Hot Mess

by TBloves2read

I didn't come up with this story; it's one I rewrote for Samcedes fanfiction several months ago. If you know the author's name and the original title I would appreciate it if u let me know. I am doing a Fanfiction Titles A-Z challenge in which I will post stories I have begun and discarded during this quarantine. I renamed some stories and will take them down some once it's over.

Sam

I'm one of the six men holding my mother's casket.

It's me, my good friend Mike, and the rest are my half-brother and cousins. I'm not afraid to admit I'm crying or that I've been since the moment she died. She was supposed to have another few months. I was supposed to have more time, but cancer doesn't care about time.

She died like most of us wanted to, in our sleep, and no longer in pain. That was the one thing I was grateful for. She had been in pain for so long. I hated seeing her struggle to breathe, walk, and later talk. The most basic things became a substantial exhausting task, and it hurt that there was nothing I could do to make it better.

I woke up the next day to help her out of bed like I usually did, but the moment I saw her, still as a statue and as pale as death, I knew. I ran to her side, shook her to try and wake her up, ignoring the voice in my head telling me she was gone. I thought it was all a bad dream and that if I shook her hard enough, she would wake up and tell me everything would be okay.

She never did.

And now, I am carrying her down an old, worn red-carpeted aisle of the church her parents got married in. We no longer attended the Catholic church, but it was important to her that her life ended where their lives began.

We set the heavy wooden casket down, and I catch myself on it as my knees give out. I can't move. I just kneel there staring at the coffin holding the person that meant the world to me. I wipe my eyes when it becomes too hard to see, and someone bends down next to me, throwing their arm over my shoulder.

"Sam." Stevie my younger half-brother whispers.

"I can't move," I say with a shake of my head. "I can't move my legs."

"It's because you're kneeling," he replies.

"I still can't move."

He settles next to me, keeping his voice lower so no one can hear.

"Take a deep breath for me. It's going to be okay. It doesn't seem like it now, but it will be."

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm not okay. I won't be okay for a long time."

Stevie who was not raised up with me but by my dad and my stepmom decides to get my best friend Mike to try to help me move as he goes to comfort our younger sister Stacie.

Mike pushes against my shoulder to turn me to face him. His eyes are drawn in concern, red and puffy from his own tears. I'm not surprised, he was my best friend and my mother always treated him like he was her son.

His hands grip my face tight. "It's okay. What you're feeling is okay. I'm here for you."

He pulls me into a tight hug and clutches onto his blazer tight; a few tears fall onto his shoulder, wetting the material. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."

I don't say anything. Usually, the reply is, 'It will be fine, or it will all be okay,' like Mike says, but in my gut, I don't believe that. It's just a generic response you tell people to make them feel better. Nobody wants to hear me say I'm not okay, I'm dying inside, and I can't imagine a life without her. So no, I don't believe it. My mother dying is anything but okay. If it were, then I'd be all right. I'm not.

"Come on. Let's go sit down."

"All right" I whisper.

Mike stands, and my hands are in the crease of his arms as he lifts me by my biceps. My legs shake, my heart races, and my vision is still blurry. There are hundreds of people here, and for the first time in my life, I don't give a damn what they see when they look at me. I'm a grown man who is balling his eyes out like a baby, so what? Everyone can go to hell if they have a problem with it.

"Come on," Mike guides me to the pew, and before I sit down, I see an old familiar face.

Her hair is longer, but that is the only thing that has changed. Her eyes are still the same. A color that is a golden brown that often looks like pure gold that makes me wonder if she is an enchantress.

Our eyes meet and she has big tears forming as she stares at me. They fall slowly, grazing the flawless mahogany skin I've fantasized since the day I met her in high school. We were never more than friends, not that I didn't want to be, but I never voiced how I felt and I have regretted it ever since. Mercedes Jones has always been at the forefront of my mind as the one who got away.

Her chin quivers as she mouths, "I'm sorry, Sam."

