The Fall Up (The Fall Up #1)(36)

A laugh escaped my throat. He waggled his eyebrows as he moved to the small table next to the door. After flipping through the mail, he extended an envelope in my direction.

“Text my address to Devon. I don’t need the SWAT team breaking down my door when he realizes I didn’t take you back to your place.”

He had a point. And, given my situation, Henry would probably stroke out too.

Upon retrieving my phone from my back pocket, I sent a message to Henry and asked him to pass the word along to Devon as well. His reply pinged in my hand, but I didn’t bother reading it before powering my phone down.

“You want a beer?” Sam asked, bypassing the fridge and heading to a sliding glass door off the back of his kitchen.

“Sure.”

“Okay. Be right back.” He disappeared out the door.

Less than a moment later, a black lab came barreling in.

“Sampson!” Sam yelled behind him.

I immediately backed away. He didn’t exactly look ferocious, but I’d become too fond of my legs to chance having them gnawed off.

“Sit,” Sam ordered, appearing in doorway with four beers cradled against his chest.

The dog skidded to a halt then dropped to his hind end less than an inch away from me. His tail thumped against the hardwood as he eagerly stared up at me.

“You have a dog?”

“Very astute observation. Levee, meet Sampson,” he laughed, twisting the tops off two domestic beers.

“Your dog’s name is Sampson?”

“Yep,” he said before tipping the beer to his lips and offering one in my direction.

“Your name is Sam and you named your dog Sampson. That’s a bit egotistical, don’t ya think?”

“Well, the guy who does my ink wouldn’t give us matching tattoos. I was really limited in my narcissistic options.”

“Right.” I reached down to scratch behind Sampson’s ears.

“I got him at the pound a few years back. I saw the name tag on his kennel and took it as a sign.” He whistled and Sampson rushed to his side. Tilting his beer toward the couch to signal for me to sit down, he asked, “You a dog person?”

Following his unspoken order, I settled on the end of the couch, slipping my heels off so I could tuck a leg underneath me. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted a dog, but by the time I could afford to take care of one, my life was chaos. I travel way too much.”

“Gotcha,” he said, sitting beside me on the couch.

With a snap and a point from Sam, Sampson lumbered over to a dog bed in the corner, grunting before flopping down.

We both stayed silent, awkwardly drinking our beers. Small talk was officially over, but it seemed Sam wasn’t any more excited to start the heavy conversation than I was.

“You hungry?” he asked as I nervously polished my beer off.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He nodded and went back to staring into space. “Sooo…” he drawled but didn’t say anything else.

Without looking at him, I broke the silence. “Are you positive that we can’t just start with sex?”

Chuckling, he dropped his head back against the couch and turned to look at me. I met his gaze with a grin, hoping he was about to give in. Instead, his smile fell and his eyes softened.

“I’m sorry I stormed out the way I did, but I really can’t apologize for telling Devon. Levee, I have a really f*cked-up past, and it terrifies me to start something with someone like you.”

Someone like you.

I swallowed hard, trying not to flinch from the sting of his words. “Oh.” I scooted to the edge of couch and slid my shoes back on.

He caught my elbow before I had the chance to push to my feet. “Hear me out. Please.”

“Yeah, of course. I was just gonna grab another beer.” I smiled tightly, but he didn’t release my arm.

With one hand, he grabbed the neck of my empty beer between two fingers and replaced it with his half-full one. “Stop and listen. That’s all I’m asking.”

A nod was my only response.

“My fondest memories from when I was a kid are when I was with my dad. I remember him spending hours running around with Anne and me in the backyard. He was so f*cking funny and energetic. I swear we were always laughing with him. The problem was that my mom would sit at the kitchen window crying because she knew what would follow. My dad had been diagnosed as bipolar long before he met my mom. But he had meds, and even though they weren’t a fix-all, they helped. Just like basically everyone else who struggles with the disorder, he had a hard time sticking to the medication regimen.” He scrubbed his palms over the thighs of his jeans then dragged his cigarettes from his pocket. He glanced over at me then sighed, tossing them on the wagon-wheel coffee table—his creation, no doubt.

All of my hurt disappeared as I watched something far worse appear on Sam’s face. I didn’t necessarily want to encourage his habit, but I’d have done anything to erase that pained expression.

“You want to take this to the porch swing so you can smoke?” I asked, folding my hand over his.

“Yes. But I need to stop compromising your breakup with lung cancer. So no.” His lips twitched as he intertwined our fingers. Groaning, he continued. “There were times when my dad would disappear to his workshop in our backyard for a week or more. It was a way of life, and Anne and I learned to stop asking questions. Despite all of his shit, he was a great dad.” He squeezed my hand and pointedly held my gaze as he said, “I miss him a lot.”