A/N: In response to all of the lovely messages I received about this story I've posted this chapter. It will be the last one posted to this site. As you might have read previously, for personal reasons, I'm leaving this site. I will now be posting my stories on AO3 (link on my profile page which will stay up or you can do an internet search for AO3 to find it since this site won't allow links in stories).

Thanks for all of you who have read and reviewed, you've been an amazing audience and I hope to still interact with you on AO3. If not, thanks again for your support – I wish you all every happiness.

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All the Best,

TheWrtrInMe

Benediction

Chapter 10 - In His Name Part 1

Marissa Benson drained the last of her coffee and set it back in the cup holder. Looking into her rearview mirror she shook her head and frowned. Fruitlessly she pinched her cheeks, attempting to draw some color to her skin. She generally prided herself on the fact that her face belied her 50 years. She worked out, ate right and tried, as much as she could, to live a reasonably healthy life. Today it didn't matter. Exhaustion gave her face a rundown look – one that screamed 'I've been alive for a half century…maybe more!'

She'd spent the better part of last night entertaining a four-year old who had enough energy for another five children his age. She loved her grandson, but at her age chasing him around the house required a level of energy she did not currently possess.

Normally it wasn't so bad; she'd take him to the park or out for frozen yogurt, get down on the floor and play with the toy trains he was so enamored with. But this hadn't been a regular visit. The call she'd gotten from Spencer yesterday had drained her emotionally and she'd had little left over to keep up with A.J.

Sam was back.

Those three words had pounded in her head since she'd first heard them. She'd attempted not to think about it, a fruitless exercise for sure. She'd yet to talk to Freddie about it. This morning, after Mira picked up A.J. – looking more than a little distracted, she'd called him and tried to bring it up. All he'd say was 'It's not a good time, mom'. When would be a good time, she wondered. Sam had been a sore subject between the two of them since she'd left, and it didn't appear that her return to Seattle had changed that.

It was strange, really. When Samantha Puckett had first entered her life, an abrasive eight year old with bad manners, a bad attitude and a penchant for tormenting Marissa's only son, she'd done everything in her power to convince Freddie that a friendship with Sam was destined for disaster. It was mothering instinct more than any real facts that backed up her opinion of Sam. Or maybe it was fear. From the first time she'd seen Freddie and Sam interact she'd known – that girl was going to change her son. And change wasn't something Marissa had ever been comfortable with.

She'd watched as he pined after Carly and then watched as his crush dissipated and the relationship between Freddie and Sam began to change. She was ashamed now to think of the things she'd said to discourage the friendship. She'd called her a delinquent, pointed toward Sam's crumbling home life, insisted that Sam had no future – nothing positive to offer. But she'd been wrong, she could admit that now.

Before meeting Sam, Freddie had been shy – painfully so. He had few friends and spent most of his time holed up in his room. But slowly he'd changed. The quiet, 'don't rock the boat' son she'd raised began to assert himself. When Sam pushed, he pushed back and eventually he learned to do it, not just with Sam but with anyone who stood between him and what he wanted. By then the looks of irritation or frustration she'd see on his face when he was with Sam began to give way to something else. She hadn't wanted to see it, had turned a blind an eye when possible, thinking that, eventually, it would go away, just like his crush on Carly. But it hadn't gone away and by the time she was forced to acknowledge it, she'd also had to acknowledge that it wasn't going to go away. He loved her, in a way that made her proud of the man he was becoming and wistful for the by he'd once been.

It had taken her a while to come around – Sam was not easy to love. Thing had been tense, and sometimes downright volatile, between the two of them, but in the same way she'd watched the tiny blonde change her son, she watched in awe as the girl seemed to blossom under the love Freddie showered on her. She was still tough, and the things she said sometimes made Marissa cringe in their coarseness, but there was one thing Marissa could not deny. Sam loved her son. At least that's what she'd thought.

And eventually, without conscious thought, her feelings had moved slowly from tolerance, to acceptance, then to love. By the time Sam and Freddie went away to college, she'd come to see Sam as family, and she knew Sam felt the same – even if the words were never exactly spoken. Sam brought out strength in Freddie and he brought out softness in her. They were good for each other, she thought.

When Freddie had approached her and said he wanted to ask Sam to marry him she'd been ecstatic, realizing she'd been waiting for that moment for some time. Sam was already her daughter as far as Marissa's heart was concerned, a wedding just made it official.

Then Carly died.

