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“Yes, he did,” he confirms. “He was hanging out with his stoner friends and they had a bright idea to kill even more brain cells by getting wasted. Samuel paid that math nerd, Gordon, twenty bucks to make him a fake I.D. As it turns out, Gordon should have stuck to algebra because the I.D. may as well have come out of a cereal box. The clerk called my parents when Sam ran off, totally busted. I got grounded yet again because Sam was too chicken shit to own up and take the blame.”
“Why didn’t you tell your parents?”
“I did. When I told Kellie what Sam was doing, she would reprimand me for being a tattle tale,” he states. “Not to mention, Sam was smart. He knew how to play my parents. Play the baby of the family card. He had them fooled. These examples are just a few in a long line of many. After a while, I just stopped explaining because they didn’t believe me anyway. Sam transformed into the good kid, while I was the troublemaker. I was the older brother who should know better. Whenever a mess was made, it was always my name they called, not Sam’s.”
“You were only kids.” I know it sounds like I’m making excuses for Sam’s vindictive behavior, but surely Saxon can forgive something that happened years ago.
He indicates this conversation is over with by practically tearing the zipper off his bag. “You sound just like my parents.” He yanks out handfuls of clothes and storms over to the walk-in closet, where he throws whatever he has in his palms onto the shelf.
I still don’t know why he’s so angry at Sam, but I do know now is not the time to ask. He stands in the closet, hands on hips, exhaling deeply. I don’t say a word. I simply stand, chewing my lip, avoiding his annoyed glare.
If I want Saxon to stick around, I’m going to have to attempt to stop making him mad. And that’s all I seem to be doing lately, as it appears we have a love-hate relationship. He presses all my buttons and it seems I do the same to him.
He steps out, taking one final breath. His presence is almost suffocating. “Lucy, I’m…”
But whatever Saxon is, I’ll never know because we both pause when the sound of an engine roars to life. It takes us all of three seconds to realize it’s my Jeep.
“No,” I gasp, shaking my head, eyes wide. “He wouldn’t?”
When the distinct sound of tires skidding over gravel pierces the air, we both know itiswhat we think it is.
“Motherfucker!” Saxon is out the door in seconds, charging down the hallway, fists clenched by his side. I chase after him because he’s running towards the front door.
When he yanks open the door and bounds down the steps, screaming, “Sam! Stop!” I know it can’t be good.
The cool breeze has goose bumps buttering my skin, but I ignore the bitter weather and spring down the steps, waving for Sam to stop. But he doesn’t. My appearance only makes him drive faster as he fishtails down our driveway, flicking up stones and pebbles in his wake.
“Sam! No!” I scream, my shrill voice sending birds from their perches. “You’re going to get hurt!” My advice falls on deaf ears as he accelerates and takes off faster than a cannonball on steroids.
I run after him, pushing forward with all my might, but as Saxon and I see the taillights grow smaller and smaller, we slow down our dead sprint and finally give up. We’ll never catch up to him on foot.
I’m puffed and winded, but Saxon doesn’t look like he’s broken a sweat as he storms past me and charges into the house. Leaning over and placing my hands on my knees, I attempt to catch my breath, but the moment I hear a holler, adrenalin sings through my veins and I run faster than I ever have before.
“What?” I shriek breathlessly when I see Saxon standing in the hallway, pacing furiously.
“He took my fucking keys! That son of a bitch,” he pushes out through clenched teeth.
A sense of dread passes over me when I realize Sam has no idea where he is. He may be able to distinguish some familiar places, but overall, he’s literally driving blind. “Saxon, he doesn’t know where he is! He’ll get lost.”
“I know,” he barks, shaking his head. “This is so typical of him. This—thisis Sam. This vindictive, selfish behavior is exactly who he is.” He points towards the door as if to prove his earlier point that this current a-hole Sam is the true Sam.
But I refuse to believe it. He may have been that way with Saxon, but he never was with me. He treated me like a princess, like I was the only thing that mattered.
My sorrow is reflected on my face because Saxon’s demeanor instantly changes and he takes a deep breath. “Let him blow off some steam,” he states. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. If he’s not back soon, I’ll call my father and go look for him.”
“What set him off?” I ask, as his episode was definitely brought on by something. I see the change on Saxon’s face immediately.
I follow as he walks into the living room, stopping in the center of the room. His eyes are riveted to the TV, suggesting my answer lies within what is paused on the screen. When I see the still image of Sam at graduation, draped in his cap and gown, I understand why he had the outburst.
Sam remembered Paulo’s and then in turn, he remembered being the captain of the basketball team. Is it possible he remembered he was offered a basketball scholarship, but was forced to turn it down because his future was mapped out for him by his parents? Does he remember the disappointment and regret?
Yes, he graduated from college, but in marketing, a course he enrolled in to help grow his father’s business. He told me it didn’t matter, that this was his future, but I know that it did. I know turning down that scholarship was like turning his back on his dreams.
“He remembers,” I gasp, unable to tear my gaze from the screen.
“It appears so.”
I should be happy that memories are floating to the surface, but what if those memories are ones he wished stayed submerged?
