Page 39 of One Last Gift

Tom grinned at Sam, and even though he knew Tom would call her back, it was still Sam who caved first. She’d barely taken a step when he said, “Ah, come on, Cass, you know we’re only joking. Pull out a pew.” He pulled the chair away from the table and Cassie eyed it suspiciously, clearly deciding whether or not she was willing to take the teasing. “Come on,” he continued. “I’ll even let you win the first round.”

Tom snorted. “You won’t be letting her, mate, she’ll wipe the floor with you.” And Tom—as usual—had been right.

Sam’s head pounded again. “I’ve got to go, Mum, sorry—it’s still night here.”

“All right, love. Speak to you soon—please check in, won’t you? I love you.”

“You too.”

He hung up, and then just sat there, staring at the wispy moonlight. Cassie’s face swirled around his mind, the face he’d never quite been able to shake, even though he’d always told himself she was off limits. Even though he’d tried to stay behind the wall she’d slammed up, tried to tell himself that it was better that way. Tried to deny how much he missed her—missed their easy conversation, the friendship, the fact that he didn’t have to explain anything to her, because she always just got it.

He opened up her Facebook page, unable to help himself. He wanted to see some evidence that she was doing OK. The first thing he saw up there was a GoFundMe. Save our local pub! His heart jolted. Linda’s pub. He clicked through. Thirty grand they needed to raise—and they were on just under twenty, with a couple of days to go. Pretty good going, he thought. Though not enough, obviously. He stared at it, the photo of the pub Cassie had put on the page. He wondered who would buy it from Linda. Developers, probably. It’d be destroyed in that case, turned into a soulless block of flats or something. He knew the type, had worked with them. And Cassie…Her face flashed in his mind again, bright brown eyes, golden hair. She’d hate this. Hate it.

A spark flared inside him—an idea. Cassie had been the most important thing in Tom’s life. Nothing he’d ever do would make up for the fact that he hadn’t been in Argentina when he should have been, but surely the only way of even starting to make it up would be by helping Cassie, Tom’s little sister. And here was the opportunity to do that, right in front of him. He had the power, right now, to help Cassie save something she loved.

It was an impulse decision to donate: to take a huge chunk out of his savings and give the rest of the money that Cassie needed. Who cared about savings, anyway? This was something that would make a difference to Cassie, would help her be happy in the face of an awful tragedy. He’d get more money. It had turned out not to matter anyway, hadn’t it? He’d spent years and years building it up, determined to always make more, to get to some unknown goal. But now, he’d give it all up in an instant if it meant getting Tom back.

So yes, he’d donate this to Cassie, to the pub. But when the page asked for his name, he hesitated. There was a chance Cassie wouldn’t take it, knowing it was from him. And maybe he didn’t want her to know anyway, not after what she’d said to him the last time they’d seen each other. He didn’t want her thinking he had some ulterior motive, didn’t want to have to answer questions about why. So instead, he ticked the box that said anonymous.

Chapter Eighteen

When Sam woke for the second time, he saw Sophia smiling at him from her pillow, sunlight filtering over her face through the gap in the curtains. She looked alarmingly fresh-faced, eyes bright, lips all glossy. “Hey, handsome,” she said.

“Hey, yourself.” Unlike hers, his voice was husky from sleep.

“Last night was fun.” She reached out, tiptoed her fingers down his bare arm.

“Yeah.” And there had been moments of fun, for sure, though he wasn’t totally sure it had been a good idea.

He sat up. “Sorry. Got to have a shower.” He kissed her on the head before heading into the en-suite bathroom, knowing that sort of thing was expected. He grimaced as he braced his hands against the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Would she want something from him now? But he hadn’t promised anything, had he? And it had been her who had made the move, even if he’d been all too willing to go along with it. Tom used to tease him about that. And he had a flash then of Tom sitting on his single bed, in the tiny room of their first-year university halls, shaking his head, his blond hair flopping with the movement.

“Girls literally throw themselves at your feet, don’t they, Malone?”

“Ah, come on now, don’t get all jealous, green’s a bad color on you.”

Not that Tom had ever had any trouble on the girl front—he had a line of them waiting, but he’d only had one girlfriend at university, and then he’d met Amy, and that was it.

“Pff, whatever, nothing worth keeping hold of ever came easy,” Tom replied.

“Taking a philosophy course on the side that I don’t know about?”

Tom answered that by throwing a pen at Sam, which hit him on the arm.

He smiled, just a little, at the memory.

In the shower, turning the temperature right up so that pinpricks of heat seared his skin, the full scope of last night hit him. Cassie. The pub. His savings.

Shit.

It had been a whim, something he hadn’t really thought through, carried away by the need to do something for Tom.

But would he take it back now, if he could, in the cold hard light of day? No, he decided. No, he was glad he’d done it—if it meant Cassie keeping hold of something she loved. If it meant honoring Tom in even a small way, then he’d made the right decision. But it did mean he had to figure out what the hell to do next. He still had a bit of money, but it wasn’t going to last indefinitely.

Sophia was gone when he came back out and everyone was already in the kitchen when he got there, coffee and eggs on the breakfast bar. Toby’s work, probably. Considering he’d probably had a cook or whatever growing up, the guy was surprisingly good in the kitchen.

Toby caught his eye as Sam pulled up a seat at the granite breakfast bar, and held out an empty mug in question from where he was standing by the wooden cabinets. Sam nodded, and Toby filled the mug with freshly brewed coffee, handing it to Sam.

“Good night?” Toby asked, raising his eyebrows and smirking just a little.