A/N: I speak to you all from the grave that is canon Samcedes. How something could give me so much life and kill me at the same time is beyond my comprehension. Their beauty transcends all bounds, and no, it's not perfectly written on screen, but it's certainly teetering on the edge of perfection!
Sadly, this story is not nearly as bright at the moment. However, I still hope you enjoy it, if only for the carefully described angst and light humor.
Xoxoxo,
KurlyQ722
UCLA-Sophomore Year: Mid-August to Early December
O-O
"What in the world is that supposed to be?"
"What are you talking about? It's my face." Sam handed off the misshapen sculpture to his coworker, pointing out the details his untrained eye might have missed. "See? That's my nose and that, clearly, is my unique mouth. You just don't have an eye for art."
"No, I know art. Both of my parents do restoration work for the Smithsonian. This is just tragic." The curly haired redhead tossed the sculpture to Sam as he stood from his seat, shaking his head at the waste of clay. Sam fumbled to grab it, and the sculpture hopped back and forth between hands until he could grasp its base and set it safely on the floor. The evil green glare that followed made his friend laugh.
"Whatever, man. I'm still working on my human life art. Bree thinks it's pretty good for my first try." Sam argued petulantly. "She's not the type to lie."
"Bree, huh? That's your girl?" Ruben asked, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows. The suggestion made the blonde scoff.
"My fiancée is Mercedes." Sam corrected, stuffing the sculpture back into his blue backpack for safe keeping before resting it on the floor beside him. "Bree is the instructor for my sculpture club. She's a grad student, art history major I think."
"Well, either she has terrible taste and doesn't plan on a future career in art or she's trying to keep you in her class." The coworker shoved Sam's feet off of the crate they rested on and playfully slapped his shoulder. "Get up, dude. The show ends in fifteen and we still have to clean up back here. Break time's been over for you."
"For me?! You're usually the one lounging around later than necessary!" Sam jokingly reminded him, reaching for the white cowboy hat that was a part of his roadie uniform. "Don't tell me boss man is finally riding the great Ruben's ass hard enough to get him moving?"
"Come on, you know no one runs me." Ruben pulled his unruly hair into a low ponytail before plopping a similar dark brown hat on top of his head. "I just figured, since this is Ms. Hill's last show weekend for the summer tour, I might as well go out with a bang."
Sam pursed his lips at the bullshit excuse. "You're trying to get Mr. Greg to write you a recommendation letter for that internship, aren't you?" he deduced, referring to their boss on the road. Their L.A. boss, Mr. John, only managed the local gigs in state. But, since Faith's tour travelled all the way across coasts to New York, the help and management had to change with the move. Ruben was one of the newer stage hands they found locally, studying at NYU. Unlike Sam, he came from a rather well-off family with old money revolving around fine art. Ruben, ever the rebel, wanted to work in business, particularly in the performing arts arena.
"Hey, entertainment management isn't as easy to get into as you'd think. I plan to be at the top of my game by the time I'm thirty. This little intern job is my ticket to the top." Ruben retorted, wheeling a cart of sound equipment. Sam followed behind with a cart of his own, shaking his head at his friend's logic. Ruben's ambitions were larger than his motivations.
"You know, it might've looked better if you showed up on time for the past three months we've been on the road, too. I'm pretty sure that artists want managers that can manage to show up on time," laughed Sam. "Best of luck to you, though. Dream big."
"What about you?" asked Ruben, setting his work down as he watched Sam unpack his cart. "What are your big dreams? I must've blabbered on and on about who I wanted to be and my ten year plan, but I've never heard you talk about your career goals once. As a matter of fact, before today, I never even knew your fiancee's name! Who is she? What's she like? Let me in, man!" Ruben poked Sam's back until the annoyance stole the attention away from his work.
"Well, I know you can't tell by my marvelous work with clay," Sam sarcastically began, dramatically gesturing in the direction of his packed-away sculpture, "but I plan to be an artist someday. Possibly a graphic designer or something in animation, I don't know. I have some plans to write my own graphic novel someday."
"That's awesome! I've never met an actual artist before. All of the artwork my parents deal with are made by dead guys." exclaimed Ruben, "Hey, you think you can add me in to one of your stories? Draw me as a buff Adonis with long flowing red hair and a real square chin, standing on a rock or some crap. You know, like how they have Fabio on the cover of those chick novels?" Ruben rested his scrawny leg atop a speaker and pulled his hair free from his ponytail holder, swinging his locks around before squinting his eyes and staring off into the distance. When he set his bony fists above his meager hips, Sam snorted and rolled his eyes at the sight. He wasn't the thinnest or palest guy he'd ever seen, and Sam knew he'd be the last one to judge anyone in either category, but seeing such a mighty pose on a timid, scrawny character like Ruben was still hilarious.
"Sure, but my main characters so far are wolves. No people. I don't think I'm really good at writing dialogue for humans. I can't even find words for myself." Sam chuckled.
"Wouldn't it be the same thing? I mean, you're still going to give them emotions and thoughts. Wolves, people... aren't we all just animals looking for love? Being a wolf just gives you more freedom because they're not governed by rules. Society tells us that we have to hide our strange instincts, fight our nature. But, if you think about it, I think that we're the less evolved ones. We do everything else that the animal kingdom does, then beat ourselves up about it because of a governing system that we established ourselves! How stupid is that? And you know what else I think?" Sam watched him expectantly, engrossed in his rant. "I think that you could write and draw people if you wanted to. I think you're just too afraid to try because screwing up terrifies you. You can't do it because you're telling yourself that you can't. I haven't seen your drawings, but I'd bet that you 're a better artist than you give yourself credit for."
"Shut up." Sam laughed, waving him off and blushing like mad. He was terrible with compliments outside the realm of his looks. Truthfully, he failed to see the hidden potential that everyone else saw within him. Mercedes was one of the few people that made him believe he was actually capable of more. When he was with her, he felt extremely beautiful on the inside, like he held something precious deep down, though he'd never admit that out loud in those exact words. "You sound just like my fiancée. That's exactly what she keeps telling me."
"She's a smart woman, then. Keep her," he insisted, dark freckles peppering his smiling cheeks. Anyone who agreed with him was okay in his book. "I've always thought I had a female's insight. I told my mom I might have been a Navajo medicine woman in a past life." Ruben thought aloud, unaware of how he sounded or the strange, amused look Sam sent his way. "I can read people, you know? I have an eye."
"Must be a redhead thing," Sam mused with a shrug. "Mercy has this friend named Erin that's a lot like you. If she weren't already taken, I'd set you up."
"Oh god, no. One ginger is fire, but two together is an inferno. It'll consume you whole." He joked, wiggling his fingers and eyebrows like he was a flickering flame. "Everyone needs a sage redhead by their side. You and your Mercy must have excellent taste."
"I have excellent taste for finding someone like her." Just the thought of Mercedes brightened Sam's entire countenance, from the light in his eyes to his toothy grin and the lengthening of his spine. Ruben had shifted his attention to tying his shoes, missing the transformation, and had to do a double take when he noticed the change in his friend's mood. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me, man. Just going home and seeing her there, wearing my shirt and sitting in our living room...wrapping her hair in the mirror before we go to bed at night...it's everything. I couldn't ask for more"
Ruben almost made a joke about the sappy comment, but stopped himself when he realized that the glistening in Sam's eyes was caused by the welling of joyful tears. "Wow," Ruben whispered in awe. "I should have brought up your love life earlier. You opened up like a book! You're glowing and shit, Sam."
The observation didn't even embarrass the blonde. "We're planning on moving in together soon. We've been planning for it all summer. It's pretty exciting." Sam shared, pleased for the opportunity to tell someone else in his life other than family and glee club. "We haven't spoken to the housing department on campus yet about apartments for engaged couples, but the space already feels like it's ours. If we don't get the approval, then we've already discussed getting a place independently, off campus somewhere. I even sent her some pictures of apartment complexes near school that I think we could afford. It's going to be perfect."
