29. Greg

Tilly locked up the surf shack and bar hours ago. It was much earlier than she should have done it, but there weren't any customers anyway. And here I am, sitting at the bar with a whiskey in front of me that I haven't even touched. Tilly's beside me, but her drink's already empty. It's been twelve hours since Sam took off, and neither of us feels like talking anymore. We've asked around and called a few people, but Sam is just…gone. I stayed at the bar all day, watching as Tilly robotically took care of things without Sam. Though it's late, neither of us suggests leaving. I think deep down, we both don't want to go back to a home where Sam isn't a part of our lives.

I keep checking my phone, hoping for a call that never comes. Sam hasn't reached out to either of us.

Tilly gets up and refills her gin and tonic. As she sits back down, she sighs. "Her passport's gone." I stay silent, not surprised. I always knew Sam would bolt. It's her way—fleeing when the going gets tough. "I don't think she even knew I knew about that box. I've been adding money to it for years."

"She stole from you?"

Tilly lets out a laugh, a sound that feels out of place in our predicament. "Listen, we're all running from something living here. I was just trying to help us both be prepared. We're just so… similar. It's scary sometimes." She takes a long gulp of her drink and sets it down thoughtfully. "I just didn't expect her to go without me."

I'm shaking my head. The fact that Sam left, it's my fault. "She didn't leave you, Til. I'm sure she'll check in with you eventually. She was running from the FBI."

Tilly looks at me, tears brimming in her eyes again. "Yeah, I thought I heard something about that." She doesn't ask for details, but her silence speaks volumes. She's waiting for me to continue. So, I down my whiskey in one go and dive into the confession I never wanted to make.

"I was sent to Central America to find her." I raise my hand, stopping her before she can explode in anger. "Before you freak out, I didn't know it was her when we met."

She remains silent, a clear sign she's bracing herself for more. "I figured it out by the time we went to dinner. But by then…" I shake my head, filled with regret. "I fucked this all up."

Turning to her, I don't care how desperate I look. "I would have never turned her in."

The way she stares at me makes me want to sprint out of the bar, but I can't break eye contact. Deep down, I know Sam will check in with Tilly and that's my best shot of getting a good word put in. After what feels like hours, Tilly finally nods. "I believe you," she whispers, and I can hear the trust in her voice. "But the FBI? What the hell did she do?"

"Killed her ex," I admit. Maybe for a civilian, it was a little blunt, but I'm done beating around the bush with anything. Lying got me nowhere with Sam, which will worsen things with Tilly. At least, I'm guessing.

Tilly's hand flies to her mouth. "Greg… Murder?"

"Yep." I go to take a sip of my drink only to find the cup empty. I have to resist the urge to chuck it at the wall of alcohol in front of us. "She told me the whole story. But I don't know if I should--"

Thankfully, Tilly holds a hand up, indicating I should say no more. We both lapse into a comfortable silence. I should probably call it quits and head back to my worthless apartment, but I honestly don't want to be alone.

An idea pops into my mind. It's not the first time I've thought about it, but Tilly wasn't ready for the suggestion. Not desperate enough. Now, it seems like the time to push. I take a deep breath. "You know who she probably called…"

But Tilly's shaking her head in denial. "No way."

I'm pleading now, hands outstretched. "Til, Tommy won't ignore your call. Just check in, make sure she's okay." It's the last person we can check with, and we both know Sam might be with him.

When she hesitates, I don't wait. I grab her phone and hold it out, one eyebrow raised. Tilly snatches it back, unlocks it, and dials.

"Hey Tommy," Tilly says, her voice cutting through the tense air. Despite the emotional whirlwind, she twirls a strand of her hair around her finger. "Uh, are you with Sam?"

My heart leaps at the mention of Sam's name. While Tommy is talking on the phone, Tilly's eyebrows shoots up in surprise, and she eagerly taps my arm before a gloomy expression takes over her face. "Nicaragua? Why?" I can barely contain my excitement, my mind racing with questions.

But I can't hold back. Seizing the phone from Tilly, I press it against my ear and growl into the receiver, "Don't say another fucking word. Just get back here." Before anyone can respond, I end the call.

Tilly looks at me, her face beet red, furious at the rash move. "What the hell was that?" she demands.

"The FBI is probably listening to all our calls, Tilly. In person only." I barely finish my sentence when a knock at the front window interrupts us. Benito, looking out of place in his casual attire, is waiting outside.

"Fuck," Tilly mutters under her breath, her gaze flicking to me, desperate for guidance. "I forgot he's taking me to dinner. What should I do?"

I know we have no choice. Any detour from the plan will be a giant red flag. "You have to go. The longer we can keep them from knowing she's gone, the better." Tilly nods, her resolve hardening. If I had any doubt about what she would do for Sam, and I really didn't, it's gone now.

She ties her hair up, transforming into a woman with a mission, and greets Benito with a casualness that belies any hint of what she was feeling ten seconds ago. "Hey Benito!" She kisses his cheek, feigning normalcy. "Should we go?"

Benito glances my way, suspicion in his eyes. "Who's that?"

"Oh, that's Greg. He's gonna close up for me," Tilly says smoothly, ushering him out. I wave at Benito, playing my part in the charade. I barely know the guy. Really, I've only met him once, but I will never forget his face. Benito is surely the same man who was at headquarters for a retirement party three years ago. I remember we both wanted the last of the Scottish whiskey at the bar, and he won a quick game of rock paper scissors to earn it.

