Chapter Twenty-Two

“So what are we going to do for our birthday this year?” James swung one leg across the other as he made himself comfortable on Samantha’s couch. It was closing in on four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and the twins were heading out for yet another movie night soon.

Samantha shrugged. “Dunno. Thirty-one is so boring – especially after last year’s shindig.”

James laughed. “That’s very true. So, I don’t know, what do you say – Red’s again? Just a nice dinner with Ma and maybe Katie and Richie?”

“Sure, sounds good to me. But why are we deciding this so early? We’ve got a few months, bud,” she laughed.

“I like to make plans in advance. I’m a very organized person, you know.”

Samantha snorted. “Uh, since when?”

“Since forever.”

“Right.”

It had been two weeks since Bon Jovi kicked off their tour in Denver, and the band would be returning in just a couple of days. Katie was visiting her parents in Chicago, and in the absence of a boyfriend/girlfriend, Samantha and James were closer than ever.

Samantha was anxious about seeing Richie again – she had, of course, missed him, but on the handful of occasions they had gotten to talk, the conversations had been so…monotonous. Richie always sounded…tired, but Samantha knew it wasn’t for lack of energy. It almost sounded like an emotional weariness that he was battling, and while he wasn’t cold toward her, he wasn’t exactly his warm and friendly self that she had grown to adore.

It bothered Samantha, but then she knew she had been somewhat the same after the whole blow-up with Shane at the bar. She hadn’t been fair to Richie, she knew that, and now that she had gotten a few weeks to clear her mind and forget about the unpleasant blast from the past, she wanted to make things right with him. As soon as he got back, she planned on making it up to him.

James shifted the conversation. “So how’s the singing coming along?”

“It’s coming along, I guess,” Samantha said thoughtfully. “I’ve been singing like a lark everywhere it seems – around the house and in the shower, in my office late in the evening when people are gone…I need to make sure I have my part down pat before I go to rehearse with Jon again. He’s such a perfectionist, you know. He knows just what he wants and just how things need to sound and I’m terrified of screwing up onstage and pissing him off. He hates when even his own band mates make mistakes onstage.”

James shrugged. “Bah. I can understand being nervous with that type of hardcore frontman, but I can almost guarantee you that Jon ain’t gonna yell at you if you mess up. Hey, he’s the one who invited you to sing with them anyway, right? He’s no dummy – he’s a professional musician and a shrewd businessman who makes very careful decisions. He didn’t just ask you to do this on a whim. He obviously wants to bring an element of surprise to the show – a different performance dynamic to keep the audience on their toes. AND,” James held up his hand dramatically. “He himself is very vocal about being the regular ol’ average American’s band, so this also adds something to which the audience can relate, you know? You’re just a regular New Yorker – someone like them, and you singing and performing with Bon Jovi reinforces the idea that Bon Jovi is the people’s band. Pretty damn clever move, if you ask me.”

Samantha stared at him. “Wow,” she finally said. “I never thought about that, James. Honestly. Everything you just said makes sense. But I’m the fan here, why didn’t I think of that?” she laughed.
James fixed his hazel eyes on Samantha and cocked his head, looking so much like a puppy that Samantha wanted to pet him. “Because,” he said, as though the answer were obvious. “I’m a genius.”

_______________________________________________

The next day, Samantha slept in and lounged around the house lazily, enjoying the down time. She was curled up on the couch watching a movie, still in her pajamas with a bowl of ice cream, when the phone rang mid-afternoon.

She groaned, deciding to ignore it and not let it interrupt her movie. She turned up the volume of the television as the answering machine picked up, but when the voice of the caller started to speak, she dropped the remote.

“Samantha – hey, it’s, ah, it’s Shane. I know you’re probably going to kill me for calling your house, but I tried calling you at your work number on Friday, and they told me you had already gone home.”

Samantha remembered she had taken off early on Friday to meet James for dinner. She scrambled to pick up the remote and paused the movie as Shane went on.

“A guy named Charlie gave me your number – don’t kill him though, because I asked him for it and told him I was a friend of yours. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is I have a story proposition for your magazine, and since you’re the editor, you’re the one I need to speak with. It’s concerning a big charity project in your own neck of the woods, and I’m in charge of getting this thing covered by the media. So – ah – if you could call me back, I’d really appreciate it. You can reach me any time at my cell: 555-6789. I hope to hear from you soon. See ya…”

The machine clicked off. Samantha stared at it, her heart thumping wildly and her stomach rolling. Oh my God…

She was in shock – hearing Shane’s voice again instantaneously destroyed the last few weeks’ worth of trying to forget it, trying to get back to normal…and in less than sixty seconds, the bastard had thrown her life out of whack once again.

A story proposition…she knew exactly what proposition it was. She thought she was going to be able to avoid it, she thought angrily. But he tracked her down and was going to make her do it anyway. Damn it. She could not get away from it, nor him!

But wait…

She was head editor, wasn’t she? And she had already decided not to do the story, hadn’t she? She had. And therefore, there was no reason to call him back, she thought, relief spreading through her veins. She wouldn’t have to speak to him again. No, she’d just ignore the fact that he’d called altogether, although she would definitely have to speak with Charlie about giving out her home phone number. But she wouldn’t have to speak to Shane again, no sir. Screw him over like he screwed her over, that sort of thing.