Her apology means more to me than anyone else's in the room. My chest already feels lighter for some reason. I nod and give her my back, staring at the polished dark mahogany in front of me. Large wreaths stand on either side of the casket with a large photo of my mother back before she was sick. She was beautiful — long blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile that shined kindness. I was one lucky man to have a mother like her.

I'm not sure how long the service lasts. I just stare at the space in front of me. The pastor talks on and on, but his words fall on my deaf ears. All I hear is the blood rushing through my body.

"Sam," My brother nudges me.

"What?"

"This is where you go up and say something."

Never in my life have I been so scared. How do I sum up into words what my mother meant to me?

"I can't."

"You'll regret it if you don't," he says. "I know I am only sixteen, but I do know how important it is to say goodbye to the ones you love. I don't even know if you will even listen to me, but you are my big brother, and I love you, but you can't not say the words you need to say."

He is right, but again, my legs don't move.

"Sam," a different voice penetrates my fear.

I blink away the tears and turn my head slightly to the left. My brows pinch together when I see Mercedes in front of me. We haven't seen each other or spoken to one another in years, but her hand lands on my knee, and with her other hand, she holds it out, waiting for me to grab it. "Let me help you, Sam."

I stare aimlessly at her hand. The skin of her palm is lighter than the skin gracing her body.

"Come on, I won't leave your side," she says.

Slowly, unsure, and having no idea if I'm doing the right thing by trusting her, I slide my hand into hers, and I swear my entire body feels the touch. She helps me stand, and it should feel like one of my weaker moments, I know that, but instead… I feel stronger. It helps knowing I'm holding someone's hand that understands. She gets that sometimes the brain and the body stop communicating in a time of pure sorrow. She understands that nothing else matters but the depression consuming me. Understands that no matter what anyone says, no one can make me feel better.

When she lost her older brother in high school, she felt like a piece of her died that day. And I remember holding her hand to go to the podium when they called her name to speak. She's returning the gesture, not out of obligation, but out of understanding.

Mercedes wipes the tear off my cheek just as another falls down her face. "Come on. Your mom is waiting to hear what you have to say about her."

I give her a half-smile, something I haven't done in weeks, and hold her hand a little too tightly as I walk to the podium. Mercedes holds me just as tight, keeping me steady, which is impressive, considering I am an entire foot taller than her.

The priest steps out of the way, and when I stand at the microphone and overlook hundreds of people, I have no idea what to say. How many of them knew my mom? Did any of them know she liked brown sugar in her coffee instead of white? Did anyone know she loved silk because it made her feel fancy? How she hated all romantic drama movies, except Titanic because she had the biggest crush on Leo? How many people knew she loved the rain just as much as she loved sunshine? How many of them knew she never fell in love again after my dad broke her heart by divorcing her and marrying another woman to have children with?

None of them. None of these people knew her.

"My mother was my best friend." My voice breaks as I try to speak, but end up hanging my head when the words I want to say get stuck in my throat. "She was everything."

Mercedes ' hand lands on my back and in a whisper that I can barely hear, she says, "Your mother made the best double chocolate chip cookies. She never gave me the recipe."

I stare at the woman, who somehow gave me enough strength to get up here and start to laugh, a shoulder shaking laugh, and all I can do at this moment is to bring her into my arms and give her hug. She has no idea the importance of her words are having on me and how much I need to hear them.

I whisper against her shoulder as my hands tighten around her waist, "Thank you, Mercedes ."

"Oh, Sam. No, thanks needed," she replies, squeezing me tight.

Even though I'm bigger, she's the one embracing me, and damn if it didn't feel right to lean on someone other than my tired bones.

Mercedes

Holding Sam like this breaks my heart. We may have drifted apart over the years like everyone does as they grow up and get jobs, but I still hold a special place in my heart for my long lost best friend.

We were inseparable in high school, the best of friends, and I was in love with him every second of those 1,460 days. I never told him. I kept it locked deep because our friendship meant everything to me and ruining that would have ruined high school.

Instead, we spent summers together, fall breaks, winter breaks, spring breaks, anywhere one of us was, everyone knew the other wasn't far behind, and my heart hurt every moment of not having him as mine.

