Does He Know You?

by KurlyQ722

I knew you then... Do I know you still? I do know you, love, and always will. Never let go of the one who holds your heart.

38. For Richer or Poorer (2 of 2)

A/N: My apologies for the late posting, guys! This story, like my readers, have not been forgotten or tossed to the wayside. Despite the disappointment in canon from the show that will not be named here, I will continue finding inspiration elsewhere.

Since it's been awhile since my last update, and because this chapter and last chapter are directly connected, you may want to review chapter 35 for a refresher on the events of the story. Thank you for your loyalty and happy reading.

O-O

As soon as Mercedes' weary head hit the pillow, everyone in her life decided to contact her via text and email, keeping her awake with the incessant alerting beeps from her phone. The first was from Unique, letting her know that he'd copied his history notes for her to use before their exam tomorrow. She texted a brief thank you and smiley face before Erin's text followed his, begging her to meet up while she was in town. She agreed to a day and time next week before shutting her eyes. Erin, being the talkative one, texted back and suggested that they have lunch with Faith. Mercedes didn't even have the energy or patience to rehash all the reasons why that was a terrible idea.

The next series of texts came from her glee posse, all berating her for abandoning them and begging her to return their calls. Santana sent the wordiest text of all (mostly in Spanglish) about how 'muy irresponsible' it was to leave her behind with all the 'simple, common, estupida folk who sing like Rachel'. Despite her annoyance, that comment made her giggle.

The most frightening alerts came shortly, dinging one after the other in rapid succession. Her father had sent five emails, written in all caps, demanding that she call him right away. With all his military intelligence and technological prowess, Mr. Jones still couldn't figure out how to send a decent text.

"He's clearly getting old." Mercedes sighed, dialing his number. Her father's deep voice greeted her after the first ring. "Daddy? You wanted me to call you?"

"Do you know what I just received in the mail, young lady?" he growled, clearly already annoyed with her about something.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't sound good for me," she answered wearily, rubbing her eyes. "Daddy, can we talk about this later? I really need to get some sleep before class. I didn't get much last night because I was studying and doing promo work with the studio."

"That's exactly what I want to talk to you about. This studio work is affecting your grades. When we agreed on this music business, you promised me that wouldn't happen."

"I know. I'm trying really hard to keep that promise, daddy." Mercedes pleaded. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Not as bad? Really." She swallowed hard at the rustling of papers she heard on the other end. "Two B's and Three C's isn't so bad, Mercedes? Is this what I'm paying for? Mediocrity?"

"It was a rough semester." She pouted with a roll of her eyes. "You've never had one?"

"Don't sass me. I have every reason to be concerned."

"I'm not sassing you daddy. I'm asking you to give me a chance to make it right!" she insisted, folding her legs underneath her. "I mess up once, and you're treating it like I've always failed you."

"I never said that. Don't dare put words in my mouth," he growled, "And don't act like it's just this semester, either. Last year's report wasn't exceptional either, but it was far more acceptable than this."

"I got all B's last year, daddy. What did I do wrong?"

"You're a straight A student, Mercedes. Both of my children are straight A students. You haven't brought home a B since the fourth grade." He reminded her. "I'm really starting to think it's because you're over extending yourself."

"I'm not! Daddy, I can handle it. It's just...college is a lot more challenging," she argued weakly, anxiously clutching her phone with both hands.

"All the more reason to keep it as your sole focus, which brings me to my next point," Mr. Jones cleared his throat and adopted his business voice when he told her, "Either you sacrifice this recording deal and focus on school or I'm not paying for your education next year. I will not invest in laziness."

"Laziness?! How can you say that? You have no idea what I've been doing since I've come to UCLA and you've never asked! I've been busting my behind every day since I've been here!" she yelled, insulted and incensed by his accusations. "You always do this. Every time Jett and I do something you don't like, you give us these unfair ultimatums until you get your way. We're not robots!"

"No, you're Joneses," he said evenly. "And as such, I hold you to a certain standard. Now, if you want to throw away your life in this fickle music business, be my guest little lady. But do not expect me to fund your pipe dreams if you're not willing to get an education to fall back on. I'm not supporting any starving artists."

"Dad, I'm going to make it, in UCLA and in this business. Why don't you believe that? Believe in me?" Her voice decided to waver at the worst time, but her father seemed unaffected by it.

"I do believe in you. What I don't believe in is sub-par work. So, as I stated earlier, you have a choice to make," he repeated. "Do school only or support yourself."

"Daddy, that's not fair! My album is supposed to come out next month! You can't do this, not now!" she begged, tears fanning across her eyelashes and down her cheeks. "I can do better! I can bring my grades up!"

"This offer ends in five minutes. No exceptions." Mercedes had never heard her father sound so cold. It frightened her and sparked her stubborn fury.

"No need." Most days, her father was her haven. But some days, like today, he came huffing and grunting with sharpened horns aimed to pierce right through her. What he'd learn, what she'd teach him, was that her own horns had grown and could prove stronger and more resilient than his. "I'll support myself. I will improve my grades and keep working in the studio, with or without your help. I don't need you."

Silence. It was so powerful that, for a moment, her resolve faltered. Luckily, her father wasn't around to see her break.

"Give me the time," he asked quietly.

"I—I'm sorry?"

"The time, Ms. Jones." Mercedes blinked hard before checking the clock on her phone.

"It's ten minutes after twelve," she replied, a bit weaker than before.

"As of twelve ten today, you, Mercedes Jones, have voiced your refusal to comply with our agreed upon terms. Therefore, as of twelve ten today, I am officially resolved of all responsibilities as your financial support..." he stopped, gathering strength, before he concluded. "...and as your father."

"Daddy!"

"You are to address me as Mr. Jones after today! Your defiance has severed our relationship, and as such, I cannot continue to have you call me father. If you decide to change your mind in the future, we may correspond via email and agree on another conversation with a third party present. Until that time, we will have no further contact."

"How can you do this?!" Her cries built in her chest and constricted her heart, so tightly that Mercedes had to massage the area as she struggled to breathe. "I can't believe you! Today of all days, you call me with this...Do you know the day I've had today? Do you even care?!"

"Are our terms understood, ma'am?" he asked coldly. "Since you don't need my support or my parental guidance, I no longer see the purpose of our relationship."

"I thought you loved me," she whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

"I didn't do anything you didn't ask for," he clarified, his voice faltering as well. He rebounded quickly. "In words and in action, you've blatantly disregarded me as your father. What you'll soon learn in this life is that love is choice. You must choose to love and choose to receive it. Sometimes, to appreciate it, you must separate from those you care about. I'd hoped you learn from your mistakes more quickly, but I was wrong. Sadly, there are other ways to teach."

"So, that's what this is? A lesson?" Her father didn't bother to reply. "Fine. I've already learned, dad. In fact, I think I've kept this lesson with me since I was little, when you threw my brother out of the house because he wouldn't date girls. What I've learned is that you're a hypocrite who only cares about people when it's convenient for you. That's not love, daddy. We're your children, not your soldiers. Yelling in our faces won't make us obey you, and leaving won't make us beg you to be our fathers again."

"I'm finished here. Goodbye, Ms. Jones. Have a nice life." And just like that, a dial tone separated them, and Mercedes felt more alone than she had in her entire life. She took her pillow and muffled her anguished screams, but relief never came. She tried screaming aloud, but the sound bounced off the walls and reminded her that there wasn't anyone around to frantically run in and check in on her. Tears wouldn't come any longer. The oxygen stolen from her lungs wouldn't return, no matter how much she breathed. Sleep felt like a distant and longed for memory.

Overwhelmed, Mercedes did the only thing she could think off. She crawled off her bed, fell to her knees, and counted away the panic attack under her breath as her mind conjured a prayer. Surely, even if she didn't know what to say, even if she couldn't speak, Godwould still care enough to listen. Unlike the stranger of a man that hung up on her, the father in heaven would never retract his hand.

O-O

Sam returned to the apartment whistling, blissfully unaware of the whirlwind that had single handedly destroyed his fiancée only hours prior. His work with clay did well to relieve his stress and relax him. Bree, his instructor, even gave a note of praise for the improvements to his newest sculpture. His attention to detail had come a long way, especially when it came to capturing the flowing lines of a human silhouette. The defined curvature of the work's body and beauty of its smile were both familiar and private knowledge. Sam protected his muse's modesty by withholding her name, but anyone with eyes on his fiancée would know exactly where his inspiration came from.

….Not that they should be looking too hard at her or anything. There would be no ogling of his future wife, not while Sam was around to pluck any wandering eyes from their sockets.

