Page 85 of Run Home

My gaze catches on the bird painting above the fireplace between the two windows overlooking the backyard. I stare at it, at my bird, at all the birds, at the tree with its roots spread deep and wide below the surface of the dirt. Glancing down at the tattoo on my wrist, I trace it with my fingers, then look back up to the painting.

Someday, I want to be the tree. Will I ever be capable of being the tree for someone?

My parents sit as silent sentinels over my sullen thoughts until the sun dips below the skyline. Dad eventually stretches his arms high and says something about his rickety body needing sleep. My mom turns to me. “Your old bed is all made up and ready. Do you want me to stay out here a while longer with you?”

Shaking my head, I say, “No, it’s okay. You can go to bed. I think I might go out and sit in the tree house for a little bit while the stars come out.”

She nods in understanding and rises to her feet, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. “Come get us if you need anything,” she says. “I love you.”

Before they make it out of the living room, the doorbell rings.

I look at my parents, confused. “Did you call Sawyer and Miranda too?”

“No,” my mom says. She grimaces as she clarifies, “I mean, I did text the family group chat to let them know you were here since you only told Griffin.” I shoot her a glare. “But I didn’t tell them to come over!”

My dad disappears around the corner and makes his way to the front door while I chastise my mom, then his voice calls out, “Sammi! It’s for you.”

Annoyed that I’m about to be babied by my older siblings when all I want to do is sulk under the stars, I trudge to the entryway. My dad turns as I approach and pats me on the shoulder. As he passes by and clears my view to the open door, I gasp.

“Adrian?”

Chapter thirty-two

Adrian

Sam’s eyes go wide when she sees me. She glances over her shoulder, but her parents are gone from view. Still, she steps out onto the porch and closes the door behind her.

It’s a miracle I made it to this porch in one piece, as distraught and distracted as I was driving down. When she wasn’t at her apartment when I stopped by after the game, I called Griffin, thinking she might have gone to his house. He let me know that Sam had driven home to Oklahoma when he realized she hadn’t told me. I spent the past three hours speeding down the highway, terrified that I had lost my person right when I finally found her. That my hesitation to clearly tell her how I feel had ruined her trust in me.

I’m relieved to see her looking a little less hollow than she did this morning, grateful that she found some solace with her parents. But there’s also an excruciating ache in my heart that I didn’t give her that solace. That she didn’t feel safe with me, that I couldn’t respond the right way to her emotions.

Yearning to touch her, I reach out a hand but hesitate. I’m afraid that she’s still afraid.

But she watches my hand. Something in her splinters at the sight of my hesitation, instant tears filling her eyes before she hangs her head.

So I stop hesitating.

“Sam, I love you,” I say.

Her head snaps back up, eyes meeting mine. I raise my arm again, slowly, stepping toward her to softly cup her cheek. “I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t told you that already. I’m sorry that I haven’t done the right things to make you feel safe with me. Please give me another chance. I’m sorry.”

“No, Adrian!” she exclaims, then throws her arms around my torso. I wrap mine around her, holding her against me, cradling her head to my chest. She mumbles, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I should have told you earlier about today.” She pulls away, dropping her arms to her sides and looking me in the eye. Her chin quivers as she says, “I should have told you about everything earlier. I should have explained what being with me would mean so you could decide if—”

I don’t let her finish the doubting statement. Taking her face in my hands, I cover her lips with mine, stealing the doubt away. Tears slip between the press of my thumbs against her soft skin, and I draw back so I can wipe them away.

“I love you, cielo. It’s already decided. There’s nothing you could explain that would change that. This morning doesn’t change that. Not for me,” I say, sliding my hands from her cheeks to her neck. “The whole drive here I was terrified that you wouldn’t want to be with me after I screwed up so bad this morning. But I’ve already decided. I love you. I want you. You, Sam. All of you.”

She places her hands over mine, pulling them down, holding them between us even as she inches her feet backward. Her fingers tremble in mine as she says, “But you don’t understand. You don’t know everything that . . . all the reasons why this morning happened. The reasons why this morning will keep happening. Because apparently I still can’t get over them.” Her voice cracks, and she drops her eyes.

“Then tell me,” I say, stepping closer to erase the distance she wedged between us. “Please, cielo, please tell me. Let me understand. Let me love you.”

I barely hear her whisper. “You might not want to love me still. You might realize you want more.”

Shaking my head, I keep my voice steady. “Impossible. You’re all I’ve wanted for a very long time. Nothing will change that.” She silently searches my face, and I beg, “Please.”

Something changes in Sam—resigned resolve settling over her features. She takes my hand and leads me around the side of the house through a gate to the backyard. There’s a stone patio at the back of the house, but the yard itself is probably close to a half acre with several sprawling trees. Sam walks to the farthest one from the house and looks up.

There’s a tree house built into the massive oak tree. “My dad built this for Griffin when they first moved into this house. But I stole it,” she explains as she starts to climb up the ladder. I follow her up, barely squeezing through the hole in the floor. There’s a covered house around the trunk of the tree, but there’s a roofless platform built out across several sturdy branches, which is where Sam heads.