enough, anyway.

“I can’t go through with it,” he said flatly.

She stared at him, as if waiting for him to say something more. “Are you serious? You’re just going to bail? On your wedding day? What kind of a person does that?”

“I can’t do it.” His voice had a pleading, panicky edge to it now—he needed her to understand. Even though he knew she wouldn’t—of course she wouldn’t, how could she? How could anyone? But already the decision felt irreversible, and he knew he couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back on it.

Her brown eyes were kindling, burning coal at their center. He thought, yet again, of what she’d said to him, the night he went to Linda’s. If you hadn’t been so stupid, so selfish, then Tom might still be alive. And she was right, wasn’t she? It was all his fault. He’d partied too hard, lost track of what was important, and let his best mate down. He could’ve been there to stop the fall, and he hadn’t been. So Cassie was right to look at him like that. And when everyone else found out that he’d left Jessica, they’d look at him like that, and they’d be right in their assessment of him too.

She looked for a moment like she might tell him that he had to do it, fight with him to make him stay. But then she shook her head, and the fire in her eyes went dull, sparked out. “People always said you were like Tom,” she said, her voice low now, barely more than a whisper. “You and him, the brave boys, off doing adventures. The double act.”

He remembered it—everyone in their village used to say it, or a version of it, then everyone at secondary school, all their teachers. Linda, his mum, even Claire. At university too, they were the crazy ones, pulling stunts no one else would dream of.

“But they were wrong. You’re nothing like Tom. He was brilliant and brave and kind, and you…” She spat out the last word, her shoulders heaving. “You’re a coward and you always have been.”

He winced, but didn’t contradict her. She was right—he was a coward. He’d been a coward all those years ago, when he’d turned from her, run from her, because he didn’t like what she was making him feel, didn’t want to risk falling for her, didn’t want to risk ruining things with Tom, didn’t want to risk hurting her if they’d gone any further. He was a coward still, unable to face up to what had happened to Tom, to his part in it. Unable to go through with a wedding he’d agreed to. And he could find nothing, right then, to defend any of it. So all he could do was watch as Cassie turned from him and walked away, just like she had five years ago, her blond hair swishing in the ponytail, her shoulders high. That frailty he’d seen upstairs seemed gone now, chased away by her anger with him.

You’re a coward.

Yes, he was. Just like his dad had been. He was nothing, and the best thing he could do right now was to make sure he didn’t drag anyone else down with him.

Chapter Twelve

Robert peered down his angular nose at Cassie, to where she was sitting at her desk, flipping through her diary. A paper diary, one that Josh had given her as a Christmas present, because he knew how much she liked having a real one, rather than relying on her computer. A paper diary made with recycled paper, no less, proving how well he knew her.

“I’m just not sure what we can do,” Cassie was saying. “We already have the Tapestry Room booked out on that date. The other rooms are too small for this size of event, and we can’t—”

“That’s not the answer I want to hear, Cassie.” Robert’s voice was clipped, and he leaned in closer to her. She smelled mint, something that wouldn’t usually have been unpleasant, but that felt too sharp when coming off him. Especially when combined with the slightly damp smell he’d brought into work today—understandable, maybe, given the characteristic misty rain of early April, but not exactly nice. His dark eyes watched her from over the top of the computer screen—this close, she could very clearly see the receding hairline that he tried so hard to hide with expensive haircuts and products.

Not the answer I want to hear. Right, so she was just magically supposed to conjure up an extra events room, was she? And anyway, it was his fault they were in this mess in the first place—he’d gotten the dates mixed up, told a client that the hotel could definitely host their fiftieth wedding anniversary here, when the events spaces were all booked out. Not that she’d ever say any of that out loud, of course.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassie saw Josh glance at her from his desk on the other side of the cramped little office, but she didn’t dare return the look. Cassie took a breath, trying for calm, even as she felt her stomach curdle with anxiety. She looked through the events list for that date again, but there was no changing what she’d seen the first time—they were fully booked.

“I’m sorry, Robert,” she tried again. “We could host them on the eleventh, I think?” She flipped through her diary.

“That’s not good enough,” he snapped, then turned away to pace the short length of the room. She and Josh were the only two full-time members of the events team, and as such shared a tiny little office, which was surprisingly depressing, given the fact it was housed in a five-star hotel. It had none of the 1920s Art Deco theme of the main hotel, with its plain white walls and beige, slightly frayed carpet, and was on the basement floor, so natural light was limited. In the three years she’d been working here, Cassie had tried to make the office a little nicer, buying a couple of cactus plants, which Josh had named Rosie and Jim, and some paintings for the wall, but she couldn’t deny that she much preferred the more active parts of her role, when she was actually at the events, rather than being stuck in here.