Tilly gives me a final glance through the front window, worry in her furrowed brows. A reassuring smile is all I have to offer her, but she turns away and looks as confident as ever.

Once they're gone, the silence of the shack presses in on me. Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of Sam. Her presence lingers like a fragrance, her sun-bleached clothes hidden in nooks and crannies. The woman always changed in a flash when it was time for a surf lesson. Overcome by a sudden urge, I start to gather her scattered shirts. I fold each one carefully, storing them away like treasures under the counter.

I think about how Sam lived here, always on the move, her life a series of spontaneous decisions that somehow always led her back to the ocean. Her passion for surfing wasn't just a hobby; it was an extension of her soul. Watching her ride the waves, I was captivated by the sheer joy she radiated.

And I know that Sam was more than just a fleeting romance for me; she was a force that had shifted the direction of my life. Before her, I would never have considered lying to the FBI or risking my job. But her laughter, her intelligence, her beauty—it all resonated with me on a level I hadn't known was possible.

But now, as I stand alone in the surf shack, surrounded by the memories of what we shared in a few short months, I'm filled with regret. I should have been honest with her from the start and should have shared my secrets when I confessed my love. Instead, I let my fear and my job come between us, and now I'm paying the price.

It feels like there's a neon sign over my head, flashing the word, ‘Idiot.' And I'm left wondering if I've lost her for good; if my failure to open up has cost me the most important person in my life.

After organizing all her stuff, I start sweeping the surf shack. There's always sand on the floor, and I can keep myself busy trying to contain it for the next ten years. For a while, I manage to lose myself. Cleaning and putting around the shop without any real purpose.

The click of the front door instantly pulls my attention. Tommy stands there, fury etched across his face, and without a word, he charges at me. His fist connects with my cheek, the shock of the impact matched only by the pain thumping in my face. He doesn't stop there, landing another punch straight into my gut, sending me tumbling to the shop's cold cement floor.

"I told you what would happen, you dick!" His words ring in my ears as I hit the ground. "How could you do that to her?"

I don't even try to defend myself. Everything Tommy says is right. I've earned this, every punch, every word.

"You gonna sit there like an asshole or get up and fight me?" He's taunting me, but I keep my hands at my sides as I struggle to my feet. Throbbing courses through my body, but I relish it. He should kick my ass. Hell, I want to kick my ass.

But before he can hit me again, Tilly's voice cuts through the tension. "Tommy! What're you doing?"

"He's a cop! He's here to arrest Sam and take her to the States!" Tommy's voice is trembling, and his whole body is shaking with anger. Tilly tries to calm him with a touch, but he's too far gone.

"No! He took her from you, Til! She's never coming back, and I know… I know what that'll do to you."

Tilly's reaction is a mix of shock and something deeper. "You're—worried about me?"

Tommy's anger fades a bit as he lets out a heavy sigh. "Well, yeah. Among other things."

I watch silently as Tilly guides him to the bar, handing him a cold beer. He takes a long sip as she explains my actions and how I tried to throw the FBI off Sam's trail. Once she finishes, he doesn't seem any more content. It's unusual to see him looking so downtrodden, especially for a guy who usually wears a smile as often as pants. "How did things get so fucked so quick?" Tommy asks.

But Tilly only laughs. "I don't think they were supposed to fall in love." My heart leaps at the thought, only to sink again. If she loved me back, she wouldn't have left.

"I guess not," Tommy says, a half grin teasing at the corner of his mouth. "At least she's safe for now. I made sure she had a place to stay and some money." A twinge of jealousy hit me; he was the one who helped her when she needed it most, not me. Sam called Tommy to fix the problem. The fucking problem I caused.

"Why'd you drive her?" I ask, unable to hide my envy.

"She called and said she needed help. I don't need the details, but she told me the whole story," Tommy says, then looks down as his red fist. "I'm sorry I hit you, man."

I shake my head. "Don't be. I deserved it." My gaze shifts to Tilly, who's gently massaging Tommy's shoulders. The move surprises me. Last I knew, the two weren't speaking. Maybe a little good might come out of the situation after all. But almost the moment I think it, Tilly stops her gentle touches, a bit of embarrassment showing on her pink cheeks.

I watch her take a seat. "So, what'd Benito say?"

Tilly grabs herself some water and takes a sip before turning in my direction. "Nothing, really. He did ask how long I've known Sam, and I told him the truth. He asked about you, and I said you were just hired a few days ago. I did tell him you seemed very interested in Sam, but that's it."

Her efforts to protect me, to keep me out of trouble, are unexpected. "Erm, thanks. You didn't have to do that. I'm 100% willing to take the fall for this."

"You can't win her back from jail," Tilly says, her words carrying more weight than she might realize. Despite everything, the possibility of trying to win Sam back fills me with hope.

"I can if we're both in jail," I try to joke, but the gravity of our situation is too heavy for laughter.

Tommy's hand on my shoulder brings me back to the moment. "Listen, she promised to call if she needed anything. We should probably get to sleep and try… try to forget this shitty day."

As we all stand to leave, I try not to let my disappointment show. I don't want to be alone, especially not in the apartment where Sam and I have spent so much of our time together.

"You wanna stay over?" Tilly asks. The thought of being surrounded by Sam's belongings, by reminders of her, is almost too much.

I run my hand through my hair. "I don't know if I can be around her stuff right now."

But Tilly laughs and links her arm to mine. "Greg, your apartment probably has more of her stuff in it than mine. Come sleep on the couch."

Reluctantly, I agree to stay. Still, the night ahead promises little rest as I grapple with my feelings and the consequences of my actions.