No matter what happened, no matter how good of a story it might have been to cover in the magazine, she was not going to call him back.



“Call him back,” Michael Flanham said sternly.

Samantha stared at him, dumbstruck. It was Tuesday afternoon and she had just finished her weekly meeting with the editor-in-chief, making the mistake of mentioning Shane’s call and the fact that Charlie had already given her the briefs on the story a few weeks ago.

“But, Michael, I – ”

“This is too good of a story to pass up, Samantha, you have to know that,” Flanham replied. “You have better judgment than that, that’s why you’re head editor. This is prime, this is gold, this is a people’s interest story, something that could easily fill a three or four page spread. We have to cover it, and soon, before someone else does and we’re stuck with the dregs. The guy called you – he came to you! What better invitation to be the first on the story than that?”

Samantha tried to maintain composure. She couldn’t lose it in front of her boss – he didn’t know the real reason she didn’t want to do the story, after all.

“I know, but we’ve already filled the spreads for this issue…” she trailed off, trying desperately to think of some other way to get out of it.

“Then put it in the next issue. Get your best writers on it, send a camera crew out to the work site this week, come on, Samantha. I can’t believe you knew about this and decided not to cover it. I’m surprised at you.”

Samantha furiously fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. “I know, I’m sorry, I just didn’t think it seemed like that great of a story at first, I don’t know. The guy sounds like a real jerk,” she added, feeling like a teenager.

“I don’t care if he’s the world’s biggest ass!” Michael looked at her, his bushy eyebrows raised. “It’s not a personal piece, it’s a story about a reputable charity organization and their partnership with an esteemed contractor who’s going to help them build homes for the homeless. In our city. In our neighborhoods. It’s perfect gossip, perfect news, with so much potential for in-depth featuring and future follow-up stories. No more excuses, we’re doing the piece. End of story.”

Michael returned to his paperwork, silently dismissing Samantha from his office. She turned and left, continuing to fight the tears until she got to her own office and slammed the door, retreating to the sanctity of her desk. She felt like such a child, and she chided herself angrily for acting so immaturely.

Michael was right, it was a perfect story, and aside from the fact that the main person involved was her bastard ex-husband, she was crazy not to cover it. Her boss was always fair – strict, but you had to be in the dog-eat-dog world of journalism, but fair – and she knew she was lucky he handled her the way he did. She knew other editor-in-chiefs of other publications who would have either yelled at her or fired her on the spot for making such a disastrous decision.

But damn it, she thought. Why did this have to happen? Why, every time Samantha thought she could move on, did Shane reappear and screw everything up? What was the deal here – was he going to drive her to the point of madness? Was something conspiring against her to drive her and Richie apart?

“Fuck!” Samantha said loudly. She couldn’t deal with this – not now. Not with Richie returning soon and the concert performance looming ever closer. It was such horrible timing…too much to deal with at once.

Samantha buried her face in her hands and let the tears fall.

_____________________________________

Richie called the next day to let her know he was home. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said on the phone. “Can I invite myself over and take you to dinner for some Sam time?”

When he arrived at her apartment, he greeted Samantha with a big bear hug and buried his face in her hair. “Mmm, I missed you,” he breathed in her ear. She hugged him back tightly. “Ditto.”

So much for making it up to him, she thought. Leave it to Shane.

A few hours later, they returned to her apartment after a delicious dinner at a local Italian restaurant. Richie had filled her in on the first few weeks of touring, and Samantha had filled him in on James, the dogs, and…most of what was happening at work. She had conveniently left out the part about Shane, still not ready to talk to him about it and hesitant about Richie’s reaction.

Their conversation throughout dinner had been for the most part easy, but there had been a fair share of awkward pauses and uncomfortable lapses. Neither seemed ready to acknowledge that yet, however, though both knew that beneath their happy facades, tensions were stretched to the breaking point in their relationship.

They were sitting together on the couch with the TV on in the background, sharing another slightly awkward conversation. Samantha was once again preoccupied and quiet, but Richie was doing his best to pretend nothing was wrong.

“So you’ve been practicing, that’s excellent,” he smiled at her. “I’d love to hear how far you’ve come.”

Samantha snorted. “Maybe at the next rehearsal.”

“But I love listening to you sing…”

“Well thank you, but you’ll hear enough of me soon enough, so I won’t burden you now,” she laughed, trying to make light of her answer.

There was a long moment of silence.

“I really missed you these last couple of weeks,” Richie tried tentatively. Please say you missed me too.

“I know…you said.”

Richie’s jaw tightened. “Yeah…right…” Now what?

“You okay?” he tried again.

Samantha shied away from him slightly, unable to explain why she suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“Yeah. I’m just tired.” God, that excuse was getting old, she thought.

Richie tried to keep his patience in check. “All right – then why don’t we just fall asleep in each other’s arms, like we’ve done in the past? That sounds so nice right now…”

Samantha half smiled, not really wanting to do that.

