Changing Teams (17 page)

“Every time I thought about a woman I saw my aunt coming at me in the dark,” I shot back. “You think I didn’t try to be with women? That I didn’t want women? I did, but I couldn’t.”

“We got on pretty well,” Britt snapped.

“Sorry my childhood trauma didn’t manifest while we were kissing,” I sneered.

“What happened to you was terrible,” she said as she pulled on her boots, “but you’re pretty terrible too.”

I jumped out of bed and grabbed Britt’s arms. “Baby, I’m sorry,” I said. “I never wanted to lie to you. I’ve never told anyone what happened with my aunt, not even my parents.”

“So I can’t verify any of it.” She smirked, and added, “Convenient.”

“What, you think I’m lying?” I demanded. “What kind of psychopath would make that shit up? I shared the worst moments of my life with you!”

“You want to hear about some of my worst moments?” she countered. “Imagine being a single girl in the city, sick to death of being alone, then all of a sudden you meet this perfect guy. Perfect as in, too good to be true perfect.” Britt tossed back her hair and speared me with her gaze. “Then you find out that he really is too good to be true—because he’s a fake.”

I staggered back as if she’d knifed me in the heart. “You think I made all that up?” I rasped. “Britt, I swear to you on my life I’ve never been with anyone romantically before tonight. Ask around, try to find someone who fucked me. You won’t.”

A tear slipped down Britt’s cheek. “You’re right, I won’t, because I won’t be asking. Stay away from me, Sam MacKellar, if that’s your real name.”

She turned her back on me and grabbed her bag, then she headed toward the door. I got there before her, putting myself between her and her escape. “Samuel Milton MacKellar,” I said. “I’m named for my grandfather, who was a general in World War Two. He was named for his father, a lieutenant in World War One. Remember, I mentioned them to your stepfather?”

“Great, your name’s real,” she said. “I’m still leaving.”

“What about all the times we’ve been together?” I pleaded. “The times we hung out, holding hands? The time on the ferry, or watching movies, or when we had oysters? That was all me and you, Britt. Just me and you.”

“Sam.” Britt raised her head, revealing more tears. “Let me leave.”

I placed my hand on the nape of her neck. “Britt, baby, I don’t know if I can. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yeah, well, you might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” She reached behind me, and grabbed the doorknob. “Sam, please, let me leave. If I really mean something to you, let me leave.”

I did the only thing I could do, and stepped aside. Britt was out of my apartment in a hot second, leaving me more alone than I’d ever been. I leaned my forehead against the closed door, and said, “I love you, Britannica Lynn.”

Chapter Eighteen

Britt

“I love you, Britannica Lynn.”

After I’d stormed out of Sam’s apartment I leaned back on his door, my emotions flying around my head like those winged monkeys from Oz. God, making love with Sam had been perfect, and I’d hoped that my fantasy about him really being bisexual instead of gay had come true. But it turned out that nothing about him was true.

Then I heard him say he loved me, and I almost ran back into his arms. Was he lying when he said he loved me? Yeah, probably. From his own admission he’d lied about everything for most of his life. I did not need that in my life; the fact that I wanted Sam more than anything was just something I’d have to learn to deal with.

And there was no way last night was his first time. No one is born knowing moves like that.

I burst out of Sam’s building into the chill morning air; being that it was early on Sunday morning, the streets were still rather empty. I searched my purse for my phone so I could see what time it was, then I remembered leaving it on Sam’s kitchen table before we’d left for the wedding. Crap.

Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going back up to his apartment, and filed my phone situation away to deal with at a later date. I resolved to hail a cab, but swore when I looked inside my wallet. Since the wedding had been open bar, I’d left all my cash at home.

Whatever, I’ll just walk
. I looked left and right, mentally calculating how many blocks it was to my apartment, when I heard the door behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw Sam standing there, clad only in a pair of jeans.

“You forgot your phone,” he said, holding the device toward me.

“Thank you,” I said. I grabbed my phone from his hand, then I started down the street.

“You’re walking home?” Sam called after me. “Britt, at least take a cab.”

“No cash,” I replied without stopping. Sam jogged in front of me, blocking my way.

“I’ll pay,” he said.

“I don’t want your money,” I said, trying to slip around him. Not that that worked.

“Then let me drive you,” he implored. He grabbed my elbow and said, “Please.”

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, stepping out of his reach. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I will, as soon as I know you’re home safe.”

I stared at him, the most stubborn, most infuriating man I’d ever encountered. However, it was cold, and I didn’t relish the thought of walking all the way to my place. I weighed my options, and decided that Sam driving me would put me less in his debt than owing him cab fare.

“Fine. Drive. Just keep your hands off me.”

Sam winced, but he nodded. After he went up to his apartment for a shirt and some shoes, he had the garage attendant bring out the Beemer. Once the car had been brought up Sam put my bag in the backseat, and we got in. We made it an entire block before he started talking.

“Britt, baby, I’m so sorry,” he began. “You were right. My whole life, I’ve been a fake. The only person I’ve ever been myself with was you.”

I stared out the window, refusing to acknowledge him. After a full minute of silence, he sighed.

“I wish I could say what it is about you that made me not want to hide,” he continued. “When I first saw you at the studio, I thought you were beautiful, but I see beautiful people all the time. Then we hung out that night at Catalonia, and I found out that you’re smart, and funny, and…” We stopped at a red light, and Sam fell silent. I looked at his reflection in the window, and saw him rubbing his eyes.

