Tuesday, 6:12 a.m.
Ryan: Sweetheart, please talk to me, please don’t shut me out. I love you.
Tuesday, 6:13 a.m
Ryan: I’m so sorry. Please talk to me.
Tuesday 6:14a.m.
Ryan: I’m heading for the airport, hoping to catch a flight. Hope to talk to you soon.
Tuesday 10:00 a.m.
Ryan: I hope you’re okay, please be okay. I called the office and they said you didn’t come in today. Sweetheart, please take care of yourself.
Tuesday 10:16 a.m.
Ryan: I love you. I know I don’t deserve your love back, but just know I love you.
Tuesday 11:25 a.m.
Ryan: It's killing me that I can’t be with right now. I would grovel at your feet and beg your forgiveness. I love you.
Tuesday 12:10 p.m.
Ryan: I fucking messed up. You’re right, I'm an over privileged asshole. I don’t deserve you. I’m so sorry I put your job in jeopardy.
Tuesday 1:55 p.m.
Ryan: The next available flight isn’t until tomorrow. Please, can we just talk? Even if it’s for you to scream and curse at me, I’ll take anything. I’m worried about you. Please? I love you, Sam and I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you.
Sam sighed and let the hand holding her phone flop back against the armrest of the couch, wiping off the tears that tracked down her cheeks with the other. She couldn’t go on reading the messages, though there were still several left and she’d only scrolled to the very first ones, ending with the ones he’d sent yesterday.
I love you.
Reading those three simple words devastated her all over again, twisted the knife that was already buried in her heart. Had he meant it? Was it real, or just an attempt to placate her so she forgave him?
She didn’t know what to think anymore. Truth be told, she wasn’t that angry at him anymore, since she’d had time to calm down and think in the two days since the meltdown. True, she was still a bit mad at him for keeping her in the dark, but she knew deep down that he’d done it with good, if not severely misguided intentions and not because he was an asshole.
Still, it hurt to know he had kept so much from her, not even telling her about Lola’s involvement or the fact that he’d fired her. Did he really think she couldn’t handle the truth? Did he really think she was some fragile thing that needed to be sheltered and protected by any means? If the answer was yes - and all evidence so far pointed to that - then could they really have a good relationship, one based on trust and respecting each other’s strengths and faults.
The answer right now, was a sad negative.
As for the work situation…
With a resolute set of her shoulders, she rose and marched to sit down at her desk, where her laptop sat waiting. She finished typing up the resignation she had started yesterday, keeping her words brief and to the point. As per company policy, she would somehow manage to finish out her one month notice at Silvercorp, tie up every loose end, including her relationship with Ryan, do her best to ignore whatever whispers or censure that might fall her way and then get the hell out.
She’d already spoken with Dee yesterday about the offer to partner in her business, after pouring out everything to her best friend. Dee had been horrified and sympathetic and encouraging, all in that order.
It was a bold and risky move and at first, she’d been too terrified, but with Dee’s help, she knew she could do this.
A fresh start was what she needed. What she craved.
She printed out the letter and crossed to her bedroom for a change of clothes. She planned to go into work today to hand in her resignation and also to give Bradford Silverton a piece of her mind, for daring to use her to manipulate his son.
She paused in the act of applying lipstick to smile viciously at her reflection, relishing the thought of giving that asshole a verbal lashing.
With any luck, he’d even ask her to forfeit the one month notice and then she’d be free from Silvercorp forever.
And from Ryan.
Her smile faded as melancholia set in.
The main door buzzed and she hurried to put the finishing touches to her ensemble, before carefully putting the letter in her purse and heading back to the living room.
She paused by the intercom. “I’ll be down in a minute, Liam.”
“Sam, it’s Ryan..”
Shock reverberated through her, rendering her speechless for several seconds while her heart forgot its rhythm. She pulled up the video, and sure enough, there he was, standing at the main entrance to the building, staring at her through the camera, a worried frown on his handsome face.
She gasped in air as her lungs constricted. “What are you doing here?’
