Love in the Time of Serial Killers(90)

“Yes, and don’t try to talk me out of it. I don’t care if he hates me or if he’s dating someone new or if I’m about to make the biggest ass out of myself. I need to tell him how I feel, and—”

I suddenly couldn’t hear anything but a high-pitched squeal, and I winced. Shani must’ve grabbed the phone.

“Oh my god, yes,” she was saying, “I was hoping something like this would happen. You two are perfect for each other, and he hasn’t been the same since you left. I don’t care if that girl was over at his house, which I still don’t think Conner should’ve told you.”

I could hear Conner protesting in the background, and could picture Shani swatting him, telling him to shut up. “What do you mean, hasn’t been the same?”

It was dangerous, the lift in my heart at the idea that maybe Sam had been feeling as wrecked and lonely as I had, that maybe he would welcome me back into his life.

“Just quiet,” Shani said. “We’ve been over there quite a bit, starting to move some stuff into the house. If we see him he always says hello, but it’s very . . . polite.”

That sounded like Sam, at least the shy version I’d met at first, and then the reserved version I’d gotten at the end. It had been nothing like the real Sam I’d known in between, who was thoughtful and funny and open and kind.

“Has he—” I started to ask, but then Conner came back on the line.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said. “You’re doing the right thing. Call if you need anything else, but otherwise, we’ll see you tomorrow at the Waffle House, maybe around eight?”

“Sounds good.”

“Bring Sam!” Shani shouted in the background, and I smiled, although my stomach was a twist of knots.

“I’ll try.”





TWENTY-SIX





IT WAS PAST midnight by the time I pulled up in front of Sam’s house, the neighborhood dark with its lack of streetlights. The windows in his house were dark, too. I had no idea what time he went to bed on a weeknight, but he’d once told me the time his school started, some god-awful hour meant for unconsciousness. It made sense that he’d be asleep already.

I chewed on my bottom lip, wondering if I should just head next door, put off any confrontation until tomorrow. But I didn’t have much time, if I wanted to get back for my defense, and I’d come all this way. I had to see him.

My first knock on his door was as quiet as possible, hoping he was awake enough to hear it. After waiting a few minutes, it was obvious he wasn’t, so I tried knocking harder. I even did Conner’s shave-and-a-haircut and hated myself for it, but it seemed like one way at least to convey that it wasn’t the cops at the door. Finally, as a last resort, I tried the doorbell.

Inside, a light switched on, and my heart jumped into my throat. I’d had the entire drive to plan what I was going to say, practice speeches that were varying levels of groveling, but then I heard the door unlatch and it swung open and any plans flew right out of my head.

Sam was wearing a Tampa Bay Lightning T-shirt and sweatpants, his feet bare, his hair all rumpled, a crease from his pillow still across one cheek. He looked so cozy and cute and warm, so Sam, that I immediately wanted to lean forward and wrap my arms around him. But his face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, ranging from irritated to wary to concerned. I took a step back instead.

Hi seemed inadequate. But after the seconds passed, with us just staring at each other, it seemed better than nothing. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I tried to get it to form the word.

“This is very Judgment Ridge,” Sam said finally, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Actually, that’s a fear more specific to daytime visitors,” I said. “Especially ones pretending to be solicitors or surveyors.”

He leaned against the doorframe, dragging his hand down over his mouth. I couldn’t help but follow the movement, wishing I could just kiss him, put everything I wanted to say into that press of my mouth against his.

“Didn’t they knock on a guy’s door months before in the middle of the night, pretend to have car trouble so he’d invite them inside? Only the guy thought something seemed fishy, so he wouldn’t do it.”

I blinked. “I think you’re right,” I said. “Wait, did you read the book?”

He opened the door wider, stepping back to let me in. I wasn’t prepared for how immediately comforted I would feel, just being back inside his house again. I’d missed it. I’d missed him.

“Only the first couple chapters,” Sam said from behind me. “Once the eventual victims were introduced I had to check out.”

That seemed like an awful segue into asking him to come to my defense of a true crime dissertation. It had to be encouraging, though, that he’d even tried. Or was it? I wished I could ask, When did you read it, before I broke your heart or after? “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“It did cross my mind, yes.”

He was wearing a thin, braided bracelet that I’d never noticed on him before. It only occurred to me now that it would’ve been possible for him to have someone over tonight, that Jewel could be lying in his bed right now, which would make me coming over in the middle of the night extra awkward. But there had been no other car in the driveway, and the house felt empty, except for the two of us, standing in his living room.