Though he and Mercedes were in two separate states at the moment, their thoughts and actions felt as aligned as when they were together. The arguments were fewer and farther between, and what they did argue about usually centered around easily resolvable issues. Mercedes seemed relaxed again, and their daily video chats would run into the early hours of the morning like they used to in high school. Apartment wise, from décor to possible paint colors to how their space should be divided up, they agreed on every decision. Mercedes even granted him the freedom to decorate their living room however he saw fit, even if he chose colors and patterns that she didn't agree with. For someone as particular and structure-oriented as his girl, he knew it was a major gesture to relinquish control of creating their living space. If that wasn't love, Sam didn't know what was.
After a full year of journeying and fumbling through his college experience, it finally felt like he'd found his footing.
"Sounds pretty perfect, man." Ruben replied, "But I don't know, are you sure about moving in together? Trust me, it changes everything. I tried to move in with my girlfriend a couple of months ago and it was an absolute bust. Remember I told you about Susan? We were together for a whole year, I moved in on a Friday, and she was burning my clothes on the front lawn by the following Wednesday. Of course, the scent of Linda's perfume might have set her off..."
"Side chick?" Sam asked with a smirk.
"No! My mother!" exclaimed Ruben. "She was the one that even bought her the perfume! Susan was loco, man."
"Well, there's your problem! Mercedes is nothing like that." The boys finished clearing away any stray equipment and packed them away on the tour bus.
"You say that now." Ruben told him with a grunt, shoving the last of the heavy speakers into place before closing the metal hatch on the side of the bus. "But mark my words, moving in is going to make every issue ten times more sensitive. You're going under a microscope my brother, and Mercedes is the scientist holding the scalpel and tongs, waiting to dissect you the moment you start wriggling around."
"Mmm." Sam hummed with a smile, not buying a word.
"It's true! Take my crazy advice, man. Or, if you do move in together, make sure you buy some really heavy-smelling cologne." Sam frowned in confusion at the advice. "To cover up any suspicious perfume smells on you! Hello? Haven't you been listening to the chronicles of my crazy dating life? Chicks are bloodhounds! They know when another girl has been lingering around their territory. You know how dogs can sniff a tree and smell if another dog has claimed it?" Ruben pointed to the metal band on Sam's left hand. "That engagement ring says you've been peed on, dude. Proceed to other females with extreme caution. Do not pass go. Do not collect ten digit phone numbers."
Sam wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him in for a brotherly noogie. "You're insane, Benson."
Since he was unofficially knighted as 'Yosemite Sam' among the staff, it became tradition to give all of the new stage hands nicknames based on their first day on the job. Ruben was nicknamed Benson because he'd shown up to work in a full tuxedo, mistakenly believing that he'd landed a position as Faith Hill's personal chauffer. The crew still laughed about the coattails and top hat he'd chosen to complete the ensemble. The redhead watched way too many movies.
"I told you to stop calling me that," Ruben laughed good naturedly, wrestling himself out of Sam's headlock. "Yosemite Sam."
"That's my name, don't wear it out!" Sam sang, hopping through the open tour bus doors to climb a couple of steps, creating a makeshift platform. "Crowds come for miles to hear Yosemite Sam croon! Yosemite Sam makes headlines as Nashville's newest star! The audience chants his name, demanding encores, as long stemmed roses and lacy underwear are thrown to his feet." Sam beckoned the chants of his imaginary crowd with a sweep of his hand, cupping the other around his mouth to cheer, "Yosemite!...Yosemite!...Yosemite!..."
"Yosemite! Benson!"
The boys jumped at the sound of their boss's stern yell. "Stop foolin' 'round and git yur tails backstage! We're breaking down stage soon! Ms. Hill's on her last set!"
"Yes, sir!" The boys ran to their designated tasks and stood at attention, awaiting further instruction in silence.A short, balding man in a yellow suit walked in and tore through the quietness, angrily ranting to whoever the unfortunate soul was on the other end of his phone call.
"I swear to the high heavens!" The entire room stilled and stared at him in amazement. Faith's softly crooning voice sung in the background. "I swear to the high heavens, sir." He repeated in a much quieter voice, violently waving away the attention to his conversation. "I won't ever forget your lack of professionalism and neither will the rest of country music! You will be hearing from our lawyer soon, boy. Mark my words and prepare to burn!" Sam and Ruben observed the entire top of his head slowly turn bright red, like someone had struck a match in his brain and lit his insides afire. He slammed the archaic flip phone shut, ranting several expletives to himself as he strode toward Sam and Ruben's general direction.
"Honestly, doesn't anyone respect a contract anymore? That's the fourth act that pulled out of tomorrow's show because of the half-assed stories in the papers!"
After the news broke that Faith Hill had a long lost rapist brother in prison, more and more incredible rumors came out of the woodwork to spin off of the original controversy. Everything from rumors of secret multiple abortions to clandestine meetings with foreign lovers to 'official documents' declaring Tim's desire for divorce had made headlines, defaming the character of the fallen American sweetheart. Falsified birth documents with her former name were linked to homicidal maniacs and child molesters, all complete with side by side photos of her and her alleged biological fathers to highlight distinctive features that proved their relation. Some papers had even managed to capture unflattering pictures of a gaunt looking Faith, blaming drug use and guilt over Donovan's imprisonment for her weight loss. Thankfully, none of the news outlets had revealed anything about her own past as a sexual offender. That truth remained buried and well hidden.
Most all of the claims were false, but some had grounds in a semblance of truth. Sam knew from personal interaction with the star that Donovan's trial and Faith's history as Ana had taken a toll on her marriage. But, being the traditionalists they are, Faith and Tim had never even considered separation, much less filed any paperwork for divorce. In many ways, the controversy had only strengthened their resolve to fight for their partnership. But positivity didn't sell magazines as well as defaming gossip, so Faith's character was dragged through the mud. Her fan base remained loyal and grew in numbers, but the up and coming country artists that usually flocked to open her shows started to drop off one after another in fear of destroying their own burgeoning career by association.
"When did people start believing the crap that they put out there over the word of the artist? Hell, with the knowledge I have, I could publish a whole flock of magazines with cockamamie stories about this entire industry! At least mine would be believable! I have so much dirt on so many of these artists, my publications would turn heads!"
Rubbing his distressed face, the gentleman's gaze drifted between his fingers and landed on wide-eyed Sam and Ruben. They stared at him, unmoving with brooms in their hands, listening attentively.
"You…the blonde one. What's your name?" questioned the gentleman, squinting at Sam's unusual features. " I never forget a face, and yours looks oddly familiar."
No one outside of Faith herself knew that Sam was a part of that aspect in her life. In fact, no one in their crew knew that his fiancée was the Mercedes Jones that had pressed charges against her brother more than a year ago. It was for the best, professionally and personally for all involved. They'd agreed on it.
Well, all except Mercedes, of course. He never did get around to telling her about Faith being his boss.
Would it matter now? After tomorrow, he'd never see or work with Ms. Hill again. Touring with her would be a fond and distant memory, and he could focus on moving in with his bride-to-be and figuring out what he wanted to do with his life. Besides, he already had other potential job opportunities lined up. He'd much rather celebrate that then break his love's heart with terrible news.
"No sir, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Sam answered in a clever English drawl, quirking his eyebrow and rolling his hand in front of him as he gestured in a slight bow. "Most people do say that I have a familiar face."
The gentleman in the yellow suit gently nudged Ruben aside and stepped forward, circling Sam like with the look of the hungriest eagle. He stopped when they were face to face, and Sam swallowed hard when his eyes gleamed in recognition.
"You're the hero...from the shooting." He whispered, poking his chest. "The boy in the papers."
"Wait, hero? Shooting?" Ruben asked, glancing back and forth between the two men for answers. "What? When?"
Sam shook his head and took a step back. "Sir, you must be confusing me with someone else…."
"Don't lie to me, boy. I know you." The gentleman warned, wagging his finger. "I don't forget faces, and an artist's manager always knows the people around them. You're him. I've done my research."
Sam sighed and rolled his shoulders forward, seeing no way out. "Alright, yeah. I'm that guy. It was a long time ago, though. I'd rather not go back into the details."