Some of his classmates jokingly suggested that he fashioned his life art after their instructor, but Bree's shape was unremarkable at best. She was more athletic in build, a bit boxy and plain by his standards. Her chest was sizable for her small frame, C cup at most, but her lack of hips left her looking a bit unbalanced. Pre-Mercedes Sam might've made a move on her, maybe even swooned over her quirkiness and abundant chest, but Post-Mercedes Sam had completely different standards. He needed someone with a bit more flavor in their step, a tad more jiggle in their thighs and backside when they walked. An hour glass figure wouldn't hurt, either.

Still, since they were both reasonably attractive, the other artists suspected some secret fling between them, despite Sam's insistence that he was happily engaged to someone else—someone who was nothing like their teacher. Even if she wasn't six years his senior, even if he was single and the whirlwind that was his love affair with Mercedes Jones hadn't sucked his heart into its vortex for all eternity, it wouldn't be appropriate. She was his teacher—his recently widowed teacher—and her commitment to her deceased husband would've been enough to kill any chances of romance. Hadn't they heard her endless ramblings about Brett? Been there when she read one of his love letters aloud in class to 'inspire their creative works'? She was in the process of carving a mile long memorial sculpture out of marble for him for crying out loud, nearly four years in the making! What were they thinking?

Ironically though, it was her dedication to her beloved Brett that had started their first dialogue outside of the art room. He was moved by her grief, and it forged a unique bond between them that evolved into friendship. He knew what it meant, what it felt like, to love that hard and sympathized with her pain. Maybe to those observing, they could appear a bit couple-like, always talking animatedly and hovering in each other's space. But he and Bree knew that the only passions between them existed for arts, nothing more.

Plus, her bright eyed, toddling son Connor wouldn't allow it. He staked his claim as the only man occupying his mother's heart. Often, she'd bring him in to class and set him down on a small stool with his own small lump of clay, only because he refused to be anywhere else but by her side at all times.

That little tyke wore his father's dog tags extra close to his heart, and the way his eyes would brighten when Bree mentioned his father's name gave Sam a painful ache in his belly. How could a man leave his son behind? What kind of tormented thoughts go through the mind of someone who takes their own life, forsaking all those who love them? Connor was only a few days old when his father passed, too young to understand that death could be chosen, but his mother's stories painted him in the most positive light. To him, his daddy was a superhero, an ex-marine that had laid down his life for his country. To him, Brett would always be immortal. Any other man in their lives would only get in the way of the illusion.

No matter. Sam refused to pay the idle talk any mind. He knew where his loyalties lie.

"Mercy?" he called, hanging his keys on their designated hook next to the door for once as he toed off his shoes. "I brought you your flowers, baby. Three dozen fresh yellow roses, just like you asked. Ready to talk?"

When he didn't receive a reply, Sam shrugged off his jacket, shuffling the large bouquet of yellow roses between hands, and hung it up in their coat closet. In the brief moment of silence after he closed the door, he heard his love's sniffles coming from the bedroom.

"Mercedes?" Carefully, he pushed the door open and peeked in, afraid of disturbing her. For all Sam knew, he was the one that had caused her tears. "Baby, please don't cry. Please, I'm sorry. I know I said some harsh things, but I didn't mean them. I had some time to think in class and I realized that…"

The startling crunch of glass beneath the doorframe made him pause. Large, splintered pieces of what appeared to be Mercedes' flower vase decorated the entire bedroom floor. He knew it well. Since they'd settled into their new apartment, it sat perched on the windowsill in the bedroom on proud display and was never disturbed. The colorful staining and carefully etched shapes on each piece gave it away.

Sam felt for the light switch on the wall, recoiling when he realized it was wet to the touch. The tiniest bit of glass shard pricked his thumb, and as he removed it he realized that the broken vase hadn't been an accident. It had been intentionally thrown against the wall. The place of impact still held the tiniest glass splinters as evidence. His soaked sock as he stepped further into the room confirmed his suspicions. Just where he stepped, water had dripped down the wall and pooled under his feet.

"What happened?" he asked, wiping his wet hand on his jeans as he hopped over the mess. He reached down to remove his wet sock once he was a safe distance away before addressing his betrothed."Did you do this, Mercy?"

Their eyes hadn't met since he surveyed the room, but when she sniffled again, Sam realized that she was huddled up on the far side of their bed, hugging her knees with red-rimmed eyes. Tracks of old tears still reflected on her cheeks in the evening sunlight from their window, but it was obvious that she had stopped crying a while ago. Still, she sniffled, with her unblinking stare focused on the broken mess in front of her.

"I made that vase for him on Father's day." she quietly uttered, rocking slightly on the heels of her feet. Her grip tightened around her legs as she shrunk into herself. "He told me I could take it with me when I came to campus….to remember the good times, so that I wouldn't forget….." Her voice broke in anguish before she paused, and Sam was at her side and in her personal space almost immediately afterward. "…how proud he was of me…how proud he was to be my dad."

"He's still proud," Sam assured her, cupping and stroking her cheeks. She had days like this in the past, when she needed to hear that her thoughts were lies, that the way she viewed herself wasn't the way others viewed her. "Who wouldn't be? You're amazing."

"He left me, Sam!" she cried, pressing her eyelids with the heels of her hands to kill the flow of tears. When had she become so easy to break? So exposed to hurt? "Because of my grades…I didn't do well enough and he just left me. He said that he's not my father anymore."

"Are you serious?" His stomach churned at her nod and the sharp, anguished intake of breath that followed. "Mr. Jones said that to you? Are you sure you didn't misunderstand him?" What she was saying didn't make any sense at all. Sam had a hard time believing that the man who placed a tracking device on him to make sure his daughter was safe at prom, who gave him such sage advice about being a man and fatherhood, could do something so heartless. His brain couldn't match the words to the man he knew.

Mercedes dried her tears on the sleeve of her wrinkled blouse and explained, "I called him a couple hours after you left. He sent me emails, asking me to call him. When I did, he yelled at me about my grades and told me that as of ten after twelve today, he's relinquished all responsibilities as my financial support and my father. I'm supposed to call him Mr. Jones now. Could I misinterpret that, Sam?" The question wasn't rhetorical. Her eyes begged Sam to find an explanation, a loophole that she hadn't seen to prove that she had indeed misunderstood her father. She desperately wanted to be wrong about him, about what she heard, because she couldn't match the words to the man she knew either.

Sam slowly wrapped his arms around her shivering frame and pulled her close to him, stunned to silence. Taking a moment to recover, he slowly began to rub gentle circles on her back in comfort. It was the only thing he could think of. "No, I don't think you can misunderstand that."

Mercedes clung to Sam's frame and buried her face in his neck, inhaling his comforting scent before a singular sob escaped her. She only allowed herself one, a single gasp of mourning, before continuing to weep in silence. Sam felt the tears dribble down his shirt and reached out to cradle the back of her head, aligning her ear with his mouth and the soft, soothing hush sounds they made just for her. She felt so small in his arms, curled up into a shivering little ball beside him. Mr. Jones had single handedly made his strong, self assured fiancée regress in ways Sam hadn't seen since her assault. Anger flared in his belly, rapidly consuming his insides, until no familial feeling was left behind for the man. All Sam felt was hatred, and unconsciously, his grip protectively tightened around Mercedes' body.

She sensed the tension and glanced up at him, knowing immediately what was going through his mind by the rapid clenching of his jaw. "Don't do that, baby. Don't hate him. It's not worth it," she pleaded, kissing the flexing muscles until he looked down at her. His eyes, dark and unfocused, shifted across her soft face before he dismissively huffed through his nose.

"I do hate him. I hate him for what he's doing to you," he said, biting down until the tiny veins creeping up his neck grew more pronounced. "A father doesn't just walk away from their child, not ever. Maybe you can forgive that, but I can't. I respected him." Sam had some terrible fights with his father in the past—some that had even, shamefully, gotten physical—but he'd never once had to worry about his dad leaving him. In fact, his father would insist that they reconcile and hug it out before they went to bed. That was the kind of man he was. It was the kind of man Sam hoped to be, the kind of man he thought Mr. Jones was.

You never go to bed angry and you never abandon your family-Unspoken Evans' rules emblazoned on his heart. As a future husband and father himself, Sam now realized the weight and importance of those promises.

"I'm not a child anymore, Sam." Mercedes explained with a shake of her head. "I'm an adult with a career on the horizon who can take care of herself if she has to. I made sure he understood that. Maybe now he'll respect my choices."

"It's still not an excuse, Mercy!" Sam angrily spat, "I would never leave you like that. Family is everything. Family shouldn't ever do that to each other."