“Come on, sweetie, you’re leaving me hanging here. I miss being with the woman I love.”

“Why don’t we watch a movie instead?” Samantha didn’t look at him, but she felt Richie tense up. He was quiet, clenching his jaw. Just let it go, Richie, he thought to himself. Just try something else, another tactic…

No, he couldn’t do this anymore. He shouldn’t have to. She had been doing this for weeks, and he was at his wits’ end. He had missed her, damn it, was it so much for her to tell him the same? Or had she even missed him?

A minute later he yanked his arm back from around her. Enough was enough.

“Why do you always do that?” his voice was hard.

Samantha’s heart skipped an anxious beat. “What do you mean?” She forced herself to face him and cowered when she saw his angry gaze.

It was ridiculous – Richie was sick and tired of this one-sided relationship. This was not what he had foreseen when he had first confided his feelings for her. But it was too much work, too much stress and hurt to be constantly shut down every time he tried to do so again. How much more was he supposed to give her with nothing in return?

Ever since Heather, he had been terrified of loving again…almost incapable of it, really. Heather had torn him apart and scarred him, leaving him to lick his wounds while she took off. And now, finally – finally! – he had found a woman who had ignited that long-ago burned-out fire deep in his core, and it drove him wild that she was acting like this. Like none of it mattered. Like his feelings meant nothing. Like it wasn’t a big breakthrough for him to have actually fallen in love with her…

Richie’s mind was spinning out of control.

“You know damn well what I mean. Why do you always change the subject when I tell you I love you?”

“I – I don’t mean to, I guess I just never realized…”

“Bullshit. You do it every time. And you never say you love me in return.”

Samantha stared at him. She had never, not once, seen Richie get angry. And certainly not with her. It frightened her.

“That’s not true…” she faltered.

“Yes it is – tell me you love me. Right now.”

Samantha avoided his eyes. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish’s as she struggled to find the words.

Richie snorted. “See.” He got up angrily and started for the kitchen.

“Richie, that’s not fair – “

Richie wheeled around. “What’s not fair? A guy wanting his girlfriend to tell him she loves him?"

His patience was gone.

Samantha jumped off the couch, starting to get angry. “It’s just difficult for me to say it right now...."

"Just answer me one question, Samantha - do you want to be with me?”

Samantha stared at him, dumbfounded. "What? I - of course I do..."

"Because this yo-yoing of your affection is wearing me thin. I can't deal with it anymore, it's insane! I open up and give you my everything, but you snap your mouth and heart shut and won't do anything in return. You act like you're going to miss me when I go off on tour, then I come back and you're back to shutting me out again!"

Samantha's heart was pounding. "I don't mean to act like that, I’m sorry…I guess ever since Shane –"

“Who the hell is Shane?” Richie looked confused.

Samantha shook her head, not wanting to explain now. “Never mind, that’s not the point – I just have a hard time expressing my feelings openly now because…because of something in my past.”

“Oh and I’m supposed to be okay with that? I’m just supposed to accept that the woman I love can’t love me back because of ‘something in her past’? That certainly sounds fair."

“Just stop it, Richie, you don’t understand –"

“What?” Richie interrupted, his voice rising. “I don’t understand what? I don’t understand how it feels to get hurt by someone you love? I don’t understand how it feels to be heartbroken? Betrayed? How it feels to cry yourself to sleep every night for weeks?” he went on, the years of buried pain in his heart ripping forth and spilling out. He couldn’t control it. “To have your heart ripped out of your chest, torn into a million pieces, then shoved back in for you to mend while you’re still trying to heal a wounded spirit and bruised ego? To turn to cheap thrills and shallow indulgence to fill that void that your best friend keeps insisting you have but you deny because you’re so damn blinded by the pain?” he paused, staring at her hard. “I understand how that feels, Samantha, so don’t play that card on me.”

Samantha was shocked into silence. She stared back at him, her mouth slightly open, trying to read him. His eyes were hard, but she could see the intense pain that pierced them. She had always seen it before, but never understood it. It was a mystery – an element of his character whose meaning had always eluded her and had been the connection that sparked their entire destiny – and now she was struck by just how strong an influence it had in his life. Richie’s outburst was like he had just uncorked a bottle that had been shaken up, its dark and angry pressurized contents exploding out in release.

She wanted to say something – anything – but couldn’t think for the life of her what.

“Richie, I –” she started awkwardly.

Richie turned away. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Samantha. You obviously have some issues that haven’t been resolved yet, and I’m tired of waiting around for you to figure out your feelings. I’ve been hurt before too. You’re not the only one. I retreated into a shell, but you’re the one who brought me out of it. You made me feel alive again – do you know how good that felt?”

He looked back at her.

“I wondered if I’d ever love again. And you showed me that I could. You showed me that it is possible to pick yourself up off the floor and find the strength, and the courage, to fall in love again.”

Samantha’s eyes welled up with tears as she looked back at him. Richie swallowed. “And it hurts like hell to know that I can’t show you the same in return.”

Without another word, he picked up his keys and walked out the door, leaving Samantha miserable and alone.