Faith's manager didn't hear a word. All he could picture were dollar signs and positive press, with new headlines in the papers centered around the brave hero finding it in his heart to be friends with his attacker's famous sister. "You're exactly what I need to clear up this mess. If she's seen with you, it'll look like all is well! It's perfect! Plus, you've got that athletic build, the magnetic charm," the gentleman lifted Sam's chin, analyzing his face with several tilts of his head, before chucking it with a laugh. "The swoon-worthy eyes and blonde hair. I reckon you're just a country ken doll!"
Sam stepped back, wary of the hungry look in the older man's eyes. "As flattered as I am, sir, I'm practically married," He held up his engagement ring. "to a wonderful woman who'd have my balls if I cheated. Plus, I think I'm way too young to do..." he circled his hands around his body, "whatever it is you're thinking about, especially with Ms. Hill. She's married and I don't do married chicks."
The man's answering laugh was jubilant, pleasant, and raspy from years of smoking and overuse. "Oh boy, no! I don't want you to date Faith, I want you to perform with her!" he clarified, patting Sam's shoulders. "The media would eat your southern boy-next-door charm up like hotcakes!"
"What?" Both boys exclaimed, even more shocked by the second suggestion.
"Can you sing? Can you play?" he excitedly asked.
Sam modestly shrugged and smirked. "Well, I mean, I was a part of a glee club and I play a little guitar, but I don't know if..." A guitar, appearing out of thin air, was shoved into Sam's hands before he could protest.
"Sing me something. Anything. Right now." The manager asked, stepping back and rubbing his jaw as he considered Sam. "If you're any good, you're on tomorrow's roster for the closing show."
Sam blinked several times, stunned, before his hands could move over the strings. "What do you want to hear?" he asked with a gulp, because what else could he do?
"Anything that's on your heart, son." The man warmly requested. "What inspires you? Do you have a song that's special to you?"
Sam thought of Mercedes and her smiling face as he sang to her on a bus ride from nationals. The melody flowed from his fingertips without thought. "Well, there is this one special song..."
O-O
The gentleman grabbed his wrist before he could finish singing the bridge. So immersed in the tune and memories of expressive, russet eyes, Sam didn't notice the uproarious whistles and applause around him. A woman came and embraced him before he could register her face, but when she pulled back and rubbed his arm, Sam recognized Faith's charming smile.
"Sam, I don't know what ridiculous reasons my manager gave you to perform with me, but I would love to have you on my stage. Your voice needs to be heard!" she exclaimed, " I had no idea you could sound so good! Have you ever looked into music, honey?"
"N-no, I…I never really thought about it. Music was a just something to get my heart out there and pass the time. Mercy's the recording artist, not me." Self consciously, he reached down to rub his stomach. "I'm not really the stage type, if you know what I mean."
"No, I don' t think I do," frowned Faith. "Are you shy?"
"Dude, take the chance! How many people get to perform onstage in front of thousands of people with Faith Hill? She's like country royalty!" Ruben exclaimed, then blushed when the artist in question smiled his way. "I'm a huge fan, ma'am."
"Thank you, Ruben." She nodded, flattered by his adoration. "It's always nice to have supportive folk on my team."
If possible, the pale boy grew even paler than normal. "You know my name? Individually?!"
"Of course! I know all of the names of my crew." She leaned in to whisper, "and I told Greg to overlook those tardy days and write you a good recommendation letter. We want you to get all the way up there in the business, don't we? Just promise you forget me when you get big, okay? I might need you someday."
Ruben's lip quivered at her wink, but before Faith could ask him if he was okay, his body keeled over and fell to their feet. Two of the stage hands standing around ran to his aid , looping their arms through his to seat him on a nearby stool.
Sam made sure his friend returned to consciousness before he asked, "Would it be just one time? Like, just tomorrow and that's it?" Every little kid had dreams of being a superstar for a day, and Sam's inner child was no exception. Rocking out in front of thousands of nameless, faceless people while they chanted your name sounded like so much fun! But his little dalliance in music couldn't get in the way of his financial priorities. He would have an apartment to pay for soon, on top of books and other minor bills he'd be responsible for. Playing around on stage wouldn't cut it for his long term plans, and Sam vowed that his sophomore year would be a year of stability, both in his finances and in his home.
"If that's what you want." Faith answered kindly. "I have to warn you though, I think you might get a bit addicted. Something about that applause makes you thirty feet tall inside. And if your little crowd of fans in here suggests anything, I'd say that the crowd might get a little addicted to you, too."
O-O
Ms. Hill's words were profoundly prophetic. Sam and Faith's performance garnered a total of five encores, and even after their final song, their audience begged and screamed for more. A representative from Faith's label called shortly after the performance when a live stream video of their performance made its way to Media Takeout. They offered him a record deal on the spot.
Sam flat out refused at first, explaining his new priorities, but when the label rep made mention of a sign-on bonus ending in five zeroes, he was hard pressed to resist. He compromised by agreeing to think it over and discuss it with his significant other.
By the end of the day, Sam was country music's overnight success. The video of the performance zoomed between social networking sites before finding its way onto UCLA's official Facebook page. The page cited over a million views daily, and the video's view count jumped in numbers by the thousands within hours. When it was time to return to campus at the end of August, the entire campus was buzzing about their school's newest claim to fame.
Unique had the video sent to him via text, and after he recognized Sam's face from their small interaction, his stilettos darted across the campus green to congratulate Mercedes. It was a bright and sunny Friday, a perfect day for optimistic thoughts of her future with Sam, when Unique shared news that should have come from her fiance's mouth.
With every call or text afterward, Mercedes waited expectantly for Sam to tell her, to reassure her that this secret job wasn't some budding new chasm he'd created to sabotage their relationship.
Sadly, her man had already made the wise (yet cowardly) decision to wait until he saw her in person before he broke the news. His plane brought him back to Cali at the end of the month, just before the official start of the school year. By then, her cheery disposition had disappeared, replaced with a troubling doubt that made her insides tremble.
O-O
"Erin, it's been almost six weeks since Unique showed me the video, and he still hasn't said anything to me about it. Hell, you just found out, and you even have the decency to call me and tell me! Everyone else is telling me about Sam's life but Sam!"
Her friend sighed from thousands of miles away, grieved by the dishonesty. "Does he know that you know? Maybe he's trying to play you back? You know, figure you out?"
"Rin, we're not supposed to be playing each other. We're grown and engaged to be married. We promised to be open and honest with each other." Mercedes complained as she set the call on speaker, placing it on her dresser to finish putting on her clothes. "I mean, I get so much grief for lying to him about buying the ticket for graduation..."
"Yeah, that was pretty messed up."
Brown eyes rolled in annoyance, even though its recipient couldn't see her. "I know that. But at least I called and owned up to my mistakes! Hiding a plane ticket is one thing, but holding a secret like this is...I don't even know." Clad in a white bra and bright purple leggings, Mercedes sauntered over to her closet and pulled two off the shoulder shirts from their hangers, one in black and one in royal blue. She laid them on her bed and took a moment to survey her options before choosing the brighter color. Los Angeles was sunny and spirited in the fall, something that the Ohioan was wholly unaccustomed to, and Mercedes intended to reflect that mood in her clothing, even if her current disposition was everything but bright. Dress the way you want to be. Her grandma Nettie instilled that word of knowledge in her at three years old, and the lesson never left her.
"Let me ask you, Rin," she began, grunting slightly as she slid her shirt over her head. "If Artie had a secret job with one of your known adversaries, wouldn't that make you feel some kind of way? Like he didn't trust you or had this secret life he didn't want you to be apart of?"
"I wouldn't know. I don't really have any adversaries. I'm not sure I could even spell adversaries," Erin answered innocently. "I didn't even have friends until I met you guys last year, so I guess something like that wouldn't matter much to me in the long run."
"Okay, but hypothetically, wouldn't you be a little annoyed?" Mercedes argued, hoping to coax her friend into agreeing with her. "I mean, we're engaged! We've told each other everything up until now, even the painful stuff. Why hide this? Why blatantly lie to my face every time I bring up your job?"