Butterflies always fluttered in her belly when Sam referred to himself as her family. As distraught as she was, the comment warmed her, prompting the smallest of smiles. "You're my family now, Sam. We're going to be a family, all on our own."

His anger mellowed at her hopeful words. "Yes, we are. We'd never do that to each other." he promised, firmly kissing her forehead. "Did your mom say anything about this?"

"I haven't spoken to her yet, but I'm sure she's heard by now," shrugged Mercedes, "I'll call her when I feel up to it. If she doesn't call me first, that is."

Mercedes moved to untangle herself from Sam's grasp, but he held her tighter, rooting her to her seat. "Sam?"

"You're not selfish. You're not." he told her, both in apology for his earlier words and as a fact of her character. "But I do think that you're doing too much sometimes. I don't agree with how he handled it, but I do think that your dad ….has a point? Maybe?"

"Ex-dad," she reminded him, sighing. "And I know. I've been thinking about that, too." Russet eyes met green, begging for honesty when she asked, "Do you think I can manage them both? My schoolwork and my album, without either of them suffering?"

"I think you can do anything you set your mind to, Mercy." He answered honestly, without hesitation. "I think that you've been extremely blessed by God to be amazing at a lot of things. And I think that nothing should stop you from achieving your dreams, not me or your dad or anybody."

"I hear a but somewhere in there," Mercedes lightly joked, though his sure words made her feel infinitely better about her choices. "What's the but in this?"

"But, I do think that you need some balance. Just because you're superwoman and can do it all doesn't mean that you should kill yourself trying to. I mean, I'm pretty sure you're not sleeping or eating well enough to function, and you know that bothers me. When I come home from work and see you, you're practically in a coma! It's not good, babe." Sam traced the bridge of her nose, tapping the rounded tip. "From the way you're working, trust me, something's gonna give out. I'm just really scared that it's going to be you. Believe me, I'm speaking from experience here."

Mercedes nodded, taking in his words. "So, what do you think I should do? Advise me."

"You're asking for my advice?" Mercedes nodded again, frowning in confusion.

"Of course. I think you're more knowledgeable about worldly things than I am, so I trust your judgment. I'm still feeling this whole adulthood thing out and you've done some of it already, at least the working part. I'm not ashamed to say I need help making decisions."

Her request meant more to him that she could even fathom. Not only was Mercedes asking him for advice, the perpetual screw up in their relationship, but she was asking it without an ounce of doubt. She respected his opinion enough to consider it, even possibly follow it.

She still respected him, even after he'd done everything possible to lose said respect, and that meant the world to Sam.

"Well, I think that you should start setting limits. Dr. Taylor used to talk to me about setting proper boundaries, so that the people in my life knew where I stood. Take your studio time for example. Reese is your manager. If he had the chance, he would take every second of your time and dedicate it to making music because that's his job. But it's your job as the artist to tell him when you're overworked. How is he going to know unless you say something?"

"That's true." She mused, nodding in agreement.

"I also think that we both need to set aside some more time for us. And before you say it, it's not just about sex. I miss you. I miss being able to talk to you about nothing and laughing with you. I feel like every conversation we've had lately has been about bills or school or work."

"That's because it has been. And then we end up arguing about it." Mercedes sighed, rubbing her aching eyes. "When did this happen? When did we turn into..."

"Adults?" Sam smirked, kissing her forehead. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I think it happens overnight. The innocence sheds like skin while you're sleeping, until you wake up one day and realize you have grey hairs growin' out your nose and you smell like Bengay."

"I still want to have the kid moments, though," Mercedes admitted. "We've been working so hard that we've missed out on alot of the things college kids enjoy. I mean, think about it. Since that frat party, we haven't had a weekend out with friends in months. It's not healthy."

"I feel like we hardly see the sun anymore." Sam ruefully laughed. "We definitely need to change that."

"And I'd hate to add more to our plate but….if we can both set aside the time, do you think we can go in for some counseling? You and me together?"

"Couple's counseling? You think it would help?" Sam asked back, more curious than doubtful of the suggestion. Mercedes nodded, anxiously nibbling the corner of her bottom lip. "Alright, we can start looking for places tomorrow. Maybe you can call Bee and she can suggest someone."

"Good idea. She might know people." Mercedes agreed, suppressing a yawn. "I'm so tired, Sam. You know what I mean? I'm so tired of being tired, too."

"I know." Sam replied, knowing she meant more than just physically. "The job with Faith…..I was trying to ease some of that. It felt like you were doing everything for a while and I wanted to give something back. I wanted to prove to you that I could be a good husband."

"Hey, of course you can be. You will be." she chided softly, nudging his chin with her nose. He glanced down, frowning a bit when she started to lean in, before allowing her to comfort him with a gentle kiss. "You're going to be an awesome husband, I just know it. Don't ever worry about that."

" I hear a but somewhere in there, too." He smiled, initiating a soft kiss of his own. "What is it?"

"But, you have to be honest with me. No more secret jobs or insecurities you don't tell me about. No more doing on your own. No more building separate houses, Sam," she insisted, running her thumb across his pursed lips.

"You either. No more building separate houses." He argued back, curling his fingers around her wrist to bring each of her fingers to an awaiting kiss. "No more working yourself to death and trying to prove to your dad or me or whoever the hell else doesn't matter that you can make it without any help. Stop killing yourself. It's you and me now, okay? I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon, so I promise you, you're never alone."

Her chin quivered at his profession. "I don't plan on letting you go, either," she whispered with glassy eyes. The two shared a small, grateful smile.

"Well, alright, alright! It's settled. Mr. and Mrs. Evans have decided." She rolled her eyes as he rested his chin atop her head and laid them down on the pillows, but said nothing to correct him. "And since we're going back to being brutally honest, I have something else to confess. I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn't get the chance to."

Mercedes pushed herself up to face him. The fear in his tone told her that she'd need to be fully alert for his news. "Okay, go ahead."

Sam sighed, hating himself for the habit of bearing bad news. "I got the chance to sing with Faith onstage in front of her audience."

"I know. I saw the video," she informed him, quirking her brow.

"Wait, what? I've been stressing about this all day and you knew? Where did you find it?" Sam asked, sitting up himself. "No wait, someone told you, didn't they?"

Mercedes chuckled at his slow deduction. "And you say I suck at lying. Boy, please. Who do you think told me?"

Sam eyes roamed the ceiling in thought for a minute before a name struck him, and the name in question made him face palm himself for the oversight. "Oh my god, how the hell did I forget Erin?" He groaned, smacking his forehead repeatedly. "I remember everyone except her freaking sister…Seriously, Sam?"

"Yeah, seriously indeed," smiled Mercedes, laughing in her throat and poking his chest. "If you're gonna sneak a lie past me, the ultimate lie detector, then you have to step your game up."

"Naturally." He chuckled back, shaking his head at his own idiocy. "Well, I don't think she told you that Faith's manager offered me a record deal after we got off stage."

"No, that I found out from Unique," Mercedes said pointedly, checking of his name from some invisible checklist with her finger. "One of my many sources."

"Remind me to never, ever try to keep things from you again, because I suck at it." Sam complained, covering his reddening face with both hands.

Mercedes spaced his fingers apart until they opened like shutters and revealed his troubled eyes. "Well, in all fairness, I only found out a couple of weeks ago. You've been holding this back from me for months now, so you're better than you think," she told him, "But don't take that as a compliment or anything."

"I only kept the job secret for months, not the record deal part. That just happened, I swear." Sam hurriedly explained. "And I haven't made a decision yet. I told them that I need to talk to my wife first."

"Fiancée, Sam," she corrected, rolling her eyes yet again as she nibbled the upturned corner of her mouth.

Sam rolled his eyes right back, crossing them in the process to bring out that suppressed smile. He succeeded, snorting laughter and all. "Same thing, woman. Hopefully that'll change soon, once your CD gets out there and wins you your first Grammy."

"Yeah hopefully, if you act right," she sassed, playfully pinching his nose. "So, do you want it?"

" What? The record deal or the wedding?" Twinkling eyes roamed her body. "Unless you're offering something else?"

She sighed, amazed by his magical gift of changing her mood for the better. "The record deal, Sam. I didn't know you were interested in pursuing music as a career"

"To be honest, I'm not really interested in it. Not long term at least." He shrugged. "I'm still focused on the visual end of the arts. But, music seems to pay more and gives me the option of staying local, which means less time on the road. I get my summers and weekends free, benefits… the way I see it, it means more time and a better life for us, and I'm always here for that."

"So you're taking this deal for us?" Mercedes asked in amazement. "So we can be together more often?"

"Of course. Why else would I take it? I mean I like music, but I don't love it like I love you."