Marissa still felt a familiar ache when she thought of it. She'd not been close to Carly but her presence in Freddie's life made her important to Marissa. It was the first time since his father died that Freddie had dealt with the death of anyone close to him. She stood by, ready and waiting for the moment he'd need her to comfort him, but that time never came. He'd been stoic, rarely crying, instead spending his time trying to make sure Sam was okay, the Sam who retreated into a shell no one could seem to draw her out of. Marissa had hurt for her, worried at her silence, and wracked her brain for a way to help her, a way to reach her beneath the sadness that seemed to cover her like a shroud. She understood that kind of sadness. When her husband, Jack, had died, Marissa spent days in the house – incapable of facing the world. If it hadn't been for Freddie she wasn't entirely sure she'd have made it out alive. She saw that same hopelessness in Sam's eyes then. Hopelessness made people do drastic things.

She'd expected that the road to recovery for Sam would be hard, she'd told Freddie as much and encouraged him to be patient … to give her time. She'd never expected it to end the way it did.

She shook her head against the memory. Freddie had been devastated. She still remembered his face as he stumbled from his room, letter in hand, his face a mix of shock and fear. She hadn't known what to tell him. The mother in her was angry, for a long time. Freddie wasn't the only one who'd given his heart to Sam, and his wasn't the only heart broken by her disappearance. She hurt for him, but she also hurt for herself. She'd loved Sam, and welcomed her into their family. Sam leaving felt like a betrayal, one Marissa wasn't sure she'd ever get over.

But eventually she did get over it. That first year was painful, watching Freddie as he waited, convinced that she'd be back any day. By the second year the anger softened and she found herself missing the petite blond who'd become such an integral part of her life. She missed her laugh, she missed their verbal sparring matches, but most of all she missed the man Freddie had been when he was with her. Freddie moved on, but something in him, a spark of life, was extinguished, and he never quite got it back.

When he'd introduced her to Mira she'd smiled politely and tried to say all the right things, but in her heart she knew she'd never love this girl the way she'd loved Sam, and neither would Freddie. She'd been sure it would end in disaster, and told Freddie as much but he'd been resolute – he needed to move on and Mira was the woman he'd do that with. She'd seen the warning signs from the very beginning. The way Mira smiled at him, as if he were the center of the universe. He'd never looked at Mira that way, never laughed as loud or smiled as wide as he had with Sam. Mira was a placeholder – even if he didn't know it.

Eventually he and Mira ended what probably should never have begun and the resulting fallout had been just as bad as she'd expected. By the time he'd had the courage to be honest about how he felt there was a child involved. Her grandson, whom she loved more than her own life, who spent his whole life between two parents in two different houses because his father hadn't been able to admit the truth Marissa had always known – that he wasn't over Sam; that he might never be.

The relationship between Freddie and Mira seemed amicable, much friendlier than any other 'broken' family she'd seen before. She suspected that part of it was because Mira still loved Freddie – a fact that softened her feelings toward the woman she'd never quite warmed up to.

For all intents and purposes, life had gone on in Sam's absence. Freddie never talked about it, and eventually Marissa removed all the pictures she'd had around the house of Sam and Freddie – it was too painful to see him try to avoid looking at them, or the look of sadness on his face when he picked one up, unaware Marissa was watching him. She'd stopped talking about Sam too, it was the surest way to send Freddie into tense silence. She kept her memories to herself, and in front of her son she tried to pretend that Sam's absence didn't affect her. It was a lie they'd all gotten skilled at telling. But it wasn't true. Sam's leaving left a scar on her heart that hurt all the more for the fact that she was forced to ignore it.

Until yesterday.

The way she'd found out about Sam's return was almost as shocking as the news itself. Mira had called her and asked if she minded keeping A.J. overnight. Marissa, of course, didn't mind, but Mira calling her to ask was by no means a normal occurrence. Generally those requests came from Freddie. She'd inquired, as politely as possible, what the occasion was – she knew that Freddie had a gala for the Seattle Philanthropic Society to attend and the last she'd heard A.J. was to stay with Spencer until it was over, then spend the weekend with Freddie. In her usual blunt manner Mira told her that she and Freddie would both be attending and expected it to be a really late night. 'His ex is in town. Sam's back,' she'd said.

Marissa couldn't really recall the rest of the conversation. She'd been in shock and still hadn't fully recovered when Mira dropped A.J. off, looking even more beautiful than she normally did. She didn't call Freddie then, since she hadn't come to terms with the news yet herself. Her feelings vacillated all evening – confusion, anger, hope, and even sadness as the years old scar left by Sam's disappearance opened and refused to be ignored.