"Maybe he's trying to protect you, bestie," Erin gently reasoned. "The controversy with my family...well, it caused you a lot of grief and pain. What my brother did changed your entire life. I know that. Sam knows that even better than I do, since he went through all that drama with you. Maybe he doesn't want you to hurt again."
"God, I'm tired of being treated like I'm a china doll just because I was assaulted." Mercedes huffed. "Yes, it sucked. And yes, I was a total emotional mess for a while and hated looking at myself in the mirror, but I've overcome all of that! Erin, I've been trying my hardest to leave all that history in Ohio and start over. Sam knows that, too."
"Exactly, Mercy. So why remind you of what you've been through, what you're trying to leave behind, by bringing up my sister?"
"Why not trust me enough to handle it? Why not give me a chance to respond?" Mercedes griped, sweeping all of her makeup from the dresser into her yellow Birkin bag once she finished putting on her mascara. "You think I care that he's working for Faith? Hell no!"
"Could've fooled me," Erin mumbled under her breath.
"A job is a job. Money is money. As long as he gets it legally and away from any stripper poles, I'm fine with it. Do I like that Faith is the one who gave him that job? Of course not, but that's not what bothers me. What I'm pissed about is the fact that he lied to me every day for months! Not just a day or two, Rin, but almost half a year. I mean, how long did he think that I would settle for that 'I don't know who my superstar employer is' foolishness? It insults my intelligence and belittles our relationship." Mercedes took a breath and calmed, counting her breaths until the anxious fluttering in her heart went away. "It's like I don't know who he is anymore. Do you know how scary that is? Over summer, we felt so close, talking about the move and our wedding plans and the future. Now I can't even let him kiss me without wanting to hurt him. I've never hated being around him before."
The thought depressed her. "If I can't trust him to tell me the small secrets, then who am I marrying? Erin, who am I planning to share my bed with? My life with?"
"Don't be so melodramatic, girl. He's still the same Sam! You guys are still ridiculously in love and crazy about each other. One day, you'll look back on this, smack old Sam upside the head, and make him clean your dentures as punishment." Erin assured her cheerily, as only an eternal optimist could. "Besides, I really, really need you two to work out. If you guys can't do it, then Artie and I sure as heck can't!"
Mercedes softly smiled at her friend's brand of humor. "Don't worry, I think Artie's found his perfect match in you. That no filter, ain't shit spirit only comes around once in a blue moon."
"Ha! Ain't shit spirit...I like that." Erin giggled. "You're so funny."
"I'm not trying to be. It's the truth," she said, laughing softly. "You and Artie are blessed to have each other. You won't ever have to worry about lying destroying your relationship, seeing as neither of you have a proper filter on your thoughts anyway."
"I'm sorry, what? Got bored and tuned you out for a second there. A seagull flew near my window and it was white with brown spots!" Erin replied, unknowingly proving her friend's point.
Mercedes laughed again, choosing not to reiterate. "I asked if Unique pick you up from the airport yet."
"Oh, yeah! He's right here. Say hi!" Mercedes heard all of the shuffling and hasty rubbing against fabric that it took for the phone to change hands. Her west coast partner in crime answered shortly after, greeting her in his shrillest, annoyed voice.
"How the hell did you convince me to battle LA traffic near the airport on a Saturday?! How?" he cried, "I almost lost my car, my sanity, half my virginity and one of my feathered eyelashes out here with these crazy drivers! Girl, I mustlove you, because my gram-gram on her death bed couldn't make me swerve my delicate behind through these streets."
"I love you, nique!" Mercedes yelled back. "So, so much!"
"You better! Hell…." The diva sucked his teeth. "You better be bent over and have that ass ready for me to spank when I get home!"
"Don't tempt me, you know I like that," purred Mercedes, bending over to slip on her bejeweled moccasins. "Was it really that bad out there, though?"
"Even worse, honey." Unique sighed, sounding a lot closer and clearer now that he'd taken her off speaker. "Where's your car?"
"I lent it to Puck. He's picking up Sam from the airport tonight while I'm at that promo event for the record label, so I let him use it for work. That way, he can just go straight after and get him. After the party, I have to study for my midterms, then finalize plans for album cover designs, plan dinner, finish the laundry…. "
"Girl, we're tired just listening to you! Are you nineteen or forty?" Unique laughed. Erin giggled along in the background. "You are out here working like you're fresh off the boat and laboring for your freedom papers. That trifling man of yours can't help out? I know he's cute and all, but you don't need the added stress he's bringing you, honey. Trust mama. I've seen it all, done it all, and have the battle scars to prove it."
"All the things keeping me busy are mine, not Sam's. Lying to me doesn't really help the stress factor, but I can't blame everything on him." Mercedes contested, hating herself shortly after for feeling the need to defend him. "Besides, maybe his secret's not the hugest deal in the world? I mean, Erin did have a point. He could've been trying to protect me in the only half-assed way he knows how. It sounds like something he would do."
"Not the hugest deal in the world? Diva, do you hear yourself? Do not get into the habit of making excuses for him. He's a lying liar who lies. Period," Unique refuted. "I don't care how fine or loving or considerate you may think he is, deep down he's just like every other man, and every other man I've ever known always has a secret selfish agenda," He glanced over and rose an eyebrow at Erin, "Or an SSA, as I like to call it. Especially when they're as gorgeous as Sam is. You can't trust the pretty ones for too long, Mercy. You better hear me! I've been up under, next to, and on top of the entire rainbow of pretty boys, and the SSA theory stands the test of time."
Mercedes worried her lip, riddled with doubts and questions. "But he loves me, Unique. Everything he does is for me. It's not like he's trying to pursue some secret music career behind my back or something. That's always only been my dream. He wants to be design, not perform." Assured by her own answer, she nodded to herself, reasoning, "I think he stuck around because of the pay. That has to be it. And while that agenda may be secret, but it certainly isn't selfish."
Unique hummed low in his throat. "So you say, yet I have live streaming footage on my phone right now of him dancing around with his guitar, crooning country classics with the western princess herself. Was that for you, Mercedes? Was performing five encores with Faith Hill for you? If so, please tell me how." Mercedes remained silent, at a loss for answers. "Exactly. Erin, take the phone back. I see police on the corner and I'm not trying to get arrested today."
Erin gingerly took the phone back and pressed it to her ear. The two women remained silent for a moment, each mulling over different parts of Unique's advice, before the red head found her words.
"I know this may not be the right time, and you've already rejected the idea before, but maybe ….a distraction would do you good right now?" Erin asked slowly, in the gentlest of voices. "You can always come with me to the facility if you want. You're always welcome."
Erin's trip to the City of Angels served a dual purpose. Mercedes, Artie, Faith and most of the people she'd grown close to over the past year had relocated to the state. With plans to deter a semester of college to 'find her place in life', Erin decided to venture as far out as possible, staying with her sister until she made her own plans. Until her plane ride over, Erin had never spent any length of time away from her parents. Her new sense of self and community gave her confidence to venture out, and Mr. and Mrs. Bailey refused to deny their baby girl the chance to reconnect with her older sister, not after seeing how much the reunion had positively affected her. Faith was all she could talk about.
This past summer also marked the end of Donovan's first year served in prison. They'd been corresponding often with letters and the occasional phone call, and the remarkable improvement she'd sensed in him made Erin want to see the difference in person. Mercedes, unmoved by the news, had politely declined the younger woman's first two offers to join her on the trip. Her third denial was a little less than gentle.
"Erin, what in the world makes you think that visiting Donovan in prison would be a good distraction for me right now? Your sister's name alone is giving me a headache." Mercedes groaned, massaging her temple with her free hand. "You are the only member of your family that I can deal with right now. Everyone else needs to stay out of my life. I don't need distractions. What I need are answers, and trust me, when Sam comes home, he's getting an earful from me."
"A lot of things can happen in a year, Mercy. A lot of things have happened to him….good and bad. He's so different now, I swear." Erin insisted, defending her brother's name. "But I understand if you don't want to come. I just thought…after you pleaded so much for his second chance, you'd might like to see what that opportunity's done for him. It might cheer you up some."