All of the doubts that Unique's comments had placed in her mind were instantly thrown to the wayside, and Mercedes regretted the fact that she ever doubted who she knew Sam to be. Sam may not be perfect, but he was selfless and loving to the point of sacrifice. That hadn't changed, and Mercedes felt surer than ever that it never would.

"I love you, too. Even more than my music." She said softly, eyes shining for him as if he'd opened up the universe and shown her its wonders. "You don't need my permission to pursue a record deal, Sam."

"Yes, I do. I want it." he insisted, taking both of her hands in his. "This will affect both of our lives, in a good way! I didn't include you in my first decision to take the stage hand job, which I'm still really sorry about by the way, so I wanted you to be a part of this one. I want to know what you think. Should I take it?"

"I think you should, but only if it makes you happy too. As sweet as it is for you to do this for us, I want you to like it. I want it to be fun for you." expressed Mercedes, sliding her fingers through his. "Studio work can take a lot out of you. If you don't enjoy it, then the work won't give you the energy you need to keep going. Do it because you want to, because it's a secret dream of yours that you've always wanted to explore."

Sam smiled at the way she lit up over her own advice. Briefly, his mind conjured images of what Mercedes might have been like as a child. He could imagine her wearing her mom's heels and oversized sunglasses, singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror. "Well, I do enjoy singing. Not as much as you do, but I do like it. It's creative and fun, like another outlet for energy. I dig it." Sam stated , hopping off the bed and pulling her up to stand with him. Both were careful of the sharp glass shards around their feet. "And I'd be lying if I said that the little Sam in me isn't jumping up and down about being a rock star for a little bit."

"Well then, I say go for it! Who knows? You might find a new passion," Mercedes encouraged, smiling. "I'm behind you all the way, baby."

"Thank you. That's all I needed to hear." Sam smiled back, nudging her nose with his in an Eskimo kiss. "You know what I don't dig, though?"

She massaged one of his pectorals, lightly squeezing and toying with a nipple, before stealing a kiss. "What?"

"Glass splinters in my feet." The couple glanced at the floor, wearing twin grimaces over the mess around them. "It's a good thing that we didn't carpet the floor."

"That was because of cost. It wasn't an interior decorating decision, Sam." Mercedes laughed, hopping over the mess with a surprisingly agile leap to the doorway.

"I know that. If it was up to you, we'd be ceiling high in faux fur, and I ain't havin' that. Shit cost too much anyway. I could've had a couple of my cousins skin a couple of raccoons and make a carpet for half of what that company wanted to charge us." Sam argued, leaping to the spot beside her. "I'm just saying, good thing we didn't."

"Country hick cheapskate with no taste, I swear. How'd I get saddled with you again?" she teased, kissing his cheek. "Why don't you get the broom and dustpan from the bathroom and I'll get the small trashcan and a garbage bag from the kitchen. We'll clean up this mess together."

Sam followed her with his eyes as she walked away, enjoying her lighter voice and more buoyant step.

"You mean the mess you made all by yourself? No fair!" Sam playfully remarked when she was a good distance away. "If I get a cut, you're gonna have to kiss it better!"

"Just shut up and get the broom, you baby!" she huffed, laughing. "I promise, I'll kiss all of your boo-boos when we're done."

Sam retrieved the broom and dustpan as his fiancée requested, sauntering into the kitchen just as she was bent over and reaching for a garbage bag in the cabinet underneath their sink.

A hand crept around her waist, surprising her enough to nearly cause her head to hit the sink pipes. She eased out with a garbage bag in hand, ready to rebuke him, only to find herself pulled against his hard front and wrapped in his arms. The soft nibble to her ear muddled the stern call of his name, until it blended into a quiet, appreciative hum.

"Sa-ammmm…."

"If you tell me where all your boo-boos are, I can kiss them for you, too," he offered, pressing kisses along the shell of her ear and down her neck. "If you want."

"I want." She eagerly nodded, and the evidence of two neglectful weeks to her sex dribbled down her thighs and perfumed the air around them. Fingers slid through his silky strands, pulling his mouth closer to hers until the warmth of their breaths mingled together. Lust-filled eyes met and held, then softened as they always did when the love between them flooded their systems, before she finished, "But I'm pretty sure you've already healed me, Sam."

O-O

Mercedes had less than a day to cope with Sam's secrets and the loss of her father, but somehow she'd managed to set up a course of action and plan her next steps before her afternoon class. For a woman with an intense disdain for surprises, it was a lofty feat.

What she couldn't foresee or plan for were the changes going on in her record label. News broke over the weekend that Mr. Simmons himself wanted to change the direction of DMC's sound, shifting their focus from neo-soul and R&B to more old school rap and hip-hop. The CEO stated that he wished to 'get back to his roots' and bring up a new generation of lyrical poets with messages that could change the world. Unfortunately, artists currently on the label that didn't fit into this new image would be placed on the back burner or dropped altogether. Mercedes was among the group, but her talent and drive made her label reluctant to let her go completely. Reese, her manager, called her early Saturday morning and broke the news.

"Look, the good thing is that they still want you. The work on your album is still here, ready to be released. Whether or not it will be released under your current record label is to be decided, but that's completely your call. Songbird, don't stress just yet." Reese gave all of his artists unique nicknames and used them whenever he needed to handle their emotional matters. "Some of the new rappers need vocalists for their hooks. That could be your segway into solo work again!"

"Reese, I didn't spend over a year writing and recording my work just so I can go back to shimmying and swaying in other people's shadows! I did that all throughout high school," Mercedes fumed. "What about me as an artist? What about my work? I thought this deal meant that DMC believed in my vision."

"It does! They don't ever want you to doubt that for a second. But their vision for the company as a whole has changed." Reese explained, trying his best to break down the terrible news until it was palatable. "Look, I shouldn't even be telling you this, but Mr. Simmons is thinking of opening a separate division for his original artists. As business as he is, he's also a caring man who respects an artist's hard work. He knows your talent, Mercedes. Your work has passed his desk many times and he likes what he hears. You can either wait to see where they take you or you can try and market your music to other labels. Whatever you decide, I'm behind you all the way."

The artist herself sighed, weighing her options. "Would money be an issue for me if I stayed?"

"I want to say no, but I can't speak for them."

"When is this subdivision for artists like me expected to start up?"

"No idea. Maybe a month or two?" Reese replied. All the unanswered questions fueled her anxiety.

"I have an apartment and school to think about, Reese. I'm building a life here. I can't just wait around and hope for the best, you know?" Mercedes reasoned aloud.

"Look, I hear you. If I were you, I'd probably leave and try my hand somewhere else. All I can say is that DMC is one of the few labels that will give you the creative freedom you're looking for. There's never any pressure to change your image or your message here. Do you know how hard that is to find? If you go looking elsewhere….be prepared to change yourself, that's all I'm saying. You'll be shucking and jiving like the rest of these talented, white-washed clowns in the business."

"You know I don't want that." Mercedes sighed, nibbling her lip as she thought of what Sam would think. "My fiancée would kill me if I compromised my music."

"Yeah, Sam would. I've never seen a white boy that loyal to his lady, not in all of Hollywood." Her manager chuckled. "He'd be right to have your head. A gift as unique as yours shouldn't be watered down."

Mercedes agreed wholeheartedly, but real life reminded her of the weight of her decisions. She couldn't just stick to principle and be content with being broke. As well as Sam would get paid being an artist himself, she couldn't see herself relying on only his income to support them both. She was definitely the heavier spender of the two and liked using her own money for expensive purchases. It eliminated the guilt of wasting someone else's money.

Plus, her dad still believed that she couldn't make it on her own. Ex-dad, if she were being particular. Getting her career started on her terms meant more than the money it would bring in. She needed to do this to prove that she was right, that she could achieve everything she wanted without his support.

Staying with DMC records meant a possible unsteady paycheck and an unsure future, but leaving might mean compromising her music and image. The thought made her stomach churn.

"Can I have some time to think about this? Talk it over with Sam?"

"Of course, songbird. And like I said, whatever you decide to do, keep me in the loop. I want to go wherever you're going, superstar."

Mercedes smiled at his encouraging words. "I appreciate that, Reese. You've taught me a lot so far. I consider you a friend."

"Always, Ms. Jones. Always," he crooned in his velvet soft baritone register. "Keep in touch and don't give up just yet."

O-O

Mercedes spent the next couple of days locked up in her room after classes, praying and jotting down her thoughts in her journal. Sam agreed to give her the space she needed to decide and tried his best to be as supportive as possible—cleaning up around the apartment, preparing meals, and anything else he read on the internet that would foster an anxiety free atmosphere for his lady. On occasion, he'd fill up the silence with light strums of his guitar, and Sam loved the way her eyes would light up and dance as he played, even if she couldn't muster up the energy to sing along. But apart from the normal pleasantries, his usually talkative partner would remain silent for hours at a time, brooding over her dilemma.

