Page 78 of The Backtrack
“No, what are you—” Bonnie’s brows furrowed.
But Sam plowed forward. “Because whatever she gets from selling the house is staying with her. I’m going to make sure she’s taken care of.”
“I don’t want anything from your grandma,” Bonnie said. “But I do want you to try to have a little more faith in me.”
“Why would I ever do that?” Sam asked.
Bonnie gave two taps on the frame, then closed the door shut behind her. Sam couldn’t be with her mom. And since she couldn’t vanish into her music, she turned to the only other safe place she had—Damon.
Sam:
I’m coming over.
33
If Sam had never left Tybee, Damon could’ve given her his address and she’d likely be able to find her way there without GPS. The island was small, roughly four miles long with just a little over three thousand people living there year-round. During the busy summer months, the population more than doubled with tourists flocking to the white sand beaches. But in hurricane season only locals remained.
Sam wasn’t a local anymore, though. Her sense of direction on the island was on par with that of any other tourist. So she relied on her phone to get her back to Damon’s. She’d known the route to his childhood home as if it were her own. And even though she’d driven or biked along these very same streets hundreds of times while growing up, traveling down them now left her with an uneasy sense of déjà vu; like she was experiencing someone else’s memories instead of her own.
When she parked her rental in his driveway, the uneasiness was replaced with relief. The feeling wasn’t dissimilar from the one she’d have when she used to slip her headphones on and zone out to music. Maybe, though, the common denominator there had always been Damon.
She tucked a mesh tote bag over her shoulder. Unlike the last time she’d come to Damon’s, this time she’d brought a toothbrush, change of clothes and various other essentials. And he must’ve heard her arrive, because he opened the door before she had to so much as knock.
“I can’t tell if you need a drinknowor after you tell me what Bonnie did this time.” Damon held the door for her as she stepped past him and into the house, like she belonged there.
“She’s just making a big show of how much she’s changed, and claiming that Pearl kept her from coming back sooner.” Sam dropped the overstuffed bag onto the couch.
“She’s blaming Pearl now?” Damon shoved his hands into his pockets. “That’s a new low.”
“I know.” Sam cracked her neck to relieve some of the tension that had built up from her chat with her mom. “Are you sure it’s okay if I stay here again? You can say no. Jessie will love the excuse to have me sit and model for her.”
Damon didn’t hear her, though; his gaze was locked on the front pocket of her bag.
“You brought your old CD player?” Damon asked.
Sam had tucked her Lisa Frank notebook and the player into the front pocket, and the headphones dangled out. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bonnie and Pearl with these things, but she didn’t want to risk anyone snooping through the notes she’d taken.
“I’ve been listening to it since I came back, but it stopped working,” she said vaguely. She picked the player up and held it out for Damon to inspect. “Which is a real bummer.”
Damon reached for the player, and as his hand touched the screen, the same electric shock she’d experienced the first time he’d touched it happened again. Sam pulled her hand away, and he held on to the player.
“Looks like it’s working to me.” Damon held it and the screen lit up, just the way it used to.
Sam shook out her hand, then approached. The CD playerwasworking, and it was queued to track thirteen—the last one. Her jaw went slack and her mouth gaped at the thing. Damon had somehow fixed what she couldn’t—a beer-slinging wizard—so all she had to do was put on the headphones, hit Play and...
“Should we listen to it?” Damon asked. “I don’t totally remember what I put on this. It’d be cool to hear.”
“No,” Sam said emphatically. She searched for something, anything, to get her out of a situation where she and Damon listened to a song and were both transported. Was that even possible? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t ready to test it.
Unable to find the words, she let her fingers trail up Damon’s forearm, then biceps, then toward his neck where she brought him in for a deep kiss. It was true that she was taking a page from Alt-Sam’s playbook by redirecting Damon to sex instead of the truth. And it worked, as he kissed her back and wrapped his strong hands around her waist. This was a man, not the boy she’d grown up with, and he led her toward his bedroom to remind her of that fact.
Damon gently snored next to Sam, but she hadn’t rested at all. She’d been waiting for the right moment to leave the room. She knew she could—and should—stay with him and just be. But she could also slip out of bed, so quietly Damon wouldn’t know, grab the CD player and hit Play. It would take three or four minutes tops, depending on the song, and then she’d have the ending to their story.
They were meant to be—Sam had seen that from the start of the playlist—and while they’d clearly hit a rough patch, she knew that Damon could get Alt-Sam through it.
Sam carefully placed one foot then the other on the floor, stood up and snuck out. In the living room she found the player exactly where Damon had dropped it on the couch. When she picked it up, the screen glowed back.
Hello, friend, she said to herself as she stroked the front.