She'd slept very little and found herself watching her phone throughout the night, wondering if it might ring, if she might get the chance to hear the voice of the daughter who'd broken her heart, the daughter she still missed as much as the day she'd left. But the phone never rang. She wasn't surprised but she'd be lying if she said it didn't sting a little. Sam was in Seattle, and she'd not thought to contact Marissa. Maybe life had moved on for Sam too – or maybe Marissa and Freddie weren't the only ones who'd gotten good at pretending it had.

Mira had shown up at her house an hour ago, solemn and uncharacteristically quiet. Marissa hadn't asked any questions – she didn't need to. From the looks of it things hadn't gone well. Freddie's terse response to her call was further proof.

She was scheduled for a double shift – the reason for consuming her SkyBucks coffee, with a double shot of espresso, at record speed. Between the emotion of knowing Sam was back and the energy she'd spent taking care of A.J., she was exhausted. Any conversation with Freddie about Sam's reappearance would have to wait.

Flipping her driver's side visor closed she grabbed her bag and exited the car. She'd been working as an ER nurse for close to five years now. It was exhilarating and she was good at it, better able than most to put her feelings aside and care for the patients, even with the most severe of injuries. It wasn't something everyone could do and Marissa prided herself on her professionalism. Whatever was going on in her personal life, she was generally able to shut it off and do the work at hand. Today wouldn't be so easy, questions about Sam and worries about Freddie pricked the back of her mind. She needed to focus; she only prayed she'd be able to.

Walking through the sliding doors of the ER she put on her 'Nurse Marissa' face, a gentle smile intended to help calm the people around her even as the area descended into chaos. It was Sunday morning though and from the looks of it, the morning would be quiet, a fact she was grateful for. Sliding her bag into a closet behind the check in desk she greeted the nurses on shift with her.

"Hey Marissa!" Cynthia, a young African American woman who'd been working with her for a year, threw an easy smile her way. They were kindred spirits. Cynthia possessed a fierce determination that made it difficult to ruffle her feathers. And heaven help the person who got on her bad side. She worked hard – something Marissa appreciated when the ER got hectic and their shifts were filled with gross understaffing, difficult cases, and overworked doctors. Between the two of them they managed to keep it all afloat.

"Hey Cyn. Looks quiet today. Are you coming on or going off?"

Cynthia looked over the chart in front of her and then up at Marissa. "Very quiet – thank God, I was not in the mood for craziness this morning! And I'm on a double with you."

They worked together, handling charts, calling the lab to put in requests, getting up to speed on the current patients as the previous shift's nurses began to leave. It was work that required her full attention, which made it easier to ignore what had been bothering her, or at least silence the voice in her head.

She'd been there for no more than thirty minutes when their radio beeped, signaling an incoming Emergency Rescue crew.

"Seattle General." She looked over the intake board, already mentally determining if they had the available bed space.

"This is Emergency Unit #493. Car crash, two victims. Both alive, one alert with minimal injuries, one non-responsive but breathing, multiple injuries. ETA, five minutes.

"Bring them in."

She informed the doctors on duty and made sure she had two rooms ready, and let Cynthia know what was coming in. She felt the familiar adrenaline rush that accompanied an ambulance call. Despite the description of injuries by the EMT's you never knew what might actually come through the door. She'd seen gurneys roll in with an EMT on top of the patient, attempting CPR only to have the patient called as a DOA. She'd seen teenagers come through, victims of shootings, blood soaking their clothes and the gurney they lay on as they called out for their mothers. She'd held the hands of people she knew weren't going to make it and comforted the parents and children of patients holding onto life by a thread. She considered it an honor, the ability to be with people at their very darkest moments. She was to them what she'd want someone to be to her own son.

The familiar siren of the ambulance came closer and closer until the ambulance entryway to the ER was filled with flashes of red, blue, and white as they pulled up outside the doors. She went into action immediately, standing beside the door as the EMT's wheeled in two patients. On the first, an older man lay moaning as he held onto an arm that appeared to be broken. There was a deep gash on this forehead, but he was breathing and sitting up so she was fairly certain he'd be fine.

Cynthia directed the EMT's to room 13 and Marissa waited as the second ambulance pulled up outside. There was a different energy about this one. The EMT's rushed from the back of the ambulance, calling our orders to each other as one of then entered and began to brief Marissa on the patient they carried. She listened to him, making notes on her clipboard, keeping an eye on the doors as the next patient was rolled in.