Mercedes shifted uncomfortably in her seat on the bed. Somehow, she doubted that anything Donovan related would actually bring her joy. "I'll pass, thanks. I can't look back and move forward at the same time. He's not a part of my life anymore and neither is his memory." She heard her friend despondently sigh, then hum reluctantly in agreement. "Look, I know you want everyone to just get along and become one big happy family, but life doesn't work that way. You'll always be my friend Erin, but to be in my life, you have to understand that Faith and Donovan won't ever be. I won't ever be tied to them in any way. Okay?"
"Yes," she morosely replied, "It was worth a shot, anyway."
"I'm sorry it has to be like this." Mercedes sympathized with Erin's craving for unity amongst the important people in her life. Division devastated her, too. Their hearts were the same in that way. Mercedes just couldn't see how it would ever work. "I will be civil, though. If they don't start anything with me, I won't start anything with them."
"That's fine. I can live with that." Erin agreed before quickly changing subjects, already bored with being sad. "So, what's it like being famous? You've been working on this album since you left Ohio and haven't given me anything to squeal over. Details!"
O-O
The weight of freshly cut apartment keys felt like gold in Sam's palm. He slid them into their respective locks and undid each tumbler as quietly as he could, conscious of the late hour and his possibly sound asleep roommate. When he entered, their living room was pitch black, save for the white sliver of moon peeking through the delicate lavender curtains. The purple hue illuminated the far wall, providing the only source of color in the room.
Truthfully, whether it was night or day, most of the room's appliances and furniture were various shades of black and grey. Most of the furniture belonged to him when he shared an apartment with Puck.
Sam quite enjoyed the masculine feel of the room, a sort-of man cave in the apartment. After all, he was the one that watched the most television and spent most of his free time there. Mercedes allowed him the space, but the curtains were her own personal stroke of rebellion, her staked claim in his space. And bless her little persuasive pout, Sam couldn't resist compromising with her. After all, the main reason why most of the room had his things was because his furniture was compact enough to fit their smaller quarters. Mercedes's dorm had been twice the size of their new place. It could manage to hold her gigantic glamour mirrors and posh wrap-around leather couches without a problem. At the moment, most of her things were either in storage or decorating parts of their bedroom, arguably the girliest themed room in their place. Her loud colors and animal prints didn't quite match anything else, but who cared? The only people seeing it would be her and Sam, and the blonde knew well enough to sacrifice his pride if he ever wanted to continue sharing a bed with her.
When he'd suggested this place just outside of the city, quite honestly, Sam expected more of an argument from his fiancée. The neighborhood wasn't the best in the world, the space was compact, and it was so far from the lifestyle she was accustomed to back in Ohio. Sam could deal with a few cockroaches here and there, but Mercedes came from money. He assumed that she'd take one look at it, scoff, and berate his choices.
But surprisingly, it never came. She just shrugged and smiled, proclaiming her love for his taste, before gushing about the wide open windows and shockingly large closet space in the bedroom. Sam had planned an entire pitch in his head, ready to defend his selection, and she managed to shut him down by loving it right away. In his heart, he should've known better. Though well off and used to finery, Mercedes was never too attached to material things. She enjoyed money, but never tied her worth to it.
Nearly two months of bliss came and went, and her joy never wavered. Mercedes Jones, diva extraordinare, had shrunken herself down to decorating corners of a tiny bedroom, just so she could share it with him. As far as Sam was concerned, she could have all the delicate lavender curtains she wanted in their home. He'd labor to the bone to keep her happy.
Their home. Each word meant so much alone, but together, they were everything. All Sam had ever wanted was a place to call his own, a solid floor and four walls to keep the cold out with his name on the lease with someone special to share it with. In his fantasies, Mercedes's signature had always been just just below his, right next to the words co-owner or tenant, even when he was dating Quinn and Santana.
He'd never once considered home with them. The former would have been far too picky and particular for him to live with, and the latter would have probably driven him crazy before they could even get the chance to settle on a place.
Mercedes always made the most sense. In fact, for a while, she was his fantasy's only option. Her encouraging yet nervous smile. Her name in purple ink, signed in neat cursive and decorated with unnecessary hearts and stars. The slight tremor in her hand as she held up the paperwork for them to re-read together—because she was detail-oriented that way—before they handed it off and took their keys. Her soft grip around his fingers, gently squeezing to assure them both that this wonderful moment was really happening and they were experiencing it together.
Living with someone took some time to get used to, but most days Sam found himself squeezing his own fingers in place of his fiancée. He did it now, in the serene quiet, before nudging the door closed and locking the outside world away.
It wasn't a wonderful dream. He wasn't fantasizing. Even now, as the overpowering odor of drying paint from freshly coated walls assaulted his senses—the walls he and Mercedes spent a laughter filled weekend painting in a variant shade of beige called Cream Bisque—it felt too good to be true.
Tossing his keys on the counter, Sam toed off his red Converse sneakers near the door and tiptoed over to the coat closet to hang up his leather jacket. He grabbed the nearest hanger and rested the garment in its rightful place beside Mercedes' faux fur. A second passed for him to admire the sight, running his hands across the soft acrylic fibers and the studs near his collar, before his foot gently nudged the door shut.
"Mercy?" he whispered, following the pale yellow light streaming through the crack of their bedroom door. "Baby?"
She replied with horridly nasal snore, one that would have made Sam wince if he hadn't have spent several nights growing accustomed to the sound. Instead, he chuckled, knowing that Mercedes would never believe him if he told her that she sounded like an eighty-five year old with half a functioning lung when she slept.
But when he walked in and saw her sleeping state, Sam did manage a small wince, more out of pity than pain. Between the social events and her school schedule, Sam should have expected to find her like this—fully clothed and atop the sheets, drooling over her textbooks. They both shared the terrible habit of laboring until they keeled over.
Concerned for her health, Sam checked the wall beside him to peruse the blocks of time filled with her cursive, weighing his options.
"What's your schedule look like tomorrow, hmm?" His finger trailed down their color coded agendas for Monday, sliding over to the left column that held her schedule. "Seven to one, Mercy? Seriously? Hell no."
Most of her morning involved studio time until her African Studies class at two that afternoon. "The label should not be working you like Hebrew slave."
If she were awake, Mercedes would have laughed and made a quip about how 'her people' had already given their share of unpaid labor for her to justify doing it for free. He would've argued that they still weren't paying her enough for all the magic that she makes in the recording booth. She would've smiled and rolled her eyes, but never refuted him.
Instead, another harsh, nasal snore vibrated through the silence. A small river of saliva ran down the pages of her history textbook, pooling in the dip along its spine and soaking through the depiction of King Tutankhamen. It was scary how well he could hear her in his head.
Poor time management had truly run her ragged. The bags under her eyes were sunken and pronounced, and a single gray hair he hadn't spotted before stuck out from her weave and clung her brown forehead. She hadn't even taken off her makeup or wrapped her hair up in one of her silk scarves. He'd seen her tired before, but this was the first time that she'd abandoned her nightly routine in favor of sleep.
"Alright." Sam sighed, picking up her discarded cell phone from the floor. "Time for your man to do some damage control."
He unlocked her screen and found the familiar number on auto pilot, shooting a quick text. When the recipient replied with a short 'k, talk 2morrow', Sam hooked her phone up to its charger and made his way to the bathroom. Two more phlegmy snores rolled from her chest before he returned with a small blue bag of towelettes. He crumpled up one in his hands and rolled it around to warm up, then crouched down to wipe his love's face free of makeup. Mercedes sighed and jerked her head slightly, but remained asleep throughout the cleaning. When he finished, Sam discarded the stained towellette in their bedroom trash bin and lightly kissed her shiny nose. Even in her sleep, Mercedes' body recognized the gesture, and her lips curled upward into a small smile. He smiled back, even though she couldn't see it, and kissed her nose once more.
