32. Sam

The next morning, I'm in the shower, scrubbing the horrible journey off my skin for the second time. Can poop infiltrate the body? Cause I swear, I feel like it's inside me. But the longer I lather and repeat, the better I feel. It's not only about getting clean, it's as if the soap is mingling with my fatigue and sliding away with the water.

Restless sleep had turned into channel surfing until I couldn't take it anymore. Pacing the room didn't help either, and when the buffet downstairs finally opened, both the coffee and eggs were tasteless. There was too much going through my head. It had only been three weeks since I left Costa Rica, but still, I am a mess over seeing Greg and Tilly.

Turning off the water, I wrap myself in a towel, catching my reflection in the mirror. The person staring back feels like a stranger—gone is the vibrant surf instructor, replaced by someone hollow with sunken eyes. Instead of getting dressed, I plop down on the edge of the bed with my towel wrapped around me and massage my temples. The text I received mentioned that Tilly and Greg's flight had touched down half an hour ago, and I'm well aware that they'll be here any minute now.

As if I called them with my thoughts, a soft knock sounds, prompting me to quickly dress in an old t-shirt and shorts before cautiously opening the door. Tilly's embrace is immediate and fierce. For a split second, I'm holding my arms at my side, surprised by the action. But then, almost of their own accord, my arms squeeze around her.

In an instant, we're both crying, her tears soaking my shoulder and mine falling on hers. There was no avoiding this. I missed Tilly like the desert misses the rain. I squeeze onto her tighter, making a silent promise to never be away from her again. When she finally steps back, she swipes at her eyes, then slaps my shoulder hard enough to make me wince. "Ow!"

Her wet face transforms into a grimace, and I know I'm in trouble. "Elaine Samantha Archibald Williams! Don't you ever do that to me again! I have been worried sick, and you know I need my eight hours to look good. You know how much sleep I've had since you left?" Despite the gravity of the situation, I can't help but chuckle.

"What?" I ask, a mischievous grin on my face. "I think you look like a goddamn princess."

She wiggles a finger at me with narrowed eyes. "Don't try that bullshit. I look like hell and it's your fault."

I roll my eyes and stand aside so she can come all the way into the room. "Til, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think you were born looking like that." She smacks me again, but I almost enjoy the sting on my arm. I fucking missed my best friend.

But as soon as we're inside, the happiness seems to be sucked out of the room. In its place is tension as Greg walks by me. If Tilly looked like hell, Greg is ten times worse. If I didn't know better, I would think he was hit by a train that was on fire and covered in acid. His hair is rumpled like his hand hasn't stopped running through it, and deep dark bags are under his eyes. His gaze remains mostly fixed on the floor as he strides by.

"Elaine." I barely hear his voice as he nods at me.

A shock freezes me in place before I realize why. Both Tilly and Greg used my real name. "It's weird hearing you both call me Elaine. I don't know if I like it."

"Yeah, I'm not a fan either. You're Sam," Tilly states, ending the discussion with a decisive nod before making herself at home on the bed and commandeering the TV—a strange sight, considering we didn't even have a TV back in Costa Rica.

"What were you watching?" she asks, curious.

"I have no idea. Just needed some background noise." My eyes keep focusing on the man pouting in the corner of their own accord. Each time he glances up, we both quickly avert our gazes.

"Oh Lord. Greg stop hovering. Come sit," Tilly says when we're all quiet for too long.

Staring straight ahead, I refuse to watch him find a seat on the mattress. As soon as he does, he grabs the decades-old remote for the tube TV and shuts off the power. "We should probably get straight to business. I need to call in an update sooner rather than later."

I swallow down some of the discomfort and give him a nod.

"Sam…" Greg begins, and I'm torn between wanting to run into his arms or fleeing the room to jump into the nearest river. "As you know, I work with the FBI and have been authorized to make you an offer."

Shifting uncomfortably so I'm facing him, I urge him on.

He rubs his hands together, watching them instead of me. "Surrender to me, and they will make sure you get home, quickly, and you will be granted house arrest while taking care of the medical tests for your nephew."

"What will I be charged with?"

