Leave The City (Book 8 of Adopted by the Josephs)

83. Samantha

Right now, I am absolutely terrified.

Right now, I am in Uncle Brendon and Aunt Sarah's backyard.

I can hear the birds. I can hear the pool water moving around through the pump. I can hear cars out on the street. I can hear Penny Lane barking at Uncle Brendon.

I can see the pool. I can see Uncle Brendon's studio. I can see the sunshine.

I can feel the breeze. I can feel the concrete under my butt. I can feel the water as I trail my hand through the water while I sit, sideways, beside the pool. I have my knees up and I'm resting my arm on them and my head on my arm.

I can smell the flowers and the chlorine.

I can smell my own fear.

"Sam?" Aunt Sarah called from the back door. "Dylan's here. I'm sending him out, okay?"

I nodded. I didn't look back towards the house. I was afraid to see the look in Dylan's eyes.

Then he was beside me. He sat down right next to me, our knees touching. He didn't say anything. He didn't reach for my hand. He just sat there, letting our knees touch just so.

"Hey," I said quietly.

"Hey," Dylan said. And there was so much emotion in his voice. I was afraid to look up at him. I was afraid I'd see anger, even though his voice sounded wounded.

"I screwed everything up between us, didn't I?" I said. Dylan didn't say anything for a second.

Suddenly, his hands were holding mine and he gently turned my head to face him.

"No, Sam. You didn't screw anything up between us. I don't know what I did, if it was me, that spooked you and made you run on Saturday. I'm so sorry for whatever it was. But you haven't screwed anything up. I'm worried about you. Everyone is," Dylan said.

Tears threatened. Dammit. I don't want to cry.

"I need to talk to you," I said, my breath shuddering. "I have to tell you something and I'm really scared. I'm scared to tell you. I'm scared that when I tell you what I have to tell you that you're going to blame me. That you're going to hate me."

"Sam, I couldn't. There's nothing you can tell me that would make me hate you. Unless you're a mass murderer. Or Canadian. Those would be unforgivable," he said, a joking tone in his voice. But enough seriousness to indicate he was listening.

"Last January," I started. But the memories of what happened overwhelmed me for a minute and I stopped. The tears escaped anyway.

"It's okay," Dylan whispered. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I don't want to. But I have to. It's only fair. And hopefully, it'll kind of explain what happened after prom."

"If you really need to, take your time. I'm here. I'm listening. I'll listen. No matter how long it takes for you to tell me as much or as little as you want or can."

I nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath. There was no way I was getting through this without crying.

Dylan squeezed my hand and I saw a sad smile on his face from the corner of my eye.

"Last January, I was at a school dance with the captain of the boys' basketball team," I started. "I'd known him since starting high school. I thought he was a nice guy. He had been friends with the previous captain, Parker. Parker died after the shooting."

"Oh, Sam," Dylan said, his left hand holding my hand, his right rubbing my left arm in an incredibly soft and tender gesture. "I'm sorry. Is he the one whose parents chose to take him off life support?"