"Hey, hey! The cavalry's here with breakfast!" announced Sam, balancing the food tray in one hand as his back held the door open. The orange juice, poured in a glass pitcher for the sake of being fancy, occupied his other hand.

Mercedes held up a finger to silence him, quietly murmuring the end of her prayer before she rose from her knees and greeted him.

"You made me breakfast again? Thank you baby," she cooed, kissing his cheek. Her warm grin was a welcome sight. "What are we having today? Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch?"

"No, even better. Today, the chef decided to challenge himself with a hot breakfast." Sam rested the tray on their dresser and handed her a plate filled with food. "I present to you eggs, scrambled to perfection and loaded with cheese the way you like it, with blueberry pancakes made almost from scratch and four strips of crispy turkey bacon," he announced impressively, pleased with his accomplishments.

"Wow!" she laughed. "You really went all out! Thank you Monsieur Evans, your cuisine looks absolutely divine."

"And…" Mercedes had already situated herself in bed and dug into her eggs, not expecting anything more, when Sam walked over with a large, steaming bowl filled to the brim. "Apples and cinnamon oatmeal!" he sang, waving the bowl underneath her nose. "It's your favorite, right?"

"Sam! You're gonna stuff me!" she exclaimed, eyeing the mountain of food with a disbelieving laugh. Still, she couldn't help a subtle sniff, and the fragrance of warm apple and spicy cinnamon delighted her senses. "This smells amazing."

"It's mostly from a packet, but it's not the cheap stuff. I found that expensive steel cut organic one you like from an Amish market that costs, like, five bucks. Then, I bought an apple, cut it up without butchering my fingers, and added the cinnamon. Hope you don't mind." He shrugged bashfully. "I just want to make sure you're eating well."

"I'm eating just fine." Mercedes leaned over to cup his cheek and peck his lips. "Thank you baby. You're too good to me."

"No such thing." His large hand gripped the small spoon and clumsily stirred the hot cereal, mixing in the cinnamon added on top until everything blended together. Sam scooped up a hefty spoonful and blew on it lightly, aiming for Mercedes' chewing mouth. "Open up! Yummy goodness express coming your way!"

"Sam, I'm already eating…" He eased the spoon into her mouth before she could tell him that it was already full. Her cheeks puffed out adorably as she chewed. "Mphf ooo."

"You're welcome," nodded Sam, sampling a spoonful of oatmeal himself. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten to give himself the same courtesy of cooling it off before consuming. "Ah!"

Mercedes swallowed quickly and hit his back. "Baby, are you okay?" she choked out, patting her own chest as she coughed. "Too fast?"

Sam hollowed his mouth, fanning his scalding tongue as he took in cooling breaths. "Hawt," he answered, swallowing quickly. The oatmeal was still just as scalding as it slid down his throat. "Shit, that hurt."

"Sorry," chuckled Mercedes, though she had nothing to apologize for. His pained face was as amusing as it was adorable. "Do you want some orange juice?"

"Please." She rested her plate in his lap before walking to the dresser to pick up the abandoned pitcher of juice and the empty glass beside it. "Oh wait, I was supposed to…."

"It's fine," she told him, filling the glass and handing it to him. "You already made me breakfast. The least I can do is get you juice."

Sam took the glass with a grateful smile. "Thank you." He silently toasted to her before downing the cold beverage in several gulps. "I needed that."

"I can see." She laughed, rustling his hair before re-occupying her seat. "Now, let's try this again." She took the bowl from his lap, scooping up another spoonful of oatmeal. Sam laughed at the exaggerated pucker of her lips as she blew to cool it down. "Here you go."

Sam opened wide and accepted her feeding, smiling around the spoon when the temperature of the cereal registered on his tongue. Ever greedy, Sam stuffed half a pancake and a forkful of eggs in as well, moaning and chewing. His cheeks puffed out as hers did earlier. "Mphf ooo."

"You're welcome, Sam," she said warmly, dabbling away the small trace of syrup on his lip with her thumb. "I really needed this."

Sam observed Mercedes as she enjoyed the food he prepared, taking a few moments to properly chew himself, before swallowing and asking, "Anything new today?"

Asking if there was anything new today was Sam's careful way of checking to see how her decision-making process was going. When he'd asked her in the days before, her response was typically a dismissive 'nothing new', but today, she had an actual answer. "Yeah, actually. I've decided to stay awhile and shift my focus towards school."

"Really? You're staying?" Sam asked in reply, surprised by her decision. The way she'd been stressing over her studio work led him to assume that she'd seek other labels. He would have agreed with her. Her voice and her work needed to be heard. "You sure about this?"

"I'm not too sure about anything anymore, not at the moment," she mirthlessly laughed, resting her chin atop her propped fist as she faced him. "For the first time in my life, I'm just trusting God completely with this decision. I've been praying about it and writing down what I've heard in my prayer time. I know it doesn't make sense, but I feel lead to stay. I'm not sure why yet, but I feel that this is where I need to be."

"What about money?" asked Sam. Her eyebrows rose and knit together. "I'm only asking because I know it's important to you to have your own. Not that I would mind supporting us, if it came to that."

"No, I know." Mercedes gently waved away his unnecessary explanation. "I know you wouldn't. And you're right, I do want to have my own money to spend. I want to be able to take care of myself if I need to, even if that means finding other work outside of the label in the meantime. It might sound terrible, and I don't mean it to be, but I need to know that I'd be okay financially if you weren't around to help. Especially after the stunt my father pulled…."

Sam gently squeezed her arm, nodding in understanding. "I get it. I'd do the same thing if that happened to me."

Mercedes frowned and nodded, returning to her meal in another bout of contemplative silence. Sam scooted closer, until her shoulder touched his arm, and finished his breakfast alongside her. Neither said a word until their dishes were clean—Sam with the plate of food and Mercedes with the hot cereal—but occasional swaps of oatmeal for pancakes or eggs passed between them. The more time they spent together, the more Sam realized that Mercedes actually looked forward to the little things he did, like when he'd try to feed her. On some days, when she was feeling particularly needy but couldn't voice it, he almost felt that she expected it of him. It was small, but knowing that fulfilled his desire to care for her. He liked the thought of filling an empty space inside of her, of being the only one that could address that emptiness.

Before his thoughts could make him too mushy, he gathered the dishes and left her with a quick kiss on the cheek, making his way to the kitchen to place them in the sink. He returned shortly after, reclaiming his seat. "I'll wash them up in a minute. Don't worry about it."

Another grateful smile and nod before Mercedes returned to writing in her journal. "I miss him, you know," she quietly admitted after a while, pen never stopping its motion on paper. "What he said and did hurt me so much, but I want him back in my life. I hate that."

Her confession about her father was more than Sam had gotten in the past couple of days, so he sat down quietly and waited for her to sort out the rest of her thoughts, careful not to interrupt her.

"I even thought about calling him and apologize. Isn't that crazy? For what, I don't know. I guess I just wanted to go back to the way things used to be, before I said whatever I did to push him away…."

After a few silent moments assured him that she'd finished, Sam asked, "Do you think that they'll ever go back to the way they used to be after this?"

She sighed, grappling with the same thought herself. "I don't think so," she said with a watery chuckle, eyes never leaving her journal. "It kills me to believe that, but…how do you forget that your father would abandon you if he had the chance? He dropped my brother Jett, then me, and didn't even give us the courtesy of a warning or explanation. One day I'm his baby girl and the next….." she angrily rubbed the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand, "…the next, he's just Mr. Jones to me. And I'm….nothing, I'm alone."

"You're not nothing," sighed Sam, pulling her into a firm hug. "And you're definitely never alone. You still have your mom and friends. My family loves you to death, I know that." She sniffled and tucked her head underneath his chin, resting against his neck. "And you know you'll always have me. I'm always in your corner, Mercy. You know that."

She did know. Of all the issues she had to deal with these past couple of months, from moving to a new apartment to handling the loss of her father, Sam was never anywhere else but beside her. Even his lie about working with Faith had been concocted in what he felt was her best interest. Misguided as it sometimes was, Sam was one of the few people in her life that sought after her needs first, even before his own. Her life was so unsteady now, so murky and turbulent, but Sam stood rooted beside her and cheered her on along the way. Every word he spoke into her life gave her the strength she needed to keep going. Her fiancé made everything peaceful, convinced her to accept the inconsistencies in life that would usually cause her to panic.

