It was late that evening when Steven finally pulled alongside the curb outside of Samantha’s apartment. She leaned forward, fetching her bag from the floor of his Prius where the long strap had somehow gotten tangled around her foot.
“Are you sure you’re not mad at me about the trip?” Steven asked.
He normally wasn’t so considerate, and the fact that he was made her glance up, finding him subdued and contemplative. She untangled the strap of her bag, took her time slowly rising in her seat, and narrowed her eyes “You mean about the internship? No, why would I be?”
He lifted his shoulders. “You said everyone was expecting me.”
She bit her bottom lip, looking down to her lap before responding. “They’ll get over it.”
“Will you?”
She met his kind brown eyes that were honest and sincere. “It’s a gift, in a way.”
His eyes narrowed, but he adjusted in his seat to humor her. “How so?”
“Ammunition.”
“Ammunition?”
“Yep. I’ll be able to hold this over your head for all eternity.”
He laughed. “Is that right?”
“It will go something like this: ‘Honey, I want a new car… Oh, and do you remember that time you ditched me?’, or ‘Steven, go get ice-cream, oh yeah, and do you remember that time you forced me to drive cross-country alone?” Samantha beamed. “See, it’s a gift that keeps on giving.”
Steven shook his head, leaning forward to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “And I’ll give you everything, Sammie,” he whispered. “Not because I ditched you, but because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, reached for the automatic locks, and unlocked the door. “Now get out of my car so I can get some shut-eye!”
She smiled and leaned back in the seat.
“You think I’m joking,” he began again, “but I need to be at work in eight hours.” He leaned across the passenger seat and shoved the door open.
“On a Saturday, really?”
“They’re working on a big project and I said I’d help.” He raised his chin to the door and widened his eyes.
“Okay, okay…” Samantha laughed, dragging the strap of her messenger bag over her head before climbing out of the car. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes.”
“Will do.” He smiled. “Now get your cute butt upstairs.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious!”
She straightened her back, throwing her hand to her forehead in a salute. “Yes Sir! Whatever you say, sir!”
“Smart-ass.” He lifted his chin. “Go.”
2
Chapter Two
Samantha grabbed a can of sparkling water out of her fridge and looked around her apartment. It felt… empty. Even though it was smothered in drawings, and cluttered with a mishmash of furniture. She pulled in a breath, downing half the can as she kicked her shoes to the center of the room.
In a way, she was grateful Steven wasn’t going on the trip. Not that she wouldn’t cry with relief if he suddenly changed his mind-but she could really use some time to think.
Her gallery opening hadn’t gone at all as planned. A month had passed, yet she still didn’t feel herself. Sure, plenty of people had attended, making it appear to be a huge, beautiful success to all who were watching. Reporters were sent out to cover the event, even a local photographer who was highly regarded for his skill. They were all singing her praises, taking pictures, and telling her how much they admired her creativity. But not a single person had actually wanted to purchase her art. Sure, there were a couple of offers from passersby—a couple of lowball offers that would barely cover the cost of the materials it took to create them… But each piece took more than a month to complete. More than a month of all the free time she could spare after her waitressing job at Donovan’s. She needed more than that. More than a lowball offer and some flattery… She needed real money, a huge “fuck you” in the form of a paycheck, to everyone who doubted her and her work.
Her worth.
Even Steven. She’d known for some time that he didn’t agree with her chosen career… and granted, he’d been the ear to her frustrations for the past two years…but a slab of concrete? The words still pinched at her heart and made her feel ill.
Without thinking, she set the half-drunk can on the table and walked down the hall to stand at the door to her studio. She turned the handle, letting the door crack open before giving it a firm shove to swing wide on its hinges. Her eyes landed on the clay-spotted sheet that hung over the sculpture in the center of the room. The one she’d worked on for three months without coming up for air.
It began the day her best friend called to say she was getting married. No hello, no greeting of any kind before the words exploded like a bomb through the receiver. “We’re getting married!”
The news hit Samantha in a weird place. That grumpy, raw spot in the middle of her chest that she never wanted to admit existed. The place where jealousy, hurt, and discomfort twisted in intricate knots. She didn’t know why, because it wasn’t as though she begrudged Renee’s happiness, but she would be lying if she said the first emotion that rolled around in her stomach wasn’t sadness.
Renee and Phin’s engagement happened so fast. Renee had only moved to New York six months before, and now she was getting married. Which meant that, as Samantha knew all too well, Renee was never coming back to LA. Their friendship would dwindle, the way relationships always did when people moved apart, and Samantha would lose the only friend who ever really understood her. The one person she could be herself with, who knew her battle with a wild heart, and all the things she dreamed of doing.
She hung up the phone that day in shock. Almost with grief, as she made it back to her studio. But she didn’t pick up the pieces where she’d left off. No, she started something new. The sculpture took on a life of its own. Samantha’s hands moved through the clay with a passion she hadn’t felt in years, and the fire inside her didn’t stop for months.
Every day she continued to work. Adding, sculpting, and perfecting it…and working through all the emotions and disappointments that had been churning through her blood for the past year.
She spent more time on that one sculpture than she any other piece she’d ever created. Slab of concrete. She pushed the words down to her stomach and flicked off the light.