She drew in a breath and felt her knees go weak as the voice of the EMT beside her faded and her clipboard fell to the floor. She didn't hear the EMT as he caught her by the elbow before her legs gave way beneath her. Didn't hear him ask if she was okay or call for another nurse to come to the entryway where they stood. She saw only the small frame of the second patient as she was rolled through the doors. Her face was covered in blood and cuts, her blond hair was matted to the side of her face, her eyes closed. As Marissa's eyes raked over the woman's frame she took inventory of the injuries and felt her stomach roll. The bone in her ankle was poking through the skin, and her shoulder was turned in at an angle that could only mean it was dislocated. Already the woman's face had begun to erupt into blue and purple bruises. She was unrecognizable – to most. But Marissa gasped audibly at the realization that she knew this woman – or the girl she used to be; had seen her face in a million dreams.

It was Sam.

She didn't scream, though she felt the beginnings of one rumbling in her gut and threatening to rush out. She didn't cry, though she felt unshed tears stinging at the back of her eyelids. She merely stared, her throat so tight she opened her mouth wide on instinct, taking desperate pulls of air from the room that suddenly seemed to have shrunk around her. She reached out as the gurney passed her, aware that the EMTs were looking to her for direction that she was incapable of giving them. She stood, unmoving, running a hand over the face she thought she'd never see again.

She hear Cynthia come up beside her, felt her cool hands on her elbow as she told the EMTs which room to take Sam to. She tried to speak, tried to help them understand how important this woman was, how vital it was that she be okay. Please God let her be okay.

"Marissa? Marissa!" Cynthia's voice was strong and harsh as she held Marissa but the shoulder's, turning her so that they were face to face. "Talk to me honey!"

Marissa shook her head, her eyes closed. She tried to shake the image of Sam, broken and bruised, from her head. Tried to tell herself she'd seen wrong. That it couldn't be.

"I know her." She whispered, afraid to give any more power to her voice. "I know her."

"Who honey? The car crash victim?" She walked Marissa to the nurses' station and attempted to get her seated.

"No!" Marissa cried, finding her voice, "I can't sit down. I…I have to go to her. I have to…" her voice cracked as the tears she'd been attempting to hold at bay broke forth and ran like a river down her face. "I have to make sure she's okay!"

Cynthia's hands were firm on her shoulder as she kept Marissa in place, putting a bottle of water in her hands.

"Honey, you have to calm down." She sat on the chair opposite Marissa and rubbed slow circles into her back as she doubled over, gasping for air that refused to fill her lungs. "You have to calm down. Now tell me who she is. The EMTs said she's a Jane Doe. The car she was in was totaled, and they haven't been able to find any identification for her." Marissa looked up, her face flushed as she attempted to control her emotions, attempted to compose herself. "You know her?"

"Yes, she's my…she was my son's girlfriend. Samantha Puckett. Her name's Samantha Puckett." The facts, she needed to keep to the facts. Her normally unflinching demeanor was shattered and resisted her attempts at recovering it.

The room was suddenly a flurry of activity around them. Marissa tried not to see the ER doctors as the rushed into her room. She'd been a nurse long enough to know – it was never a good sign when doctors ran. Cynthia made a note on the chart she held and stood to her feet. Marissa stood with her, preparing to follow her to Sam's room.

"No, Marissa…you can't go in there like this. You know that."

Marissa shook her head, "You don't understand. I have to, I…please Cynthia." She pleaded, knowing even in her state that it was outside protocol for nurses to work with patients they were personally involved with. The division between professional and personal was just too difficult to make.

"Marissa, you know you can't do that. You say you know her…is her family from around here…can you find them?" Marissa nodded, slipping back into the seat she'd just vacated, already knowing and dreading the call she'd have to make. "Okay," Cynthia called over her shoulder as she headed in the direction of Sam's room, "Call someone and get them in here. This doesn't look good, get them here ASAP." She rushed into the room, pulling the curtain behind her and Marissa turned to the desk phone.

She had no idea where Sam's mother was – the last she'd heard Pam Puckett had moved to Georgia to live with her mother.

No, regardless of how things had been left six years ago, there was only one person for her to call. She picked up the phone and tried to compose herself as it rang on the other end.

"Freddie?" her voice cracked as the groggy voice on the other end responded. "I'm so sorry Freddie. It's Sam. There's been an accident."

Freddie stared down at the sludge in his mug passing for coffee. It was hot, the steam rolling off and up into his face, the smell acrid and burnt, doing little to make it any more appetizing. He took a tentative sip and frowned. It tasted like his day – ruined and unsalvageable.