“Please can we talk?” He leaned close and she could see he looked worse for the wear. “Just for a few minutes, Sam and if you still don’t want to forgive me, then I promise I’ll leave you alone. But just give me a chance.”
She buzzed him in. On autopilot, she walked to the apartment door and opened it, waiting for him to come up, arms crossed protectively over her torso, her mind in a clueless jumble of thoughts.
The elevator arrived and brought Ryan with it. Up close, he looked miserable, hair disheveled, eyes sunken pits from a lack of sleep or misery, or both. His usually well kept facial hair looked rough, face lined with weariness.
He spotted her waiting at her door and came to a halt a few feet away, his gaze raking over her face. For several seconds, they just stared at each other in silence.
She had missed him.
The thought slammed into her, breaking her first line of defense. It was pure agony to squelch the urge to step into his arms, to feel him up close and personal after so long.
From the way his hands clenched and unclenched, and the longing expression, Sam had an idea he was battling the same urge.
She took a step back. If he touched her right now, she would lose her resolve to end things and that was something she couldn't afford to do right now.
"I have to go in to work," she told him, keeping her voice devoid of feeling. "My driver will be here any second so anything you have to say, please say it fast."
Without waiting for his response, she spun around and walked into her apartment, shoulders tense. She heard him move to follow, but kept her gaze firmly fixed ahead as she moved to perch on one end of the couch, rubbing her suddenly sweaty palms over the fabric of the black skirt she wore.
He entered the room, and shut the door behind him, seeming to take up the entire space and came to stand before her, his expression soft and contrite.
Unwilling to tilt her head back to look at him - damn his height - Sam motioned for him to sit, making sure to point at the far end of the three seater couch. He complied, sinking down beside her, but she shifted, putting enough space between them.
A pained look crossed his face and he sighed, taking a hand through his messy hair.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was gravelly, tired, but heart wrenchingly contrite, his gaze fixed on her. "I can never express enough how sorry I am for putting you through hell."
She said nothing, merely stared at the patterns on her skirt, ignoring the flip flops of nerves in her stomach.
"You have every reason to hate me right now, what I did was unforgivable and I…" his gaze flickered to his hands before returning to her, "I spent the entire flight here kicking myself for being so careless with you. For putting you in a position of vulnerability and not seeing things from your perspective even when you made it clear what your concerns were."
"Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?" Sam hated how vulnerable and broken she sounded, but his words were like fresh wounds. She raised her eyes to his, bright with unshed tears. "Why did you hide so much from me? Out of everything that's happened, that's the one thing I can't wrap my head around."
He made a tortured sound. "I was a selfish bastard, Sam. Our relationship had just moved to another level, it had become more than just sex for us and I was afraid of what would happen if you decided to end things. I was already deeply in love with you and couldn't stand the thought of losing you. Christ, it sounds so fucked up just hearing it out loud, doesn't it?
He looked so torn up about it, she reached out and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, so stiff with tension. His eyes swept shut at her touch, and he sighed, the tension slowly seeping out of him.
"I'm so sorry, Sam." He turned to face her, taking her hands between his large, warm ones and squeezing gently. "If I could take your hurt and make it mine, I would in a heartbeat."
Looking into his eyes, seeing the level of pain and regret swirling in the gray depths, Sam believed him. "I know. God help me, I was mad at you at first, I still am, to some extent, but I've had a chance to think about it and I know you thought you were doing what was best for me, for us."
She gently pulled away from his touch and stood, needing distance. "But I can't help feeling betrayed and deeply gutted knowing you're capable of keeping secrets. What does this spell for our relationship? Will I ever be able to trust you again? Will we ever get to a point when I can look you in the face and not wonder if you're hiding something from me? What kind of relationship will we have without trust?"
She saw a flash of fear cross his face as he realized where she was going with this. He stumbled to his feet and took a hesitant step towards her. She held up a hand to stall him and continued.
"Before you came, I had convinced myself that there was no way forward for us. I thought I could deny my love for you and hope that someday, I would be able to move on. But I can't."
"The night my fiance died, we had a huge fight and I...I said so many things I wish I could take back." her voice broke into sobs.