"Now, about your hair..." Sam whispered to her, gently raking his fingers through the soft, black tresses. He wouldn't dare try to wrap it for her. Lord knows he'd have her waking up with a bird's nest on top of her head, and that wouldn't do either of them any good. He could just pull it back in a ponytail and slip her satin cap thingy over it, but Mercedes mentioned just yesterday that pulling her hair back gave her headaches. Sam suspected the headaches came from lack of rest, but didn't want to make it worse by doing something else to cause her more pain.
Suddenly, a memory struck him, and he went over to the dresser to sift through her drawers. Mercedes could fold everything back later. Right now, Sam considered his search a fashion emergency. He knew she would agree with his logic.
"Yes! I think this is it." The purple satin pillowcase appeared at the bottom of the drawer, buried beneath her balled pile of ankle socks. Sam pulled off his shirt and pants, tossing them in the hamper behind him, before climbing into bed in his boxers with the case in hand. He took one of his pillows, switched cotton for satin, then gently weaseled his fingers underneath her head to lift it slightly. Sleep-ridden Mercedes nuzzled and kissed his fingers when they touched her lips, and for a moment, Sam felt his nether region grow warm and dangerously tingly.
"Fuck, if you weren't so tired right now..." It had been a little less than two weeks since they'd made love, mostly because of their conflicting schedules and overall exhaustion. That little kiss reignited his suppressed desire, stirred his belly in the most delicious ways, and her soft, whimpering moan when his thumb grazed her bottom lip didn't help matters. "Later, okay? I'm trying to get you comfortable."
Mercedes moaned in reply and smacked her lips, shifting her bottom back slightly towards the sound of his voice, but remained otherwise still. Relieved, Sam took a breath and quickly switched her pillow out for his. Completing the task with little difficulty, he blew a kiss to the heavens and smoothed Mercedes's hair away from her face. The small shift of his hand when he pulled his arm away caused her history textbook to fall to the floor with a dull thud, sound cushioned by the throw rug.
Bless the lord, once again, for the invention of fluffy carpets.
"There we go. All better." Sam peeked over to make sure she hadn't woken up, and the peaceful beauty that greeted him stopped his breath. He couldn't resist kissing her temple, even if it ended up waking her. She was so precious to him, an absolute cherub-faced angel when she slept. "Now, about your clothes."
Given his sexual frustration and state of undress, Sam thought it best to remove as little as possible from her body. Plus, she might wake up, spot him undressing her, and get the wrong ideas about the boundaries he was willing to cross to see to his own desires. Nightmares of her attack still plagued her from time to time. Tonight seemed to be a good night, but the last thing he wanted to do was trigger her.
Her boots and leggings came off easily enough. All he had to do was gently roll her onto her back and bend her knees. What wasn't easy was the moment when her knee slipped from his grasp, parting her legs, and he realized that she hadn't worn underwear all day.
"God mercy, are you trying to kill me?" Sam whispered, laughing at his terrible luck. "You really will kill me if you wake up and realize what I'm doing."
Sam knew she really wouldn't. The trust was too strong between them for her to believe anything terrible about him. But, saying it helped him focus more on his task and less on her soft, enticing skin.
He unbuttoned her blouse so it wouldn't constrict her, then unhooked the front clasp of her bra, leaving both in their place. It would take too much maneuvering to slide her arms out without disturbing her sleep.
Satisfied, he covered them both with the plaid fleece blanket near the foot of the bed and spooned behind her, hugging her waist. Interestingly enough, the warmth of his body pressed against her back woke her, and she turned in his arms to return the embrace.
"Mmm...hi, m'love," she sleepily slurred, softly kissing his neck. "I missed you."
Sam sighed happily and kissed her hair, slipping a hand underneath her blouse to touch her bare back. "I missed you too."
"Can't sleep without you now," she mumbled, eyes barely open. "It's sad." A sleepy chuckle escaped her. "Did you just come home?"
"No, a little while ago now," he replied, lifting his leg over her thigh to tuck her lower half between him. She shuddered in his arms.
"Your feet are always so cold," she complained, though she snuggled closer to him. "And you need to cut your nails."
"And you snore like a drunken sailor with emphysema." He chuckled, wiggling his chilly toes against her calves. Mercedes was sleepy enough to find the joke at her expense funny.
"I do not. Shut up."
"Do so, lady." Sam pulled the covers to his neck, careful not to stifle his shorter bedmate, and tried to settle his mind to sleep. "Princesses can snore too, you know."
"Do not," she argued back weakly, stifling a yawn. "How was work?"
"Work-y." he replied, sounding less conscious himself. "How was school?"
"School-y." The couple laughed softly at their simple descriptions of a busy day. "I have to get up soon. Take makeup off. Change. Finish studying. Studio at seven."
"Already took care of all that. Texted Reese, cancelled studio time, wiped your face," He replied, growing more drowsy by the second. "Clothes are loose. Sleep."
Mercedes rubbed her cheek across her pillow, noting the difference in texture. "Satin pillowcase?" One weighted eyelid pried open ever so slightly to observe him.
"Mm-hmm. So don't get up." His legs tightened around her, clamping her in place. "I like you right here."
"Okay," She replied, letting the second yawn pass her lips this time. "I love you."
Sam expected her to chastise him for cancelling her studio time. Mercedes was clearly more exhausted than she'd even realized herself. "I love you too. G'night."
"Sammy?" she rasped.
"Hmm?" he answered, eyelids shut.
"You had to work really late tonight. You didn't call me to tell me. Why?" Worried green eyes met curious brown, and Sam realized then that he'd forgotten to turn off the lamp light. The room was bright enough to show his guilt.
"The artist I'm working for had late shows. End of their tour. It got so busy that it slipped my mind, babe. Sorry." It wasn't a lie. Faith's self-titled tour stretched well into September and the middle of October because of popular demand. Until he made a set decision about becoming an artist, Sam agreed to the label's request to sing during ending sets, just to get the crowds used to his face should he decide to join their family. The guilt of hiding his boss's identity ate away at him every night he came home, but the steady money was too good to pass up, especially now that they had the shared responsibility of a monthly rent.
Plus, the fear of losing Mercedes over yet another lie made him panic. The lie was hurting their relationship, but the truth could kill it completely. Sam wasn't sure he was ready, or if he would ever be ready, to let go of her.
"And you still don't know who he or she is?" Mercedes casually asked, rubbing her eyes. She left his arms before he could answer to crawl out of bed and turn out the light. Sam tensed with worry for only a moment, until she climbed back in and snaked her arms around him, settling against his chest. "I'm starting to think you work for the mob."
"No worries. I'm pretty sure I don't work for the mob." He replied quietly, laughing. "I'd be doing cooler things, like carrying a gun and making double-crossers sleep with the fishes. I don't think the mob would make me stock sound equipment into tour buses all day."
"Maybe not." She shrugged, chuckling just before she yawned. "Sure it's not another woman keeping you, then?"
Faith was technically another woman, but the small, insecure way she asked the question made Sam second guess teasing her. "No, babe. There's no other woman for me." He answered surely. The answer earned a gentle smile from his love. "I'm too afraid you'd kick my ass."
Mercedes snorted so hard that she startled herself. "Yes, I would. You know I would."
"I'd have to call the mob to protect me from you and your father. I value my life, woman. Plus, what we got here is too good. I don't need to look anywhere else." He smiled, kissing her forehead. "You're home enough for me, Mercedes Jones."
"Evans," she corrected. Sam's smile only grew. "But you know you could tell me, right? If you worked for the mob or had feelings for someone else... or whatever…..I wouldn't like it, but you could still tell me. Would you?"
"Absolutely. I know I can." Guilt gnawed away at his stomach. "I can't keep anything from you for too long, right? That damn superpower of yours." After a moment, he added, in the softest whisper, " I don't want to keep anything from you. When the time's right, you'll know all my secrets."
A long silence stretched between them after the semi-confession. "Mercy? Did you hear me?"
A long, horridly nasal snore was his only reply. When he glanced down, his love was sound asleep just above his heart, leaving her mark in drool on his bare chest.
"Goodnight, Princess." He whispered with a soft smirk, kissing her forehead once more. He rolled his head back and gazed pensively at the ceiling. "I swear I'm gonna tell you everything. Tomorrow's the day."
