Page 91 of Run Home

Amber and I both smile at his sweetness. She says, “I appreciate that thoughtfulness. But it’s important for Samantha’s healthy attachment to not constantly seek that reassurance. She needs to trust in your connection.”

Amber stands, giving us our cue that time is up. Before she walks us out to the waiting area, she says, “Samantha, you know I’m here for you anytime. And I’m happy to meet with you both. But it would be beneficial for you to find a couples therapist in Kansas City to see regularly.”

Panicking, I say, “But I know you. You’ve helped me through so much, Amber. You’ve seen everything. Can’t you help?”

“You don’t need me, Samantha,” Amber reminds me. “You have the tools to work on yourself. You also have the tools to communicate with another therapist. I’m not your crutch. You have the strength yourself.”

“Are you sure?” I ask meekly.

“I’m sure,” Adrian interjects. He presses me to his side. “Plus, you have my strength now too. And I’m very strong.”

Looking up at his teasing grin, I smack his abs. “Okay, menso, let’s go.”

Chapter thirty-four

Adrian

“Iwill drive straight to your house. You can follow my car the entire way,” Samantha argues.

“No. I want to ride together,” I state. “Your mom just said they could drive your car up this weekend.”

“Yes,” Cinda agrees. “We want to come see Jason and hear how his first few days of school went anyway. Ride with Adrian.”

Samantha glares from her mom to me. “But I’ll need my car to get around town.”

“You can borrow my SUV. I hardly drive it anyway,” I offer.

She crosses her arms. “I’m in a totally stable mental state. I’m capable of driving back safely.”

Taking her hand, I say, “This isn’t about you being capable. It’s about me wanting to spend the next three hours in the car with you instead of alone.”

The fight leaves her eyes, and she smirks. “How fast were you driving to make it here in three hours?”

“I was a desperate man,” I reply, clapping a hand over my heart.

Samantha rolls her eyes but gives a long hug goodbye to her mom as I shake David’s hand. He claps me on the shoulder with his other hand and says, “Thanks.”

I know the single word is loaded with layers of gratitude. Clasping his hand tighter before releasing the handshake, I respond, “Always.” We swap parents, Cinda squeezing me in a hug as David wraps his arms around Samantha. Finally, I open the passenger door of my truck for her, and we hit the road.

Samantha gives me directions back to the highway, and once we’re cruising at a consistent speed, I reach over and take her hand.

“Will you tell me your trauma triggers to avoid?” I ask.

She sighs but then pivots to me. “Will you tell me what the poem says? Your tattoo?”

Emotions swirl in my chest—pain of missing my mom that I’d rather put off indefinitely. But I’m going to prove to Samantha that I’m serious about the homework Amber gave me. “Yes. It’s the first few lines from the poem ‘La Tierra Giró Para Acercarnos’ by Eugenio Montejo. Let me think about the best way to translate.” I roll the Spanish words over in my mind while Samantha waits, watching me.

Glancing at the words inked across my wrist and forearm, I say, “It’s more poetic in Spanish, but the English would basically say something like, ‘The earth turned to bring us closer, it spun on itself and within us, and finally joined us together in this dream.’”

“Adrian. That’s so beautiful,” Samantha whispers. “I can see why your mom loved it.”

I smile at her acknowledgment of my mom, trying to hold on to the happy memories instead of running away from the sad ones. “She said it was true about her and my dad. She said there were so many little things that happened, small coincidences that lined up to bring them to the same place at the same time.”

“Say it again?” Samantha asks, and I tell her the words first in Spanish, then repeat the English translation.

She’s silent for a minute before speaking softly. “Unexpected physical pain is hard for me. If I know it’s coming, I can mentally prepare to a degree. But if it’s sudden, my brain can’t tell the difference from what’s happening and what used to happen.”

“That makes sense,” I respond gently.