He stood and walked into the kitchen, dumping the mess down the sink along with what remained in the coffee maker. He wasn't usually much of a coffee drinker, but he'd needed something this morning. Something to wake him up, something to make the mess he'd made of last night a bit less glaring. It hadn't helped of course. The hour or so since Sam had left had passed with maddeningly slowness. In just over sixty minutes he'd watched the once love of his life flee into the rainy morning because of his words and before he even had time to wrap his mind around it Mira had swept into his condo, sent A.J. upstairs, and spent the next half an hour giving him a lecture that made him feel like even more of a jackass than he had before she arrived.

It was strange really, hearing Mira defend Sam. Listening while she told him what he already knew – he'd taken an already bad situation and quite possibly ruined it beyond repair. And that was without him having told her exactly what had taken place. If Mira knew everything he'd done, knew the way he'd touched Sam, taken what he knew was no longer his, and then turned ice cold eyes on her and virtually thrown her out into the street, she might possibly have killed him. And he wouldn't have blamed her at all.

He shook his head and held himself over the sink, his arms tense on either side of it. This wasn't who he was; he hadn't been raised this way. All of his life he'd prided himself on being a gentleman, on treating people the way he wanted to be treated. His actions over the last 24 hours felt like putting on a spandex suit two sizes to small – it didn't fit, and it made him look like an idiot. If his mother knew…

His mother. He groaned at the thought. He was going to have to tell her, if not the details of the train wreck that was seeing Sam again, at least that Sam was in town. Then there would be questions, lots of questions. And Marissa Benson knew him better than anyone on the planet. She'd take one look in his eyes and she'd know something was wrong. So he'd have to lie, or avoid her – and neither of those options would do much to make him feel any better about the current circumstances of his life.

How had he made such a mess?

Seeing Sam again had been painful and awkward, but if he were honest, at the very furthest corner of his heart it had also made him feel something like hope. Her eyes, still the most beautiful blue he'd ever seen, looked into his and for a split second six years felt like six minutes and he remembered how looking at her used to fill him with the most exquisite kind of joy.

He could have been cordial, put on his big boy pants, and asked her about her life and her work. He could have waited until a more appropriate time and asked her all the why's he'd stored up over six years. They could have left the Gala and gone to breakfast. That greasy spoon diner she'd always been partial to was still open. They could have had chocolate chip pancakes and coffee and talked – really talked. And then maybe, after he'd asked his questions and gotten his answers, he could have brought her back her and…it would have been different. There wouldn't have been confusion and clouded bad decisions. There wouldn't have been sex tinged with anger followed by tears and her leaving again – without a goodbye.

But he hadn't done that. He hadn't been rational and level-headed. He hadn't gotten any answers and he doubted now that he ever would.

"I'm an asshole." He closed his eyes and spoke into the seemingly empty kitchen, running a hand through his hair.

"Daddy, that's a no-no word."

Freddie jumped, his eyes snapping open and resting on A.J. who stood in front of him in a Spiderman costume, holding a Captain America shield, his Ironman mask resting haphazardly on top of his head. Multi-faceted superhero.

"Sorry buddy, you're right. That wasn't a nice word."

A.J. shrugged his shoulders and headed out of the kitchen, climbing up into a chair at the dining room table. "It's okay Daddy. Mommy said some too. I heard her when you and her was talking."

"A.J, it's also not nice to eavesdrop when Mommy and Daddy are talking."

"I wasn't Daddy, I promise! Mommy was just talking really loud." He pulled his Iron Man mask from his head, setting on the table and folded his hands in front of him, studying Freddie's face. "Did you get in trouble? Did Mommy put you on punishment?"

Freddie laughed in spite of himself. Mira hadn't put him on punishment but he was pretty sure that if he didn't find a way to fix the mess he'd made, any interaction with her was going to feel like punishment.

"No, Mommy didn't put me on punishment." A.J. stared back at him with one tiny eyebrow raised in disbelief. He knew his mother too well. Attempting to change the subject, Freddie reached up into the cabinet. "How about some cereal Captain IronSpiderman?"

A.J. nodded his head, the cereal a clever enough distraction for him at four, and launched into a play by play of the night he'd spent with his grandmother. Freddie tried to concentrate on what A.J was saying. It was a distraction and he needed it. But his mind was stubborn and kept returning to the current problem. Sam was somewhere in the city, sitting in a hotel room and probably wondering what had happened to the nice guy she'd left six years ago.