O-O
Mercedes' phone alarm was pre-set to wake her at seven the next morning. However, instead of the usual mock sounds of a car alarm, the chorus of Right Said Fred's I'm Too Sexy blasted near her ears and stirred her from sleep. She smiled before her eyes opened, knowing Sam was the culprit for the change in music, and reached for his arm on the opposite side of the bed.
Instead, she grabbed a fistful of sheets, left slightly warm from his body heat.
With a groan, Mercedes rolled over and stood to her feet. She grabbed her folded leggings from atop her dresser to slip them on, then buttoned her wrinkled shirt and made her way to the living room.
"Sam?" she rasped, squinting at the amount of sunlight beaming through the living room windows. The man in question was fully dressed, pacing in front of the couch with a concerned expression. He stopped immediately when he saw her, eyes widening as if she'd just shown up out of thin air. "You ok?"
"I have something to tell you." He expelled in a breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Something...pretty big. Can you sit down?"
Suspecting what the confession might be, Mercedes nodded once and took a seat on the couch. Sam quickly plopped down beside her and took her hand.
"Before I tell you what I have to tell you, I just want you to know that I never, ever intended to hurt you or keep you in the dark." He began, swallowing hard. "But you deserve to know that I broke my promise. I haven't been honest with you."
Mercedes inhaled and exhaled a slow breath, warding off the onset of panic. "I'm listening," she replied, careful to keep her voice even. "What haven't you been honest about?"
Sam's grip around her hand tightened, and when he pushed his fingers through hers and squeezed, she could feel the pulse between each digit quicken.
"I guess there's no real way to say it but to just say it, right?" he chuckled. Mercedes squinted at him. "Right, okay." Sucking in a lung full of air, Sam exhaled his confession in one long stream of joined syllables. "MybossisFaithHill."
"I'm sorry?"
"I said," he huffed, lips flapping from the force. "I said that my boss is Faith Hill."
Mercedes kept her poker face static."And how long did you know that?"
Sam ruffled his hair. He needed to do something with the nervous energy in his free hand. "Since the day I took the job."
"And you decide to tell me now?" she demanded, eyes wide in incredulity.
"Yes, I decided to tell you now," Sam sadly repeated. "Although I prefer seeing it as 'just worked up enough courage to stop being chicken shit and tell you', but that's just me."
"Why now?" Mercedes asked, genuinely curious of the answer. The timing was way off and seemingly out of the blue. The only thing she could suspect is that he'd either lost his job or gotten a promotion of some sort. Neither one worked for her nerves. Regardless of the choice, it would be another surprise, another assault to her system, and lately she felt more run-down and ill-equipped for shocking news.
"Because…." Sam seemed more reluctant to share the latter part of his news than the former. "I might've…well…Faith's closing act partner decided not to come for the last part of the performance in August, which is all duet numbers by the way, because of the crap about her in the papers. Apparently, that makes her less of an artist or something. A load of bull, right? She's awesome!"
Mercedes never did get a handle on her feelings about Sam's fan devotion to the blonde country singer. "What does that have to do with you, Sam?" she sighed long-sufferingly, rubbing her heavy eyes. College made eight hours of sleep feel like a catnap.
"Right, well her manager came up to me and recognized me from the news stories in the papers about the shooting at Nationals. It was only, like, a half page column in the Times, if that much. Who remembers that? But, I guess if you're Faith's manager and her brother is an accused rapist and potential murderer, you keep tabs on those things." Sam scratched his neck in thought, voicing them aloud, "I wonder if every celebrity has a manager that guards their secrets. Is there like a class on secret keeping in manager school? Are they trained like the CIA to endure torture and waterboarding? Crap, imagine getting cut in a thousand different places on your skin so that the paparazzi won't find out about Paris Hilton's latest sex tape. That career must suck…"
"Sam, I don't have the patience or the clarity of mind for your rambling today. Move on."
"Oh god, I'm sorry. Word vomit. I'm getting somewhere, I promise."
"Well, get to it!" she demanded, crossing her arms.
"Okay!" he recoiled, holding up his hand. "Well, long story short, he thought it would be good for Faith's image if people saw me singing with her. He thought it would make it seem like there was peace between us or something. It'd look good."
"Is there? I mean….are you two close?" Despair, and a hint of desperation, colored her tone, enough for Sam to notice. Long, flexing fingers quickly curled around her other hand.
"She did give me a job, Mercy. I appreciate it." he told her softly, "But we're not best friends, if that's what you're asking. It's just business."
"Oh. Okay." Her sigh of relief was bigger than she intended it to be, and embarrassment burned her cheeks soon after. "I mean, not like it matters to me or anything. If you want to be friends with her, that's none of my business."
"If it bothers you, then it should be my business." Sam remarked, smirking as he ran his thumbs across her knuckles. "Look, the only reason I took it was because the money was too good to pass up. I did look for other jobs, but the pay wasn't nearly enough to cover rent and books and other expenses. For a struggling art student with a pathetic resume of stripping and making soft serve sundaes at Dairy Queen, it's a godsend. I did this for us."
"Sam, if you really did this for us, then you would have included me in your decision from the beginning," Mercedes explained, gently pulling her hands from his grasp. "Don't try to sugar coat it. I'm not stupid or blind. You took this job for you and your own selfish needs."
"Selfish?" Mercedes rose from the couch and nodded, making her way to the refrigerator. An incensed Sam followed behind. "Everything I do is for us! How can you call me selfish? You've been the selfish one in this relationship, not me!"
"Excuse me?!" The box of orange juice in her hand slammed down on the counter before she had the chance to pour. The force caused some of the juice to slosh slightly out of the spouted opening. "How am I selfish, Sam? I'm working my ass off in the studio and at school, cooking and cleaning this place, and serving your sexual appetite on a regular basis. What else do you want from me? What else can I give?"
"You think that's what I want? You working yourself to death? I want you, Mercedes! I want your time! I want you happy, not the cooking or cleaning or the great sex!" Sam frowned at his own hasty choice of words. "At least not all the time! We haven't had sex in almost two weeks. Do you see me complaining?"
"No, but you're counting!" she pointed out, placing her hands on her hips. "Baby, I'm being stretched in like ten different directions. I'm giving you the most I can while managing the rest of my life and it's not easy. What, I'm selfish now because I can't be there whenever you want me to be there?"
"No, you're selfish because you pick and choose what you want to give me, not what we need! You're my first thought and I'm…I'm just an afterthought to you!" Sam exclaimed, frustrated with the ill turn in conversation. "Like graduation for example…."
"Oh god, I knew it. I knew you wouldn't let go of that one stupid mistake." Mercedes sighed, shaking her head. "I slip up once and now I'm the perpetual bad guy."
"I'm not calling you the bad guy! I'm saying that you meet me in my bedroom after, put it on me for an hour, and expect me to be okay with it, like sex is some sort of replacement for missing an important event in my life. An event that you, may I add, encouraged me to go to!" Sam reminded her. "Look, I'm not asking for the impossible, Mercedes. I'm not asking for some robot fiancée that does everything perfectly and never messes up. That would be selfish! I asked you for one day that mattered to me and you chose not to give it to me because it interfered with your important business meeting. I'm asking you to remember me in all of your major plans. You devote every second of your time to things that matter to you, except us. That's what's selfish," he finished. "You think about me when it doesn't interrupt thinking about you. I, on the other hand, consider you and your feelings in every decision I make."
"Oh, really? Like this job for example?" she questioned in challenge, sweeping her hand in front of her like his choice was standing right between them. "Unlike you, when I make mistakes, I own up to them right away. I called you and apologized profusely for what I did because I felt terrible about it. You know why? I cared about your feelings." She jabbed his chest with every word of the repeated phrase. "Everything afterward was….I don't know…my way of trying to remind you how special you still were to me. You kept this secret from me for months, lied to my face about it, and never once mustered up the courage to own up to your shit. And now you want to pass it off on me, like I'm the only one putting their energy into everything other than the health of our relationship? That's what selfish is, Sam. What you did is everything selfish means."