"You're a good man, Sam Evans," she whispered lovingly, looking up to meet his kind eyes. "And you're going to be a great husband someday."

"Someday soon, hopefully." He smiled, kissing her nose. "Oh! And before I forget, I have something special for you. You left it in storage, but I figured you'd need it, so…"

Sam hopped out of bed and disappeared in the coat closet near their door, grunting as he wrestled out something rather heavy and sizable hidden deep inside.

Her eyes widened when he brought his special surprise into the room and set it on the bed. "My keyboard!" she gleefully exclaimed, unaware of how much she'd missed it until then. "When did you get this?"

"I went yesterday evening. I was off work and you were in class…hid it in the back of the closet behind some of the junk I have in there so you wouldn't find it." He smirked, pleased with his own cleverness."Maybe if you start playing again, things won't feel so confusing and you'll find your way again."

Mercedes had no words for how much the gesture had touched her soul. "But Sam, we don't have any space for it."

"We'll make room. It's important to you," argued Sam, situating himself behind her. He hugged her waist as she leaned back against him, pressing his cheek to hers as her hands idly wandered over the piano keys. "Would you play something for me?"

Three of her fingers separated and fell as one, playing a major chord. "What do you want to hear?"

He admired her profile, smiling as he nudged the side of her head with his nose. "Whatever's going on up there."

She wrinkled her nose and nudged him back, sneaking in a kiss while their lips were in close proximity. "I think I can do that."

Her lips pursed as she ran through song choices in her head before she settled on one that fit. "I haven't played this one in a while, so it might sound messy, but I think it fits how I feel."

Sam didn't recognize the tune right away, but as soon as he heard the words, he knew that, coupled with her voice, his emotions would be in disarray once the song was done.

All I know

Is everything is not as it's so

And the more I know

The less I grow

And I have lived so many lives

Though I'm not old

But the more I know, the less I grow

The fewer the seeds, the more I sow

When Sam reflected on their lives so far, separately and as a couple, it amazed him that they were still standing. They should have been broken a long time ago. Their relationship should have had far more holes, been more weathered, than it currently was. It had to have been God that kept them.

Then I see you standing there, wanting more from me

And all I can do is try

Then I see you standing there, wanting more from me

And all I can do is

Try...

This song was for her father, pained that she couldn't quite measure up to his standards for her life. This was for the God she served, in apology for her many human shortcomings. Maybe, Sam realized, it was for him as well; her way of telling him that she's being stretched beyond her limit and had little left to give. Perhaps she was saying, like she had tried to when they argued last, that she's been trying to give him everything from nothing. His fiancée had been running on empty for longer than he'd realized. Mercedes never told him. Sadly, in all his attempts to be the perfect future husband, he'd never thought to ask her.

I wish I hadn't seen

All of the realness

And all the real people

Are really not real at all

And the more I learn, the more I learn

The more I cry, the more I cry

As we say goodbye to the way of life

I thought I had designed for me

Mercedes repeated the chorus, mulling over the verses she'd just sung aloud. They were so true. The real world had been crueler than she'd anticipated. Really, the real world had snuck into her high school years and robbed her early, snatching away any fantasies of whatever a normal life should look like. Her dream was the only hope she had left to cling to. Aside from Sam and her faith, it was what woke her up every morning and pushed her out the front door, daring her to imagine limitless possibilities. Why couldn't her father see that? Why did he want to take that away from her? Couldn't he see that she would fall apart if she didn't at least try? And now, when that dream was so close to becoming real for her, he forced her hand with ultimatums and excommunicated himself without a proper goodbye.

Her plans for success had always included him. It didn't—it couldn't—feel like success without him.

Walking down the aisle to take Sam's hand in marriage…buying her first home….having her first child...

She would have to do all of it without her daddy. Her other half, her partner in crime, wouldn't be there if she couldn't be what he wanted.

All of the moments that already passed

Try to go back and make them last

All of the things we want each other to be

We ever could be

We ever would be

And that's

Wonderful

And that's

Life

Sam hugged her tighter, sensing her needs as he always did. Right then, in his gentle, caring rubs to her tummy, he'd calmed the storm inside her. Sam couldn't fix it, no. It wasn't in his power to fix. But he did patch her up as best as he could, with the gentle hands of a lover and the skill of a physician.

This is you, baby

This is me, baby

We are…

We are….

We are! We are!

We are! We are!

Free…..In love!

We are

Free

In love

I try...

"Mercy?" She pushed her keyboard away and threw her arms around his waist in reply, squeezing his middle.

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She frowned, confused by the question. "About what?"

"That you were so worn out, so stressed...why didn't I know?" The more Sam thought about it, the more he felt like an idiot for not noticing the subtle changes in her. "I'm so sorry I didn't notice."

"You're not the only one that's been struggling to keep secrets," she murmured, looking up at him. "But I want that to end now. We've got to do this honesty thing better, Sam. Our relationship is never going to work out if we don't."

"I know. I can do that, seriously this time. From now on, no more secrets, not even little ones. We'll be brutally honest with each other" vowed Sam with a firm nod. He pressed his lips against the forehead beneath him, rubbing them against her silken skin. "Can you trust me again?"

"Sam, you lied to my face for months, then waited until my friends told me the truth before you confessed. That really hurt me," she explained, pain breaking her voice. His face fell, guilt ridden. "But, even when you were being dishonest, you were still in my corner. Lately, I've come to realize how precious that is. I can't take that for granted."

Sam's countenance brightened with hope. "So you forgive me?"

Mercedes smiled and shook her head at her naïve fiancé. "Sam, I forgave you from the moment you confessed to me. All I wanted was the truth. Even if it hurts me, I need the truth from you. Honesty is the only way to know who people really are, and I need to know the man I'm planning to marry."

"You do know me, Mercedes," he stated plainly. "I'm still the same guy. I'm still your Sam."

"But we're changing, Sam. Who you are now isn't necessarily who you're going to be months from now or even a year from now. I want to grow with you," she explained, cupping his cheek. "I love you so much, babe. I want to hold on to that, to our love, because it's the best thing I've known."

"Me too," he agreed, resting his hand over hers on his cheek. "Whatever it takes."

Her gaze swept over his face for a while, smiling at all she found, before she spoke again. "Can we do something fun, baby? Something spontaneous and reckless and...I don't know, age appropriate? Lately we've been a bunch of sixty year olds in our twilight years, not teenagers."

"Twilight? Hey! I know what that means!" Sam proudly announced. "It was one of my words on last year's calendar, so I know exactly what you're saying." The couple laughed together as he smoothed back her hair. "What did you have in mind?"

She hummed and clicked her tongue, coming up empty."I don't know. What do college kids usually do to unwind and have a good time?"

O-O

Two drunken bodies twirled uncoordinatedly down the hallway later that evening, stumbling over their hurried feet and blinding kisses as they giggled their way to their apartment. The shorter of the two collided with the front door, pressed against it by the leaner, taller frame that invaded her space with twinkling eyes and the heavy smell of aged Cabernet on his breath.

"Open the door, darlin'. I wanna fuck you on our mattress."

"Shh! Sam!" Mercedes giggled at the way his blunt answer sounded louder and crasser in the empty hallway. In fact, it was a fight to keep her rolling laughter at bay. "People are sleeping nearby somewhere! We have to whisper!"

"What people?" Sam exclaimed louder than necessary, just to get his fiancée to hush him again. When she did, he obediently lowered his voice and replied, "Well, they don't matter. Only we matter," He reached out for the door behind her and dropped his weight into his palms, struggling to keep his swaying balance in check. The floor kept moving for some reason.

Mercedes grabbed his shirt and pulled him further into her personal space, standing on her toes until her open mouth hovered over his. The spiced, fruity notes on her breath made his brain foggier than any of the alcohol he'd consumed.

"Then why are we still in the hallway talking when we could be showing each other just how much we matter?" she purred with a clever smile, clicking her tongue before suckling and nipping his bottom lip. "You open the door. I want you, too."

Sam patted his pockets in search of keys while she assaulted his neck with kisses. She wrapped her arms around his waist and kept him steady, balancing them both with a sharp stiletto heel pressed against the door. Teeth and tongue found a spot that made his inebriated mind lose focus, and his heavy arms quickly dropped their task to cup and knead her bottom. He craned his head and sloppily kissed his lover's full lips, lifting her thigh over his until his hand could slip far enough under her dress to tug at cotton underwear.

Mercedes was too full of love and liquor to complain. "These aren't even sexy panties," she scandalously whispered, wide-eyed and amused at her own faux paus. "It's been so long since we've been out and…you know. I forgot to switch them."

