She runs
She runs back to the car they rented and she doesn't even know if her friends are following before they join her.
Sam stands there. Watching.
She has to get out. Her eyes are stinging and she is not going to do this. Not this. She is not going to cry in front of Sam Winchester, the man that thought so little of her he never even bothered to say goodbye.
Kara is on the driver's seat and getting them the hell out of there when she finally allows herself to cry.
Sometimes she feels like her whole life has been reduced to crying about Sam.
She thought she was over it. She really did.
She never got over him.
Kara, Carly and Tracy take turns holding her and bitching about men all through the night. She doesn't hear most of it. All she wants is to cry and die and sleep, not in any particular order.
Morning comes and she slips outside before the girls wake up. She needs coffee. She needs to be alone.
She does not need Sam Winchester sitting on the sidewalk across her hotel holding his head.
She stands there for a moment and contemplates turning back around and running from him again. Her eyes sting. Damn him. But she is already on the stage 2 of the Jessica Moore grieving process. She is past sad. She's pissed.
She crosses the street. His head shots up when she is halfway through.
"What the hell are you doing here?", she shouts. She can't help it.
He looks at her like he didn't even heard what she said.
He smiles. The son of a bitch smiles.
"Jess…"
He gets up and steps up towards her. She shots up a hand.
"No."
He looks down. He looks… sad?
"Jess…", he takes a deep breath and she feels her anger melting. Son of a…
"…I'm so sorry."
She's crying. When did she start crying?
He's holding her. When did he reach out for her?
"I'm so sorry, Jess. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I love you, I'm so sorry…."
It's…he loves her? He… what?
Jess feels her whole world shatter at the words she wanted to hear every day for the past two years. She can't stop crying. He holds her tighter.
It's Sam. He's bulkier, his eyes are harder, but he's Sam. He smells the same, he sounds the same, her head still fits at his shoulder. It's Sam.
Sam.
"Sam…"
She untangles herself from his arms and looks at him straight in the eyes.
There are tears pooling there.
She never saw Sam cry.
And then all her rehearsals, all her speeches, all her rage, they are just… gone.
She forces herself to ask the only question that really matters.
"Why?"