A unsettling and quiet anger loomed between them, buzzing about in their skulls and prickling their skin. The explosion was a long time coming. Days had gone by without proper conversation, and both were just the right amount of tired and fed up to say everything that's been weighing on their minds.
Mercedes, the most exhausted of the two, couldn't maintain her hardened glare for too long. Soon, she broke down, lips quivering and tears clouding her vision as Sam's accusations ran through her mind. When did they turn into this? When had their relationship mirrored the volatile ones they'd seen around them? Communication was never an issue in high school. Time was always abundant and freely shared between them. Two years ago, she would have dropped everything else on her schedule to be there for Sam's graduation. Two weeks ago, she thought that Sam would never lie to her.
What happened?
Sam sensed her melancholy thoughts and the change in mood, and when her glassy eyes met the floor, he instantly dropped his guard and softened with concern. Gingerly, he stepped forward to reach for her arm, but Mercedes, startled by the sudden move, jumped back and jerked her hand away before they could touch. Her elbow knocked over the juice carton, spilling the entirety of its citrus contents all over their kitchen floor.
He sighed as she sucked her teeth and cursed under her breath."I'll get it." Sam tore off several sheets of paper towel and dropped to his knees to sop up the mess. Mercedes just watched him work, staring at the puddle and his moving hands until her accident disappeared.
Her accident. She was the one to end their summer romance, and Sam had to come back and fight for their love. She was the one who foolishly followed a strange boy to his car, to sign autographs of all things, and Sam tried his best to work with the fragmented pieces of her spirit. Her fault somehow always became his concern, his mess to clean up, and now he finally resented her for it. She dreaded this day, this moment when he'd wise up and realize that she wasn't the angel or princess he imagined her to be. He never demanded it of her, but she liked that image, and fought to prove that she could always be that way.
Part of the reason Mercedes was alone for so long was because it eliminated the need to answer to anyone. Now that she had Sam, a piece of her world revolved around him, too.
"I'm trying so hard to make this work, Sam," she croaked, voice marred by her tears. "I'm trying to be a success and pass school and keep you happy, but I can't. I can't do it all."
"I think that's the problem." Sam brushed past her to throw away the soaked paper towels and wash his hands. "When did I ever ask you to do it all?"
"You didn't." She ripped off a fresh piece of paper towel and handed it to him to dry his hands. "I just need to."
"I'm not your father, Mercedes." Sam turned off the faucet and faced her. "I'm not going to threaten to leave if you're not perfect. I'm here. Everything I do, even this job, is for us. I'm in this with you," he promised, cupping her cheek. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry I kept this from you for so long and covered it up with half-truths. I won't do that again. But please, don't ever think for a second that I had any other agenda than to keep us happy. If I'm going to be your husband, I want to start building a life for us."
"But that has to include telling me the hard things, Sam," Mercedes insisted, shaking out of his comforting touch. "I'm building for us, too. If we're going to stand together, we can't be constructing separate houses. My bricks have to be your bricks. My cement has to be your cement. It won't work if we're not doing it together."
"Okay, I get that now. No more separate houses." Sam nodded, stepping forward. "Can this just be over and done with? Can we hug and make up now?"
"Sam…" Mercedes walked out of the kitchen, shaking her head as she moved towards their bedroom. "I had to find this out from my friends. The whole campus knew about this before I did. I had strangers come up to me and tell me that they just saw my fiancé in concert, singing love songs with Faith Hill! As much as I love you, I can't….. you don't really feel safe right now. You just…you feel like a liar. So no, we can't just hug and make up. I need time."
"Time …..away from me?" he asked in the smallest voice, hugging his own waist as he teetered from foot to foot. "Are we breaking up?"
Mercedes observed him for a moment before solemnly shaking her head. "No, we're not breaking up, Sam. I just want some time apart to process things, sort my feelings out. The way I'm feeling now, I'm afraid I'll say or do something I'll seriously regret. I'm asking you for space because I care about us and I'm too tired to think rationally right now. Can you give me that?"
Sam swallowed thickly, hating the idea, and curtly nodded. "Of course, yeah. I probably need to clear my head some, too. I'll be at my sculpture class for a while if you need me. It's about three hours long."
"I know, I remember. It's on your schedule on the wall," she replied in mild irritation. "I know some things about where you spend your time."
"Okay, I deserved that," Sam admitted, clearing his throat as he stared at the ground. "Do you think that you'll be ready to talk when I get back?"
"Yeah, I think so," agreed Mercedes, folding her arms. "I'm going to take a nap and pray a little bit. We should have enough time to talk before my classes start."
"Cool." Sam made his way to their bedroom to retrieve his art supplies, intentionally brushing his shoulder against hers as he passed. Mercedes, still irritated, elbowed his side before he moved away.
When he had his bag and jacket in hand, she stood in front of the doorway, watching him move. Sam tried to pass her to exit, but her left leg jutted out before he could leave.
"The roses you bought me last week are dying." She stated matter-of-factly. "You need to buy me new ones."
Sam bit away his small smile and gently nudged her leg down with his knee. " I think I can manage that. I'll bring you some when I come back. Are twelve fresh ones alright?"
Mercedes shrugged and glanced away. "Okay," she said softly. "Or three dozen. Y'know, whatever you think is best."
"I'm thinking that a smart man reads between the lines." He chuckled, then frowned when tears spilled over her cheeks."I messed up. It was a stupid secret to keep, but I swear it was only because I didn't want to get you upset."
Mercedes rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. "Did it work?"
"No," he replied, knitting his brows together. "I seem to have a habit of trying to avoid a problem, then falling right back into it on my ass. I'm sorry."
He watched her sigh and uncross her arms, but nothing in her expression suggested that he'd gotten anywhere closer to the heart of the matter. "Did you keep it from me because of who Faith is? Because she's Donovan's sister?"
Sam sucked his lips in and nodded, realizing his secondary error. "I was babying you, wasn't I?"
"Yeah, just a little bit," Mercedes replied in a sarcastic tone, pointing to the small space she made with her pointer finger and thumb. "I'm a big girl, Sam. I wouldn't have liked it, but I hate being treated like this fragile little creature that can't shoulder things even more. I told you, I've moved on. Donovan is my past now."
"I know that. I'm just not sure that he's mine," Sam confessed, surprising his fiancée. "I think the thought of Faith being his sister….just knowing that while I was working for her….it would have made me sick every day. I have to see her as who she is now, not who she was. It's the only way I can keep going."
"Are you still looking for other jobs like you said you were?"
"Every day I get the chance," he answered honestly. "So far, this is the only one flexible enough to work with my school schedule and high paying enough for me to keep my end of the rent. I don't want us to lose our home."
Mercedes' features softened the slightest bit at what his confession suggested. "Sam, you're not going to make us homeless. Don't worry about that."
"I know." Running his hand over his face with a heavy sigh, Sam leaned in to kiss her cheek and make his way out. "We'll talk more after I come back. Enjoy your nap."
"Enjoy your class," she softly responded, watching him turn the front door knob. "And hey…."
Sam paused behind the open door, eyes shining with hope and possible concealed tears of his own. "Yeah?"
"Just because I'm mad doesn't mean that I don't still…I mean…" She paused, afraid of how vulnerable her next words would sound. She was still stubbornly, unmovably mad at him, but her heart couldn't let him walk out the door with only the memories of her anger. Life was far too short, and the memory of Sam's head near the end of a gun reminded her of how quickly it could be taken. Gently, she concluded, "Don't let go of us yet, okay? I haven't."
Sam smirked and nodded, and his shoulders seemed to lose a bit of their tension. "I won't, I promise. I'm still in love with you, woman."
The lovers shared a look of understanding, one that promised a future conversation with far less bitterness between them. It was enough to allow Sam to leave in peace, knowing he would come back to his home and still find love waiting for him.
O-O
I'm sorry for breaking your heart, but this discussion needed to happen. There's at least potential for happiness later, so it's something to hold onto. Next chapter should be up fairly soon, as soon as editing is done. That chapter will really leave your head spinning!
Thank you for reading, loves! I adore your lovely, insightful reviews.