Sam smirked and kissed her nose, finding the admission as adorable as her face. "I think I like it, though. They're like virgin panties."

"Virgin panties?" Mercedes snorted hard enough for the blood to rush to her head. Her eyes crossed briefly from the sensation as she laughed. "That was many, many, many summers ago."

"Not that many many's, Ms. Jones," Sam playfully chided. "Unless there's another first time I wasn't included in."

"Included. That's such a funny word." Mercedes chuckled. Everything was funnier when she felt so tingly and light inside. "Incluuuuuded."

"You're the best drunk ever," Sam laughed back, tapping her nose. "We should've been drinking together a long time ago."

His choice of wording made her think of beaches and grinding on wood, for some odd reason. "I've been drinkin', I've been drinkin'…." She sang, suddenly remembering the source of influence. "I think Beyonce is the best drunk ever. She writes songs about it….waking up in kitchens and puttin' it on her man in the foyer. I bet she remembers to wear the sexy panties."

"Hell, I'll wear the sexy panties if you open the door and let me put it on you." Sam pouted, verbal filter completely destroyed. "I don't curr. I ain't got no shame. Whatever you're into, baby."

Her peals of laughter shook her entire body. "I'm into…." Mercedes slowly slipped her hands into the front pockets of his dress slacks, lightly toying with the concealed head of his cock as she fished for keys. "…anytime you can get into me."

"Is that right?" Sam grinned, circling his hips against her small, gentle fingers. "Do tell me more."

Mercedes dangled the recovered keys in front of his face, hiding them behind her back before he could snatch them away. "Can I show you instead?" she softly pleaded, blindly probing around for the lock with the front door key just as she leaned her head in for a taste of him again. A hair's breath away from their throbbing lips touching, and the door unlocked and gave way behind her, sending Mercedes crashing to the floor. In her shock, she grabbed Sam's tie on her way down and pulled him with her, slightly strangling him in the process.

"Oh god, are you okay?" he coughed. Sam pushed himself up on his elbows and knees to look over her fallen form for any injuries. "Did I crush you?"

"No, I'm fine. Your body's not as hard as this floor." She groaned, sitting up and rubbing her head.

Although she was clearly in mild pain, Sam couldn't resist the opportunity for naughty humor. "I've got something on me that's harder than this floor, just waiting for you," he jested, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

Mercedes smacked his chest and half-heartedly pushed him away, sucking her teeth at his timing. "Seriously, Sam?"

Try as she might, she couldn't hold it. Her chin quivered, then her lips, before a laugh bubbled out and nearly doubled her over. Sam grinned down at her when she held her shaking belly, kicking the door closed before he dropped himself back on top of her with a ridiculous warrior yell. She tried to push him away when he started tickling her sides, but laughter and wine made her weaker than usual. Instead, she attacked with tickles of her own, sliding her hands underneath his dress shirt to tease the downy-haired skin directly. Thank goodness for her knowledge of his weak spots.

This night was all they needed to get them back on track. Dinner, dessert, great music and excellent conversation, all ending with a night under the stars and some personal bottles of the season's selected by one of LA's best connoisseurs. Apparently, the entertainment industry didn't have the same hang-ups about underage drinking. One of the members of her management team at DMC had recommended him, and his choice for their evening was sweet and rich enough for a fall evening between two comfortable lovers looking to rekindle the fire.

And, three bottles later, Mercedes considered the fire well lit and blazing. Sam felt the heat rise in his blood as well. He swiveled his hips atop her closed thighs to illustrate, regaining her attention after the silliness had died down.

Their eyes met, and it felt like she'd been pushed from the highest peak in the world, stealing the chance to catch her breath before the rush of wind compressed her lungs and rushed across her body. Slowly, she parted her legs, easing Sam's body between them until their pelvises aligned. His penis eagerly twitched against her inner thigh, just alongside her sex, and Sam leaned in for a kiss before the need to taste her overwhelmed him. When their lips finally touched, the slow burning in her veins grew scalding hot, consuming her insides. Sam's skin felt even hotter than hers did to the touch, covered in a light sheen of sweat underneath his few layers of clothing.

"Let's play some music." She sighed, tousling his silky hair and scratching his scalp as his lips traveled down her neck and atop her covered breasts. "I want music for this."

Sam wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled them both to their feet, stumbling slightly before her steadier hands gripped his shoulders and centered him. With a small grin, he resumed his attentions to her body, brushing his coarse stubble across her cheeks as he pulled her towards him and nibbled her ear. Blindly, he reached for the remote on the counter, left precisely there for this very moment, and hit play.

"Up," she demanded, guiding his hands underneath her ass and patting them twice. Sam lifted her in his arms and sat her on the countertop, pushing her legs apart almost immediately to grind against her heat. Brown, short fingers slipped between them and fiddled with his belt buckle as they made love with tongues soft sighs, undoing Sam in every way possible.

"What's your favorite part of me, princess?" The article of leather flew over her shoulder and hit the kitchen floor with a clang, followed by Sam's kicked off shoes and her sheer stockings. "I'm dying to know."

Mercedes paused, smiling lazily as she yanked the hem of his shirt from his pants. He thought he knew where her hands were headed, but she surprised him by sliding them in the opposite direction, patting the space over his heart.

"The biggest, healthiest part of you." Only Mercedes could make a large heart sound so erotic. She ripped his shirt open, sending buttons clattering to the kitchen floor, and pressed a tender kiss there. "So firm." She whispered, licking the salty skin across his chest and surrounding his nipple. "So strong, beating for me."

Sam threw his head back when she began to suckle. "Fuck, I love you."

She giggled again, and Sam knew he'd never tire of the sound. "Down, boy." She whispered against his lips, nipping them before two of her fingers pressed the top of his head, guiding him to where she needed kisses the most.

Sam held his nose as he descended, creating the silliest gurgling noises. Ever the tease, Sam held off on pleasuring her right away. Instead, he kissed up her calves and across her knees, slowly sliding her dress up her thighs as he moved closer.

"I'm Nigel Thornberry." He began, mimicking the ridiculously nasal British accent almost perfectly. "Today, we are venturing into the wettest and wildest of territories, discovering a creature known to men as the pussicus sexicum…." Mercedes clasped a hand over her mouth when he finally dove in between her legs, nudging her clit with his nose. When he settled her thighs on top of his shoulders and blew raspberries against her vagina, she had to grab his head with one hand and grip the counter with the other to avoid keeling over with laughter.

"Sam!"

"Smashing!" he replied, albeit a bit muffled since she had his head in a vice grip. She moaned a second later when his tongue jutted out and laved her opening. Even though her underwear was in the way, she felt the jolts of pleasure bolt up her spine like he'd touched her directly.

Impatiently, she tugged his hair and pulled him up, sliding her tongue down his throat before he could whine about 'interrupting his dinner'. She pulled a shaky moan from him instead, and smiled into their kiss when he tried to ease a finger inside her.

"God, Mercy." He frowned, hitting a dry barrier. "Wait….do you need some more play time?"

"Hmm?" Eyes fluttered open, barely focusing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you feel a little…you know…" he probed again, barely inching his finger inside her. "Resistant. Do you want me to finish eating you?"

"Sam…" She held the skirt of her dress over her stomach and pointed between her legs. "Panties. They're still in the way."

"Oh." His cheeks turned the faintest pink. "Knew that."

She giggled and pouted her lips, prodding his until he smiled back. "Silly Sammy."

Mercedes tried to lift her hips and assist him with removing her underwear, but Sam held her down.

"What?" she glanced at the hands gripping her hips and frowned. "Not here? Not like this?"

"No, it's just…." His eyes shone as they appraised her body. "You look beautiful in this dress. It's so sexy."

It was a simple white number, with cap sleeves and a hem that just touched her knee. Her front was fully covered, as was her back, with a delicate zipper trailing down her spine that was hid demurely under a thin strip of fabric. All in all, the dress was classy and mature, maybe even alluring in its modesty, but nowhere close to the dresses that most people considered sexy. She was hardly showing any skin. Even its shape lent some room around her curves, notably the most physically sexy thing about her.

"How?" she asked curiously, tilting her head. Sam leaned in and spoke against her exposed throat, whispering his seduction.

"It makes me imagine. And my imagination is wild as hell, princess." A firm swipe of his tongue over her jawbone caused her to shudder.

"W-what are you imagining when you see me in this dress?" She gasped when she felt him unzip his fly, and her answer was a hard-on as thick and firm as tree bark nudging her center. That damn cotton underwear was the only barrier preventing Sam from penetrating her at that very moment.