“God, Britt, you want to know why I got so drunk at Astrid’s party? I was trying to get up the nerve to talk to you. I was surrounded by Michael and the rest of the guys I always hang around with, but then I saw you and I knew I wanted to spend that night with you. I want to be with you, each and every night.”

I glanced forward. “Light’s green.”

“Thanks.” Sam slammed the car into gear, and we jerked away from the intersection. He didn’t speak again until the next red light.

“I meant everything I said to you yesterday,” Sam said. “About wanting a life with you. I can’t get you out of my mind, Britannica Lynn.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said, sinking down in my seat. I hadn’t activated the heat, and the leather was cold. “It’s not my name.”

“Fine, I won’t call you that. Instead I’ll call you baby, darlin’, woman I’ll love until the day I die.”

I slid down a bit further. “Don’t call me any of those, either.”

Sam pulled into an empty parking spot that was nowhere near my building. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“We’re going to sit here until you talk to me,” he replied.

“I’ve said everything that I need to say.”

Sam dragged a fingertip across the back of my hand, and said, “Help me, Britt. I need to know how to make this right.”

I caved and flipped on the heat; if I was being forced to do this, at least I could be warm. “It’s not just that you lied to me,” I began. “You lied to everyone in your life. Your parents, your friends…everyone. How can I ever know if you’re being honest with me?”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Sam said. “Once I got older and understood how wrong it was, I didn’t know how to end it. Since I couldn’t be with women anyway, I figured it didn’t matter.”

“It matters.”

“I know that now. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” I looked at him then, his mournful face nearly breaking my heart. “But I don’t know if I’m in love with the real you or the fake you. I can’t be with a man that doesn’t exist.”

“Only you know the real me,” Sam said, putting his hand on the back of my neck and drawing me close. “When my gran gave me that bracelet, she said—”

“It’s on your dresser.”

Sam blinked. “Pardon?”

“The bracelet. I left it on your dresser.” When his brows peaked, I added, “Obviously, you’re supposed to bestow it to your one true love, or something like that. Well, you shouldn’t waste it on me. Give it to someone who’s sure she—or he—is in love with the real you.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Sam’s face fell, then his blue eyes went hard. He checked the road, then he put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. We didn’t speak for the rest of the journey.

When we got to my building I leapt out of the Beemer, but Sam was there in an instant retrieving my bag from the back seat. When he handed it to me, he grabbed my hand.

“Britt, I will fix this,” he said.

“I really don’t see how you can,” I said.

I entered my building without another word. Once I was inside my apartment I looked out the front window, and saw Sam standing there on the sidewalk, staring up at me. Then I threw myself on my bed and cried.

Chapter Nineteen

Sam

My Sunday morning was rather craptastic. After dropping off Britt at her building, I returned to my apartment and sat on my couch in a near catatonic state, wondering how I’d handled myself so badly. I mean, who gets punished when they decide to improve themselves and tell the truth, leaving all their lies behind? Me, that’s who.

Of course, Britt had a point; being that I’d lied to everyone for over half my life, how could she know whether or not I spoke the truth? Well, I’d just have to prove it to her, wouldn’t I?

Not that I had the slightest idea how to do that.

A little after ten a.m. on Monday morning the icon jumped in the bottom right corner of my laptop’s screen; someone wanted to video chat with me. My heart leapt, hoping it was Britt. I opened the window, and saw my mother staring back at me.

“Hey, Momma,” I greeted, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. “What’s the good word?”

“You okay, Sammy?” Momma asked. “You look tired.”

“Been working a lot.” I didn’t add that I’d been up since Britt walked out, intermittently crying and raging. Momma didn’t need to know that.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself, Sammy.”

“I know, Momma.” I picked up my camera, and scrolled through the pictures I’d taken of Britt for the millionth time. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

I scrolled to my favorite shot of Britt, the one of her topless straddling the kitchen chair, her hair tossed to the side. “If someone you loved lied to you, how could they fix it?”

“I guess that would depend on the lie,” Momma replied.

“It was a whopper.” I scrolled ahead to one of the last pictures, the one of Britt naked in my bed. “A real whopper.”

“Hm.” Momma sat back in her chair, considering. “In that case, I suppose it would depend on why they lied in the first place.” I nodded, and went back through the images of Britt, all I had left of my angel. “So, who’d you lie to?”

“Everyone,” I whispered. “Everyone, except one person, and she doesn’t believe that I told her the truth.”

“Her, huh?” Momma said. Trust my mother to catch all the pronouns.

“Yeah, her.” I scrolled to an image of Britt where she was fully clothed, the one I snapped right before we left for her cousin’s wedding. Man, Jorge knew how to make a dress. “This would be the her in question,” I said, holding my camera’s display up to the laptop’s video camera.

“She’s beautiful,” Momma said. “So, what was the lie?”

I shook my head. “If it’s all right with you, I need to fix things with her before I can fix them with anyone else.”

“All right, then.”

I stared at the image of Britt, then it dawned on me that Momma had called me. “Listen to me with my sob story,” I said as I set the camera aside. “What’s happening in Iowa these days?” I grabbed my coffee mug, filled to the brim with crappy coffee to match my crappy life.

“Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Momma began. “Your Aunt Sophia died yesterday.”

The mug crashed to the floor. “What?”