'She left – she doesn't get to have an opinion on who I became in her absence,' he told himself, the lie clanging like a minor chord in his mind. He wanted to believe that. Even after all that had transpired, he wanted badly to justify it all. He wanted to be angry, as angry as he'd been when he'd told her to leave. He cringed at that thought. The anger that had rolled hot and irrational through his veins then was gone, leaving him to deal with the guilt and regret left in its place.

For the last six years he'd played over in his mind what he'd do if he ever saw Sam again. Some years the image in his head had been soft and romantic. They'd stand staring into each other eyes before she rushed at him and he scooped her up in his arms, all thoughts of why she'd left, how she'd left, unimportant as he held her tight and kissed her senseless. Then there were times when the scene had been cold and impersonal. He'd see her across a crowded room, mall, city street. They'd see each other and all the feelings he'd had - the love that had lingered alongside the anger, the hurt, all of it – would lift and he'd realize he was over her. He'd smile and she'd smile, maybe even give a polite nod, and then they'd both go their separate ways – no words necessary as they silently closed the book on who they'd once been together and apart.

But when the moment was actually there he'd nearly drowned under the unyielding waves of feelings and thoughts and memories that came one after the other with no breathing space between them. She didn't run into his arms. He didn't nod politely or walk away with closure. No, the world around him exploded and he was powerless to do anything about it. Just like that, the peace he'd carefully knitted together in her absence was gone, so quickly he wondered if it had ever really existed. Nearly every truth he'd convinced himself of over the last six years lay in tatters around him, and instead of pausing and doing what he was good at – developing a plan of action – he'd just made it worse, and now he had no idea how to fix it, or if fixing it was even an option.

"Daddy!"

A.J's voice pulled him from his thoughts and he cursed as he stared down at the table where the milk he'd been pouring into A.J's cereal bowl overflowed, forming a white lake on the wooden table.

"Sorry buddy," he said, going back into the kitchen for a new bowl, filling it, this time without incident. He pulled out a dishtowel and began to mop up the spilled milk, as A.J. dug into the sugary cereal Mira would have scolded him for offering.

"You made a mess Daddy."

Freddie stopped and looked at his son who was oblivious to the poetic irony of his words.

"Yep," he said, "Daddy made a big mess."

The familiar ring of his phone filled the room and he tossed the dishtowel into the sink before walking into the living room to grab it.

"Hey Spence."

"So…"

"So what?"

"Come on Freddie! You saw Sam for the first time in six years, then you don't call me to tell me what happened and I see Mira this morning in the hallway and she said, and I quote, "the evening was a disaster of Titanic-like proportions."

Freddie sighed. He didn't want to have this conversation.

"I don't know what to tell you Spencer."

"How about telling me why Mira is comparing the night to a historic disaster with no survivors? Or why Sam isn't answering her phone? Or why you sound like I kicked your favorite puppy?"

"Spencer, can we not talk about this now? Please?"

Spencer sighed, "That bad?"

"No, worse," he said, "but thanks for telling Mira about Sam and sending her to go with me. That helped so much."

"Really?" Spencer said brightly.

"No!" Freddie screamed into the phone, lowering his voice as A.J. turned toward him, milk dripping from his bottom lip as he stared open mouthed at his father. Mira was the yeller, A.J. wasn't used to hearing his father raise his voice. He smiled at A.J. and headed down the hall to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. "No Spencer, it was awful. Both of my exes in the same room, at the same table…"

"What?"

"Yeah, Mira arranged it. I told you, she was super helpful last night."

"Well, did you, um, talk to Sam?"

'Yeah, then I kissed her, had sex with her, and threw her out,' he thought.

"Something like that," he said.

"Something like that? What's that mean?"

Freddie groaned and flopped down onto the edge of his bed. "Spencer, please! I really don't want to discuss this right now. Just take my word for it, it was awful, really truly awful and…" he looked down at his phone. Incoming call from his mother. Just great. "Listen Spencer, it's my mom on the line. I'll call you back later."

"No you won't."

"You're right, I probably won't."

"We are gonna talk about this, Freddie."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Later."

"Later." Freddie clicked over to his mother, prepared for another round of interrogation, hoping she didn't know enough to yell. He was already nursing a thundering headache. "Hey, mom."

"Freddie?" her voice broke and he immediately sat up. It sounded like she was crying. Marissa Benson didn't cry, not without good reason.

"Mom, what's wrong?" and then she said the words that turned his already broken world to ash.

"I'm so sorry Freddie." She paused, "It's Sam. There's been an accident."