Page 34 of One Last Gift

Sam hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure.” Because why the fuck not? It wasn’t like he was doing anything useful, sitting in a mansion all day. “How come you’re going?”

“Oh, I’m writing an article on this youth center place for The New York Times.”

Sam choked a little on his beer, and Toby thumped him on the back. “What? You’re a journalist?” Sam tried to think if Toby had mentioned it before. He didn’t think so. But then, he wasn’t really sure what Toby did, exactly—he mainly seemed to swan around spending lots of money.

“Well, not really, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to have a go at, and my dad’s friend practically owns the paper, so he threw the piece my way.”

He said it without a trace of irony, without seeming to realize that the world he inhabited was completely alien to the rest of them. And Sam couldn’t help laughing. It was a dry chuckle, and it sounded rusty, like his body had forgotten how to laugh. But it was there.

Toby lifted his sunglasses, peered at Sam with those gray eyes. “What?”

Sam laughed a little harder. “Just…Your friend’s dad owns The New York Times.”

Toby frowned. “Well, he doesn’t actually own it as such, but he…” He trailed off. “Ah.” He looked at Sam a little sheepishly. “Posh-boy thing?”

Sam grinned. “Posh-boy thing,” he agreed.

“My cross to bear, I’m afraid.” He slipped his sunglasses back on.

“Can you even write? Like, do you know how to write an article?”

Toby wrinkled that crooked nose. “It can’t be that difficult, can it?” He clapped Sam on the back again before getting to his feet. “And if it’s total shite, I’m sure they won’t publish it, and I’ll find another calling.”

“A calling now, is it?”

“Well, you never know. I’ve got to be good at something other than spending money, buying property, and going traveling.”

“And sailing yachts,” Sam added. “Don’t forget that.”

Toby gave a mock headshake. “It’s all right for you—you’ve got a career, skills. Me? All I’ve got is money and my rugged good looks.” He grinned in a way that let Sam know he was joking, but Sam felt his stomach squirm. Because he wasn’t sure he still had his career, was he? He’d lost his job, obviously, and Jessica’s dad could make it difficult for him to find work as a solicitor. He had savings, though—a lot of savings. Not Toby level of money, but he’d built up a good pot over the last six years, determined not to be caught short, if it ever came to it. No doubt at some point he’d have to sell the flat in London that he and Jessica had bought together—and that would be money too, when it came in. He was trying not to think too far down that line, though—he’d rather save it as a problem for Future Sam.

Besides, he hadn’t heard from Jessica. He wasn’t surprised—he wouldn’t have wanted to be in touch with him either, if he were her. It was easier, really, like that. He could sort of pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened, that he hadn’t jilted his fiancée, hadn’t been that much of a dick.

Toby started to head to the back of the boat where the others were, not forcing Sam to come with him, not asking why he was sitting here alone. He might live in a different world from Sam, but he was a good guy. He somehow seemed to get it, without being told. And he was always offering to share everything he had—the yacht, the house, dinners, drinks. If it makes people happy, why not spend it? he’d told Sam when he’d asked.

“There you boys are.” Sam glanced over his shoulder to see Sophia, a dark-haired, curvy girl with golden tan skin and beautiful bedroom eyes coming around the side. She was followed closely by Zoe—tall, stick-thin, with ash-blond hair—who was Toby’s girlfriend. Sam didn’t totally get how they worked as a couple: Zoe barely said anything and seemed to make it her mission to be unimpressed by literally everything, which seemed at odds with Toby’s nature, in the short time Sam had known him. But then, opposites attract and all that.

“We were looking for you,” Sophia added unnecessarily, jutting her bottom lip out in a pout. She was wearing a blue dress, her slim, golden legs on show, and a denim jacket, and definitely could not have been warm enough. Sam supposed that was why she’d stayed in the undercover bit of the yacht, away from the wind and sea spray.

Toby went to Zoe and slung an arm around her, while Sophia took another step toward Sam, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Coming, Sam? We’re going to have some champagne, do another loop so we can watch the sunset.”

“Are we now?” Toby said.

“Yes.” Sophia folded her arms. “We are.”

“What if I want to park her up, kick you all off?” Toby said, his voice teasing.

Sophia huffed out a breath, glancing at Zoe as if to say, Get your boyfriend under control. Zoe said nothing, her expression bored. “You’re not the only one on the boat, Toby,” Sophia said.

Toby laughed, then a grin settled on his face. “We’ll just see about that.” He grabbed her around the middle, literally lifting her off her feet, making as if to push her over the edge.

She screamed, and Sam was on his feet immediately. He’d stepped toward her, was reaching out as if to grab her, before his brain registered the type of scream. Playful, a bit pissed off. Not scared.

She swatted Toby’s hand away. “Not funny.”

Toby chortled, put his arm back around Zoe. “Come on. A little funny. Right, S—” He frowned when he looked over at Sam. Sam didn’t know what his face must be showing—whether he’d gone pale or looked sick or something, but he tried to smooth out his expression as best he could, his heart still thumping.

Because it was a different scream echoing around Sam’s head. One he’d heard countless times in his nightmares. And for a moment, he hadn’t been on the yacht. He’d been in the mountains of Patagonia, as he imagined them. He’d been reaching out to grab hold of someone, only to find nothing but air.