Page 66 of Love Story

When I pressed send, I waited for a reply, but it was left on send for the ten minutes I stared at it, and I realized one thing.

If he was in trouble, he would have messaged me.I told him I’d help.I thought we’d gotten to a place where he could tell me if he was scared.Had he gone back to Boston to confront this fucking trouble?

Or…

Maybe he wasn’t interested in me.He’d lied, left, and taken my heart with him.

And then the anger mixed with the fear.

What if he was no different to Byron?

THE FIRST GLIMPSEof the city was a punch to the chest.Driving down I-93, I saw the Boston skyline rise on the horizon, a jagged line of steel and glass shimmering in the midday sun.It was beautiful in a way I had forgotten.It was stark and unyielding, full of life but also noise and everything I had left behind in my struggle to earn money, be better, and havemore.

The Zakim Bridge came into view, its cables stretching like fingers toward the sky, a gateway into the chaos.As I approached, I gripped the steering wheel tighter, and my heart pounded.This was it.I was back.

It hit me all at once—what I’d left behind, what I’d given up, and what I might never have again.The quiet mornings at Sam’s, the scent of woodsmoke and maple, the way he looked at me as if I mattered.I pulled off at the next gas station, the urgency to get off the road overpowering.

I parked and stared at my phone, Sam’s name lighting up the screen alongside messages I hadn’t opened yet.How could I explain this?How could I describe the weight in my chest—the feeling of not wanting to leave him or Caldwell Crossing?Deep down, I knew that what I’d done and what I’d exposed was bigger than me.Once the trial started, everything would be public.The media would swarm like vultures, picking apart every detail.And no matter how carefully I tried to shield Sam, it would follow me back to him if I returned.

How could I let that happen?How could sleepy, calm Caldwell Crossing—a town that felt as if it had been plucked from a postcard—handle the whirlwind of media attention, the constant buzz of reporters digging for a scoop?They’d show up at the farm, cameras in hand, poking around for anything they could use to sell their story.They’d twist my words, Sam’s words, even Harriet’s kindness into something scandalous.They’d harass the seasonal workers, disrupt the rhythms of the farm, and destroy the peaceful life Sam cherished.

I’m spiraling.

And Sam?My sweet, steady Sam, who found joy in the sugarhouse’s steady hum and his friends’ laughter—what would they do to him?How would he cope with reporters camping outside his cabin, whispering lies about him, about us?They’d dredge up every moment of my past, every misstep, every bad decision I’d ever made, and paint him guilty by association.The rumors, the lies, the relentless pressure of it all… It would taint everything he’d worked so hard to build.

I’m losing my shit.

I won’t let Sam’s world be changed.

I couldn’t stand the thought of it.Of Conor, Haider, or Ryan being dragged into the mess, their lives scrutinized, and their privacy invaded, of his mom and dad, who only wanted the best for him, having to defend their son from the fallout of my actions.Of his farm, his life’s work, being turned into a backdrop for headlines that screamed “Whistleblower’s New Hideaway!”or worse.

I gripped my phone tighter, my pulse racing.How could I let my chaos touch Sam’s perfect world?The thought of it made me sick.He deserved so much better than me and the baggage I carried.How could I ask him to deal with that?To bear the weight of what I’d exposed and the consequences that followed?

I couldn’t let that happen.Not to him.Not to Caldwell Crossing.Not to the people who had already given me more than I deserved.My thumb hovered over his name on the screen.How could I tell him this?How could I say to him that, even though he was everything I wanted, I couldn’t be the one to destroy the peace he loved?

I started typing.Sam, I had to leave for a legal interview because unless there’s a miracle, I need to testify, and my name could be in the public domain.I wish you were here, and I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.I’ll see you soon.

Should I add, I love you?Because Ididlove him.The taste of him, his eyes, his love, his everything…

The words felt hollow, inadequate.But I typed them anyway, staring at the screen.My finger hovered oversend.

But what if I didn’t go back?

Now that I was here, back in the city, it didn’t feel like home.It felt cold and distant, like stepping into someone else’s life.What was the point of drawing things out?How could I ask Sam to wait when I wasn’t sure where I belonged and where one mistake in this trial would have me on major news channels?

The conversation we’d had about kids so far back, and how he kissed and loved me and held my hand as we walked to the overlook… I wantedthatlife.I closed the message, leaving it unsent, and rested my head against the steering wheel until my phone buzzed in the cup holder.I snatched it up—hoping it was Sam checking for me.It was Theo.

I picked it up reluctantly, listening to the voicemail.“Ben, are you close?Call me when you’re here.”His voice was calm, steady, and professional.Everything I wasn’t right now.

I texted back:I’ll be there.

Back on the road, I focused on navigating the familiar streets, trying not to overthink.I parked near the law offices of Henderson, Miles & Abernathy and walked across the street to a coffee shop.It was tucked away, a quiet refuge in the city’s chaos.

I was doing the right thing.I’d keep Sam out of this.Keep Caldwell Crossing out of this.

It was the best way.

I slid into a booth at the back, nursing a black coffee while my tattered copy of Nelson’s book sat on the table before me.My gaze flicked to the office building across the street, then back to the book.The pages were worn, the cover creased, a testament to how many times I’d read it and how it came with me everywhere.

---