Page 29 of The Love You Fight For
She groans and drops her head back, the wet towel unraveling and falling into a puddle at her feet. Her makeshift raincoat was a valiant effort but completely worthless, and her dick slippers are little more than pink fuzzy blobs. She mumbles something likebad fucking idea, and she’s such a pitiful sight that I take mercy on her.
“C’mon, princess.” I put a hand on her shoulder and turn her around, shoving her toward the back entrance to the bar. “We’ll get you fixed up.”
I snatch her towel off the ground as I follow her through the door, and the moment she steps into the main bar, a yelp of fright comes from Paul, followed by a scoff from Sam.
“Sorry about the swamp monster, Paul.” I pat Sam on the head. She swats my hand away with a growl. “Found her rummaging in the trash out back and felt bad. Couldn’t leave her out in the storm.”
“Ha-ha. You’re hilarious,” Sam says, stalking back out the way we came, but I step in front of her and grab her shoulders.
“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”
She scoffs again and folds her arms across her chest, but she doesn’t move to leave. I hand her a stack of bar napkins and gesture to her face, then I turn back to Paul. He and I make sure the walk-in cooler and freezer are locked up tight and make plans to come back first thing in the morning to check the damage.
When Paul heads out the front door, I finally face Sam again. Most of the mud mask is gone, but her hair is a greasy, wet mess stuck to her face and neck, and her silk robe and slippers are in even worse shape. She’s still wearing the trash bag cape, too.
“So I’m guessing you can’t get ahold of Lennon since you’re here and not there?”
She sighs. “They’ve got Evie tonight, and she hasn’t responded to my text. I didn’t want to call and disturb them if they were sleeping or dealing with a scared child.”
The statement is more considerate than I would have expected from her, but I don’t say that out loud. She and Lennon are extremely close, so I guess it makes sense that Sam would have Lennon’s comfort in mind.
“Well, I can bring you to my house and you can use my shower—I have a generator that I know for a fact works—or I can take you to your dad’s, but it’s probably better for me to take you in my truck than you attempt it in your coupe. Some of these roads flood pretty bad.”
She nods slowly and fixes her eyes on something over my shoulder. I watch her work out my offer as she chews on the inside of her lip a bit.
“You’re sure you don’t mind taking me to your place?” She sounds so defeated that I don’t give her shit. I like to fuck with her, but not when she’s vulnerable and obviously uncomfortable.
“It’s fine, Sam. We can go back up and you can grab your stuff, and then we’ll head out.”
I double-check that the front door is locked, the neon sign is unplugged, and the lights are all flipped off before I trail Sam out the back and up the stairs. I keep the flashlight on and shining on her path, so she doesn’t trip. She grabs a toiletry bag, shoves some clothes in an oversized designer tote, and grabs her phone and charger out of the living room.
I’m surprised to see that her coffee table is completely covered, and I shine the Maglite on it to get a better look. Books, an open spiral-bound notebook filled with writing, a few highlighters and pens, a pad of sticky notes, and an empty wine glass litter the surface. I zero in on the words in the notebook when Sam snatches the Maglite from my hands and turns it on my face.
“Quit snooping,” she snaps, then brushes past me and heads to the door.
I chuckle and follow her down the stairs and to my truck. She climbs into my passenger side as I slide behind the wheel.
“You can take off your trash bag,” I tell her, and she does without comment.
I’d put a towel or something down for her, but it’s honestly pointless. We’re both soaked completely through, and her robe has become almost like a second skin. It’s so bad that I have to make sure to keep my eyes on her face and not on her body. The last thing I need right now is to see her curves encased in soaking wet silk.
“There are CDs in the glove compartment,” I tell Sam, half expecting her to make fun of the fact that my truck is so old that it has a CD player.
She doesn’t. She just opens the glove compartment and startsdigging around in there. She ignores the CD case, though, and instead zeroes in on something else.
“What’s this?” she asks, her fingers wrapping around the worn copy ofWaldenI keep in there. “Thoreau?” She opens it and flips through the pages, no doubt noticing the penciled notes, underlines, and highlights throughout. She smirks to herself. “I didn’t know you could read.”
I snort a laugh.
“Smartass.” I take the book from her and put it back where it belongs, closing the glove compartment and putting my keys in the ignition. “It was my grandfather’s copy, but yes, I do read it. Surprising, right?”
She hums, then rests her wet head on the seatback.
“I remember him,” she says quietly after a moment.
My grandfather worked at the post office, so everyone knew and loved him. I was fifteen when he died of a stroke.
“Are the annotations his?”