He sucks a breath and winces a little. "First degree murder, among… other things." My entire body goes rigid at the sound of how serious the arrest will be. His hand shoots out like he wants to hold me, but it recoils at the last second. "I'm sorry, but I have no control over that, Sam."

My eyes widen as my breath catches in my throat. I'm going to be arrested for murder, probably in the next day or two. Now, I wish his hand had found its place in mine. I want his touch. Need his reassurance.

"And if I don't agree?" I hate the waver in my voice. It's betraying how uncertain I feel about everything.

Tilly jumps to her feet, her eyes wide with panic. "Without him, the minute you try to cross into the US, you'll be arrested and thrown in jail." I start to argue, but she shakes her head. "They've flagged Penny's passport. If you don't take the deal, who knows if they'll let you help your nephew. You could end up helpless in prison." The way she says it, so much passion in her voice, I know what she's not saying. Without the deal, I could be watching from the sidelines as my nephew dies.

With a careful look in Greg's direction, Tilly huffs out a long breath. "Get out," she says. Greg's brows furrow in confusion, but she doesn't wait. With both hands on his chest, she's shoving him towards the door. "You're distracting her, and I can talk sense into her if you don't quit with the puppy dog eyes."

As he's pushed out of the room, he says over his shoulder, "I won't let them fuck around with you." Tilly opens the hotel room door, and he steps out. With one final look at me, his face hardens. "And if you decide to run, I'll look the other way."

Tilly slams the door behind him and leans against it. "God, you two…" She's shaking her head.

"What?"

"The minute he was in here, you were both undressing each other with your eyes."

Naked Greg hadn't entered my mind once since he arrived, but now that she says it…

"Ugh, you're doing it again!" Tilly flops onto the mattress and puts a hand to her forehead.

"I'm not!"

She props herself up on an elbow. "And I suppose you just forgot to wear a bra?" I look down, my face flushing. The fabric of the T-shirt is thin and leaves little to the imagination.

I jump to my feet and start rummaging through my bag, desperate to avoid any talk of what I might hope for with Greg here. However, as I attempt to subtly hide it under my shirt, Tilly suddenly appears next to me. In a swift motion, she grabs hold of what I was trying to wear. "Hey! That's mine," she laughs. "I thought I left this in Benito's stupid Honda."

"Woah, wait a second. You actually went out with him?" She settles back on the spring mattress with a shrug.

"He's taken me out a few times. Admitted he's in the FBI and looking for you. He's nice."

"And what about Tommy?"

Tilly blows a long raspberry. "Tommy who? Oh, right. The guy that turned me down and avoids me like the plague now."

"You guys obviously spoke after I left. You called from his phone."

"Yeah, well that was about you. It doesn't count."

I cross the room and lay next to her. Though it might not be any of my business, I want to help. "He says you stopped talking to him. He has no idea when he may or may not have turned you down. Says he might've been drunk."

There's a flicker of what looked like hope in Tilly's eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. "Drunk minds say what sober mouths are afraid of." There's a brief moment where I consider arguing more, but it's her battle to believe and not my job to convince her. We're both quiet until Tilly, still fiddling with her stolen bra, speaks quietly. "It's a good deal, Sam."

I close my eyes. "I know."

"And just because it comes from him, doesn't mean you need to ignore it."

I roll my eyes. "I know that too."

But Tilly turns her body to me, propping her head up with her hand. "He loves you."

That's not what I want or need to hear. "He lied to me. And about the one thing—"

"I would have done the same thing in his position." I'm already getting off the bed, not willing to let her defend the guy that changed everything. "Don't you dare walk away, Sam. He knew right where you were for months. Slept next to you nearly every night and never said a fucking word to his boss. You know he's probably going to get charged with obstruction for that?"

I didn't know that and felt a stab in my chest that was oddly reminiscent of guilt. But that can't be right. Why should I feel guilty? For doing something just for myself? For leaving him and my friends in the lurch, forcing them to come to my rescue?

Fuck. Yep. It's guilt, and I don't like it. Tilly must recognize the look of realization on my face because a small smile graces her lips.

