Page 59 of One Last Gift

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.