"I'm imag'nin'..." he whispered, in his deepest southern drawl, "those heels digging into my backside, those points at the end, sharp as ever, tearing through the first good fitting pair of dress pants I've had since I was ten. I'm imagining you spreading your legs for me under that wide skirt, taking me in deep without anyone being able to tell from looking between us 'cause it falls past your knees."

Her breath caught when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom wrapped in golden foil, then ripped it open with his teeth and spit the trash out to the side. Mercedes leaned in and caught the uncovered condom between her teeth, turning her face away before his hands could reach for it. With an amused grin, Sam kissed her nose and pulled back, loving the way she looked when she pushed her tongue through the lubricated circle and the phallic-shaped rubber dangled from her mouth. Her wide eyes observed him, seemingly waiting for instruction, as they danced in excitement.

"And I imagine myself coming inside you and all over the tops of your thighs...having you walk around with my seed on your skin, staining the inside of your dress, while you entertain guests and greet members of your church and go 'bout life like I'm not all over you, like I didn't just have your knees shakin' around me five minutes ago."

Mercedes's knees shook around him then. Her entire body hummed and pulsed from his words. Overwhelmed and excited, she whimpered and fell forward, running her nails down his back as she thrust her hips forward and circled them against him. Her teeth ground when he looped his finger around the crotch of her panties and held them to the side.

"I'll be needing that, baby," Sam cockily purred, snatching the condom from between her teeth with a wet snap of rubber. He looked down to slip it on and position himself properly, but her eyes never left his face once to monitor what he was doing. His gorgeous eyes and dimples...the curve of his mouth and set form of his jaw...the way he could do magical things to her mind as well as her body...all of it left her desperate for more of him. Mercedes ached more of his sexual thoughts of her whispered hotly in her ear, more of his gentle teasing caresses over the parts of her covered by clothes.

She could orgasm from the build up alone, without being filled by him in any other way.

"Are you ready?" he asked with a soft smile. "I'd like to make love to you while you're wearing this, if that's alright with you. If it's too much, we can go to bed. I'll carry you there, and we can do whatever you like for as long as you want."

And then there was his kindness, his concern for her well-being that stirred her soul in a different way. The sexual appeal Sam found her dress was probably in some odd way similar to how his chivalry turned her on. In appearance, it was simple, but could awaken the libido and quicken the pulse to her nether regions in record time.

Mercedes replied by loosening his tie and wrapping each end around her knuckles, visibly anchoring herself for love-making on the hard surface. The soft smile on his paler lips turned wicked, and with one slow ease of his hips, a fully clothed Sam slipped into his fully clothed fiancée on what would be their newly christened kitchen counter.

"Give me everything, Sam," she cried, winding his tie slowly around her hands until she had his mouth fused to hers. For a moment, between thrusts, Sam broke away and spoke his mind.

"Someday, just give me a daughter as beautiful as you, Mercy. I know I sound crazy for always asking, but it's all I want," he breathlessly begged, slipping the crook of his arms under her knees to deepen his thrusts. "The greatest thing I could ever ask in life is you wearing my ring, calling yourself my missus, and carrying my child."

Dripping and full of him, she nodded, panting as his request pulled her closer to the precipice. "I want it. I want your baby someday, Sam. I want a life with you, more than anything."

Sam growled in pleasure and buried his head into her neck, cradling her back as he rested her against the sink faucet and thrust harder. As orgasm grew closer, his hips gained momentum and aimed purposefully for the deepest recesses of her. His clouded mind, scrambled by the heady scent of her arousal wafting between them, silently thanked God for the condom he'd had the presence of mind to slip on before their passion took over. The way it was between them at the moment felt too electric not to create life.

"I'm coming!" she screamed, shedding blissful tears against his temple as their bodies shook, and everything between them became the beating of drums and fireworks dancing behind eyelids.

O-O

In the early hours of the morning, a more sober Sam stumbled out of their bed, shaking his numb hands and sleeping legs to wake them after the third vigorous go-round of lovemaking put Mercedes into a peaceful slumber. Grumbling about the unnecessary brightness of light bulbs in bathrooms, he dampened a small rag with soap and warm water to clean his sore genitals, then took another and did the same for his sleeping beauty. Clothes were haphazardly discarded well after their second encounter, and her naked form covered in blankets made it easy for him to clean her thoroughly without disturbing her sleep. When he was done, Sam snuck in a soft kiss to her sex, then her stomach, before settling back behind her. She rolled over in his arms and rested her head over his beating heart, pressing a kiss as equally as soft as his just above the organ.

"I felt you," she said hoarsely, barely opening her eyes. "Thank you."

"Mhmm," he hummed, yawning and smacking his lips before tightening his hold around her waist. "Remember what I said? Wanting more of you?"

"Yeah?" she sighed, yawning as well.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they fluttered closed, just before he uttered, "This is what I was talking about."

"The sex?" she asked with a gentle laugh, careful of the hangover induced migraine brewing in her skull.

"The connection," he replied, kissing her forehead. "You've been right beside me, but I've missed you so much." Sam missed the moment she looked up and blinked away her happy tears.

"I missed you too," she whispered, reaching across his hip to slide her fingers between his. Soon, their breathing settled and evened in slumber.

Three important lessons were learned that day, two of which were immediately realized that morning. The first being the importance of honesty, for it is only the most vulnerable self that can be receptive to love. Lies stir up contention, and love cannot be fostered in an environment riddled with deceit.

The second, more beautiful lesson learned was the true measure of one's wealth. Money would always be there, always hold some man-made value, waiting to be earned. There would always be an opportunity waiting to change a life's direction, to re-purpose it. But, as quickly as it's gained or achieved, it can be taken away without warning. The fanciful things of this world may bring joy for a time, but it is never promised to last. It is the seeds sown in people that bear the most resilient fruit, and Sam and Mercedes have discovered that their most abundant harvests lie in the heart of the other. With all that life has thrown at them, all the people around them that have come and gone, what they share has withstood every test of time. Their souls are tethered, unbreakably so, even when the body weakens to fear and the mind caves to skepticism.

The third lesson, unfortunately, would not be so easily learned, nor would it be the most welcome lesson. Its truth lies at the heart of every good deed, overshadowed by the best of intentions. Every decision has its cost, and at times, what must be paid is of greater weight than the deed itself. This lesson in particular has already presented itself in several forms: betrayal, when Donovan chose to take advantage of Mercedes' generous heart for supporters of her music; shame, when Sam made a fool of himself at a frat party in his best efforts to fit in; anger, over a secret job hidden out of loving concern; resentment, when plans to improve are thwarted by family that can never understand your greatest efforts.

But the consequence of a well-intentioned action, the one that would truly hit home for Sam and Mercedes, would not manifest itself until several weeks had passed. By then, its price would manifest in the form of regret, over naïve wishes whispered in passion and unforeseen consequences of drunken decisions made to rebuild their relationship.

But now, as the lesson's pupils were sleeping, its cost came in the form of a tied condom, hidden amidst piles of crumpled school notes and balled laundry lint. Two rows of familiar, visible teeth marks crisscrossed along the shaft, caused by two separate mouths unconsciously biting into a material best suited for gentler handling. From them leaked small amounts of Sam's cooling semen, spilling over into the nearby trash just as its owner had spilled over into Mercedes that night. If they weren't so drunk with wine and each other's presence, the more cautious of the two would have insisted on changing condoms between their romps. And sadly, Mercedes was too drowsy that morning to catch the telling white stains on the rag Sam lovingly cleaned her with before he tossed it into the pile of dirty laundry. Sam, the more romantic of the two, was too blinded by the near poetic perfection of their evening to even notice.

O-O

It's not perfect, but it's mine, and I'm happy with it. I hope you are, too! Be careful not to jump to any hasty conclusions after this chapter. I promise you, I have way more story to tell and lots of surprises up my sleeve. *evil cackles*

A couple things to walk away with after this chapter:

Alcohol doesn't solve problems, but it can create them. I hope I've made that clear in my story so far. We really need to stop romanticizing the thought process while under the influence, because it's pretty messed up.

Condoms should never be bitten. EVER! Don't rip a packet open for one with your teeth. Don't let it sit between teeth period. I don't care how sexy it looks. They are a fragile protection, a thicker glove if you will, and should be handled as such.

There is no greater ruin to any relationship than excessive pride. Many a man have fallen prey to it, and Mr. Jones is no exception.

Make love with someone who can make you laugh. If Nigel Thornberry impressions and cheesy innuendo are your thing, then find the person who does it for you. The most satisfying sex is usually the least sexy thing to observe, but at least you enjoy yourself. That's what matters. Be comfortable.

Until next update lovelies!

Song Credits:

Try by Nelly Furtado

Drunk in Love by Beyonce