And Then We Fell Apart (18+)

chapter 28

I half keep my promise to my mom and call my dad. I don't call on his birthday, but a few days afterward when I feel up to it. It's much easier to be emotionally available when I've been living in my very own rose-colored haze.

The conversation goes exactly as I expect it to: he asks me how college was. I said it was fine. He asks me how my mom is. She's also fine. He asks me if I miss home. I tell him yes to make him feel better.

And that's the extent of it. A part of me feels sorry that I can't give him more, but I don't want to. I don't have it in me to pour into someone's cup who isn't willing to pour anything back into mine.

"Chandler!" I hear my mom's voice call from downstairs on a late Saturday morning.

I look in the mirror one last time, my fingertips gently tapping along my neck to blend out concealer that's meant to cover a small bite left by Sam the night before. To be thorough, I pull some of my hair over my shoulder.

When I reach the kitchen, I'm only a little surprised to see Sam there. I always go to him, not the other way around. Not that his presence isn't welcome, of course.

As my mom gathers some of her things before leaving for work, I feel that familiar fluttering in my stomach when I say: "I was just about to head over to you."

He smiles that pretty smile I've fawned over for a lifetime. "I figured you were."

"So, what's up?" I ask, pressing my lips together in a failed attempt to hide my curved lips. Not so much from him, but from my observant and not very oblivious mother.

As a matter of fact, her attention to detail along with my failed abilities to hide my giddiness from the last few weeks, something tells me she's onto us. I can tell by the way her eyes narrow in my direction whenever Sam and I are near one another, but more so by my more frequent sleepovers at the Prescott's house.

"There's a party tonight down the shore. Valerie's house," he declares. "Bennett called me to tell me."

"That's still a thing?" I raise my eyebrows, purely surprised that Bennett was not only able to pull someone like her but also remain with her for longer than a week. It's actually been almost two months.

He crosses his arms over his stomach, muscled arms showing through his white t-shirt reminding me of what was wrapped around me just a few hours before in our early morning slumber at his house. They leave me feeling safe, secure, and completely out of harm's way.

It's cliché, but I don't mind admitting it.

"Yeah, shockingly," he pairs a small laugh with a light exhale. "I'm still not exactly sure how he won her over."

"We'll have to ask her at some point. Maybe see if she could use a psych eval," I taunt.

"Well, I was going to see if you wanted to come," he begins.

His words leave me dangling over the side of a cliff, desperate to cling onto the ledge before plummeting face first into a sea of pure desperation. My mind has been awfully filthy as of late, the smallest of words or looks or even movements could send a twinge of pleasure between my legs without warning. Even in the most inappropriate settings, such as this one where my mom still moves around the kitchen.

He must sense it, because his eyes widen. Only slightly though, because god forbid Sam Prescott's confidence appears even the slightest bit shaken.

"To the party," he adds. "With me." For good measure.

My throat tightens as I nervously eye my mom. She's not looking at us, but the woman is like a sponge. I know she's soaking up every ounce of tangible tension and angst littered between Sam and I, saving it to nonchalantly prod me about later.