Chapter 10

Ten

Roman

He didn't usually talk about Cathryn or Luca. His friends—his true friends—knew his past, the family history, and the struggles he and Cathryn had faced. His true friends knew those struggles hadn't stopped after the divorce, which had been Cathryn's idea. Roman had waited until she was doing well, until she had been clean for nearly a year before sitting down with her and listening to her talk of splitting up. Not because he wanted to save their marriage, but because he wanted to know she would be okay.

Even now, all these years later, Roman wasn't sure what Cathryn felt for him. But he loved her. Not the way he had all those years ago. But he did love her, and he did want her to be happy. She still battled a drug issue, and there were days when Roman still felt guilty for that.

But he didn't share his thoughts, feelings, with anyone. Even though his truest friends knew it all, maybe because they did, he didn't talk about the past. Or Cathryn's occasional phone calls. The way she still broke down in tears at times or the way she raged at him with hatred and vitriol. The suicide attempts. Luca's determination to follow in her mother's footsteps with all the same bad decisions.

Sam listened with interest, but also compassion. Roman could read it in her eyes. It felt good to talk about it, to say those things out loud. To remind himself that he and Cathryn had tried to solve things, to stay together, and things didn't work. To remind himself it had taken both of them to fall in love, both of them to fall out of love, and both of them to break their daughter. He wasn't solely to blame.

And yet, he hated to talk about it. To say much of anything about his ex-wife or his daughter, let alone to let it all come tumbling out now. To Sam.

The first woman he had found interesting, intriguing , in several years.

"I don't…" He shook his head and stacked his silverware on the plate. The breakfast Sam had fixed him was delicious. But she could have poured him a bowl of sugary cereal or bran flakes and made him happy. "I don't like to talk about it."

"Sometimes you need to," she said simply. "And it's okay."

"How about you?" He picked up his mug and swallowed the last of his coffee. "Any skeletons in your closet?"

"Do you want more coffee?" She reached for his mug. "I can make more."

"No. I need more coffee like I need my ass kicked on a pickleball court."

"I can't make that happen." Sam shook her head. "I've never played."

"It's a lot like tennis."

She shook her head again. "How about volleyball?"

"Beach volleyball?" He quirked an eyebrow at her.

She chuckled softly. "I played when I was in school. And I have played on the beach a few times, but again. If you're thinking hot bikini babes with suntan oil and long, lean legs, I can't make that happen, either."

Roman watched her when she stood and picked up his plate.

"I beg to differ," he answered.

She snorted with a shake of her head and turned the faucet on. Rather than sit and watch her clean the kitchen, Roman joined her at the sink to help.

"Sit down," she insisted. "I've got this."

"I want to help."

She shrugged and tipped her head to look at him.

"What?"

"You seem really young to be retired."

"I color my hair." He said it with a straight face, but Sam burst into laughter.

"Don't." She shook her head as she let her eyes roam over his face. "I see the tiniest bit of gray. It's a good look."

"I retired," he said with a sigh. "Because I had…"

"You had what?" she asked him as she started washing one of the plates.

"Well, I thought it was a heart attack," he admitted.

"You thought—heart attack?" She dropped the plate in the sink and turned sideways to look at him. "Sit down. Seriously."

"It wasn't," he argued. "It was actually an angina attack."

"Even I know that's still serious."

"Not life-threatening," he promised her. "I can handle standing here with you and drying dishes."

"When did it happen?"

"Not quite a year ago." He focused on the plate she handed him, drying and buffing it like he would be judged on its shine.

"You saw a doctor, right?"

Roman was grateful she kept her eyes on her hands and didn't look at him.

"I did. I actually drove myself to the ER."

"You thought you were having a heart attack, but you drove yourself to the ER."

"Mm-hmm."

"No one to drive you?"

"Well, Cathryn was in treatment. I think Luca was shacking up with some guy named Osmond at the time, and I don't even want to know anything about that. And Damien was out of town."

"Ambulance?"

"No." He shook his head. "The last damned thing I ever want to do is ride in an ambulance."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

Roman noticed her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.

"It was an angina attack. Kind of a little warning that I needed to change my lifestyle. My diet."

"Get rid of stress."

"Part of it," he agreed. "I do eat better, most of the time. And I am now back to exercising for my health."

"And you retired."

"Well, I can't quit my family, and something had to give."

Sam turned again to face him. "Can't you, though? They're adults, Roman. Maybe you need to step away and focus on yourself."

"Well, I did move about a thousand miles away from them."

Sam stared at him a moment longer, but Roman couldn't decipher the look on her face. Finally, she nodded again and turned her attention back to the dishes.

"Do you gamble?" he asked her after several moments of comfortable quiet.

"Play the slots when I'm in Vegas, but it's been a few years."

"How about showing me around Love Beach? Maybe we hit the Faro Lady and drop some dollars."

She opened her mouth to argue—he could tell from the look on her face—but Roman held his hand up to stop her. He saw her eyes slide over his fingers before she looked up at him again.

"My treat."

"You want me to go gamble your dollars for you?"

"I do." He nodded. "And I'll buy you dinner."

A curious smile crept over her face as she stared at him.

"Okay, Dr. Ewing. Let's gamble."