Page 68 of Save Me

“Frames!” I answer, cutting Sam off with a laugh.

“Okay but just promise me you won’t laugh when you see the family photos—some of the outfits I used to wear…” She trails off with a laugh.

“Family photos? And here I thought you would have burned them all by now,” I say jokingly.

“Seeing as I get along with my family about as well as you get along with yours, I probably should have.” She laughs.

“I don’t know how you did it growing up with them. At least I had Garrett in my corner, growing up with parentsandsiblings you don’t get along with is rough.”

She nods while taking another bite of sushi, chewing slowly. “It was. I mean, I barely saw my parents most days. Between Veronica always at dance lessons, and Lockwood getting into trouble constantly, my nannies and parents were spread thin. I am kind of jealous of your relationship with Garret though. I never had any common interests with my siblings, so we never tried to spend time together, and we still don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, unsure of what to ask her next. Sam is never one to talk about her family, always changing the topic the second they’re mentioned.

“Flying under the radar growing up had its perks.” She smiles. “But my parents still like to keep up the façade of us being close-knit. Hence the occasional family photo.”

“Hmm, doesn’t that sound familiar,” I say, giving her a look as I smile.

“Well,” I say, putting my chopsticks down and wiping my mouth on a white napkin, “if I see you wearing a hideous outfit standing beside four people I don’t recognize, I’ll let you know.” I smile and the corners of her mouth turn up as she grins back at me.

She wipes her hands off on the napkin in front of her before standing up slowly and stepping over plastic sushi containers as she makes her way over to the kitchen table. I mimic her movements slowly as I follow her out of the room. She grunts as she moves a box from the floor to the table, setting it down loudly before pulling a large brown envelope out of it.

“There’s about fifty photos in here,” she says, setting the envelope on the table. “I didn’t have time to decide which to frame, so just pick your favorites”—she gestures to the box—“and there are a ton of frames in here. Just match the size of the photo to whatever frame you think will suit it best, and then find a spot for it somewhere in the house.”

“Easy enough.” I smile.

I get to work, pulling all the frames out of the box, and laying them down on the table side-by-side. They’re all varying shapes and textures and, unsurprisingly, a lot of them contain some shade of pink.

I pull out the first photo from the envelope and study the picture in front of me. It’s a landscape with rolling hills, cypress trees, and a vineyard in the distance. Based on what I’m seeing it’s from her trip to Italy last summer.

I pick up a wooden frame that compliments the tones in the photo, and open the back of it, and delicately slide the picture inside before closing it again.

I keep a steady pace, pulling out one photograph at a time and matching it to a frame. At this rate, Sam’s apartment is going to look like an art gallery. Stacks of frames sit on the table, all filled with photos she took, and still more sit in the box waiting for me to match them to a picture. Her photos are an eclectic mix of her life, with landscapes, self-portraits, her horses, and even a picture of the two of us now filling the frames.

“Almost done in there?” Sam’s voice rings out from her room.

“Yeah, a few more to go!” I call back as I reach into the envelope.

A family portrait stares back at me, and it looks as though it’s straight out of a lifestyle magazine; A man, who I’m assuming is her father, sits in a leather chair. His dark suit and stern look stares back at me, and a woman—her mother—stands behind him, her hand resting dutifully on Mr. Lockwood’s shoulder, her posture straight, her hair and makeup immaculate. She’s even got a string of pearls around her neck, and the biggest diamond ring I’ve ever seen sits on her finger. Circled around them are the kids, all young adults in this photo. Sam’s dark hair is long, her expression bored, and based on what I know about her relationships with her family, it’s no surprise she looks like she doesn’t want to be there.

My eyes move over to who I assume are her siblings that I’ve never met, and have barely heard anything about. Her sister Veronica looks like the polar opposite of Sam, with blonde wavy hair that stands out brightly beside her dark locks. Her chin is held high, and her smile is wide, and I can’t help but notice everything about her contrasts with how Sam looks in the photo. My eyes then move to the last person in the photo, where darkbrown—almost black—hair and deep brown eyes stare back at me.

Suddenly my blood goes cold as Bryce stares back at me from the photo.

My thoughts start moving at a hundred miles a minute as I try to piece together what I’m seeing in front of me.

My hands shake as I continue to stare at the photo. At Bryce.

What is Bryce doing in Sam’s family photo?

I don’t hear Sam come into the room until she speaks, and I jump slightly at the sound of her voice.

She laughs lightly as she sees the photo I’m holding in my hands. “Veronica is the only one who wanted to be in the photo. Lockwood and I would have rather been anywhere, but you’d never be able to tell from his smile.”

I stare at Bryce’s picture-perfect smile.

Bryce.

Bryce is Lockwood.

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