"Good. I'll go get him and explain that you'll take the deal then." My jaw drops at her coming to that conclusion with just a look on my face, but I shouldn't be surprised. She knows me well.

Tilly hopped to her feet, a spring in her step at the victory she'd managed with only a few words. Without arguing, I watch as she goes to the door and opens it up. There's a short, muffled conversation before she returns with Greg in tow.

They both look at me expectantly. "I'll, erm, take the deal."

The corner of Greg's mouth tilted up, and my heart nearly stopped. Patented Greg Sanderson smirk. Half the reason I feel for the damn man in the first place. "That's good, Sam. Really good." Our eyes meet, and I immediately know it's a mistake.

Everything around me fades away. A thousand scenes run through my mind; Greg chasing me through his apartment only to set me on the kitchen counter when he finally caught me, kissing Greg in the ocean, cuddling him on the couch. So much emotion floods through me that my breathing turns shallow. I didn't just miss my best friend. I missed this beast of a man leaning against the old desk in my hotel room. Too much.

It takes a well-timed fake cough from Tilly for us to break eye contact. My face flushes as I realize how long we've all been quiet.

"I'll just make my call then." Greg pulls his phone from his pocket and points to it awkwardly to emphasize his point. Instead of leaving the room as I expected, he starts pacing the room, running his hand through his dirty blonde locks.

And now I'm picturing my hands in it. How feathery the touch would be, how his eyes would close in pleasure as I tug on the ends. He ends his call and looks at me. The bloom of heat on my cheeks gets worse. "They're getting us on the next flight to Monterey. We should be ready to go in case it leaves soon."

I nod because speaking is a dangerous idea right now. Things might get blurted out. Ideas that have no business rushing into this somewhat serious conversation.

"We should watch something," Tilly adds. Shit. I had honestly forgotten she was in the room. All my focus has been on the incredibly sexy surfing sex god walking around.

But Greg agrees and settles on the mattress next to Tilly. Their legs are touching, but Tilly doesn't move. Though I know it's stupid, I can't tear my eyes away from it. What the actual hell? Did Greg and Tilly…

The pair of them answer the question for me when Greg tries to take the remote out of Tilly's hand. She smacks his hand. "Ow, asshole. That hurt," he says.

"Quit being a dick then. I'm picking the show cause you have terrible taste," she said. He laughs but snatches the remote away anyway.

They're… friends? What I'm witnessing is more than that. Not friends. Like siblings. My heart is in my throat at the realization. When I left, they barely tolerated each other.

My best friend and Greg became close in my absence. Tangling my hands on the bedspread, I have to anchor myself in place. Otherwise, I'm going to run into his arms. The room is still quiet, unsettling as it is. I know that I'm making it weird. But what the hell am I supposed to say? ‘I see you and Tilly are friends now. Marry me?' Even thinking about it has me shaking my head.

Trying not to think about it, I watch the TV, but it could be off for all I can't tell. Twice, I allow myself to look at him; both times, he is already staring at me.

Tilly's sudden movement breaks through my wandering thoughts, her energy palpable as she sits up. "Alright, I can't take the sexy looks and silence anymore." Her gaze shifts to Greg. "Greg, would you like to speak with Sam alone?" His nod, accompanied by a slightly annoyed expression, reminds me of his normal everyday grievances. Occasionally, that look would cross his face when I'd make him coffee with too much sugar. Something I did on purpose to elicit what I considered a cute response.

Then, Tilly turns to me. "Sam, would you be okay with talking to Greg with me gone?" I find myself nodding, the prospect of being alone with Greg stirring a mix of anticipation and anxiety within me. Tilly's departure is swift after that. As she's heading out the door, she winks over her shoulder. "Okay then. I'll go figure out dinner for thirty minutes. Have fun!" she calls out, leaving a trail of her infectious optimism behind as she exits the room. As soon as the door is closed behind her, Greg and I are alone. The air immediately charges to a bubble of unsaid words and unexplored feelings.

Oh god. I'm not ready for this.

At least I know how this ends: me saying something entirely stupid or worse, throwing myself at him.