And I miss those days. It's a surprise, considering I was always in pain, aching for him in ways I knew I'd never have.

Now, Sam Evans is leaning on me again after all these years, and I have no idea how to let go. I decide I won't until he does.

The skin of my neck becomes wet, and I hold him a bit tighter as this massive man, who always seems to be in control breaks. Sam was always a momma's boy, and it made sense considering his dad left the two of them when Sam was only three years old. Sam never heard from him again until his mother contacted him to let him know she had cancer, and that is when Sam discovered he had siblings. He didn't reconnect with his dad, but he did correspond to his half-siblings on social media because they wanted to have a relationship with him. He didn't have time to have a deep relationship with them because he was busy as he took on the responsibility of taking care of his mom.

We were in high school when he first found out about her cancer, and he was a wreck because it was one thing he couldn't fix for her. He had to watch her become sick and frail. When she started losing her hair, I held him then too, when he was just a boy figuring out life. Now, he has turned into a handsome and successful man, but right now, we are back in that moment when he was fifteen and afraid.

During all the torment of losing Mrs. Evans, it's too impossible to miss how good he feels. His body heat engulfs me as his tall body hugs my much shorter one. I melt in his arms. He smells so good, a fresh out of the shower smell with a hint of something smokier. He's a contained man, but he wants to break free, blazing this world with his fire that's roaring in his veins right now.

"Mercedes," he whispers into my ear, and the heat of his breath causes my skin to react, a slight shiver working its way over my skin. "I don't know what to say to them."

I lean back, and Sam tightens his arms around my waist to keep me close. I crane my head to meet his sorrowful green gaze and cup the right side of his jaw with my hand, grazing my thumb over his cheekbones.

"Pretend it's me. Remember how we used to do that in school for presentations? Say what you need to say to me, and they will hear you."

A tear left his eyes, rolling quickly down his face until it hit my thumb, and it broke something inside me. My eyes start to water and burn. I try and keep the sobs locked in deep, causing my belly to shake. I want nothing more than to be Sam's fixer.

"Talk to me, Sam. Okay?" I step back and he shakes his head when I unwrap his arms from my midsection. "It will be okay. I'm only going to be over here."

I watch my step remembering there is a slight difference of the ground to the podium. I stand in front of the dark wood. My eyes drift to the silver cross painted on the front, going from top to bottom and side to side.

To my right is his mom, the perfume of the flowers surrounding her take me back to the wild meadows she took us to upstate when Sam and I were children. The grass was as tall as we were, hiding us from anyone and anything. While we pretended to run from aliens, his mom picked the flowers, and the car always smelled of honey.

Kind of like right now.

I wipe a tear off my face and turn my attention to Sam. His eyes are red, and his lips are puffy, his hair is a wreck and his tie is undone. He stares at me and takes a deep breath. Sam's shoulders are massive; the tension in them evident for everyone to see. They finally relax when he takes in a deep breath like it was the first time he could in a long time and exhales. The wood creaks under his grip, white turning the thick knuckles as Sam tries to control himself.

He clears his throat, never taking his eyes off me, and the microphone rings a little as he adjusts it. "Hi, everyone," his voice thick, rough, and slow. "Everyone here knew my mom pretty well," he pinches his eyes closed and lets out another breath. "But no one here knew her as good as me. She was my best friend — the one person I trusted with everything. I called her night and day, and to most, that may sound like too much, and maybe it is, but we were all each other had since I was three years old.

"This woman was my rock. She taught me everything, and to know that I'm here, talking to all of you, I should be more prepared. She taught me better than that, but nothing prepared me for this. She was young. Beautiful. Smart. She had so much more to give the world, but cancer decided to take that from her. She lived her best life, and I know she would want me to live mine, but I don't know how to do that anymore." Sam locks his gaze with mine and the muscles in his face pinch. "I don't know," he says, hanging his head with finality.

He walks off the stage, but before going back to his seat he takes my hand. He never says a word, brings my knuckles to his lips and gives them a wet kiss full of tears. Not letting go of my hand, he leads me away, but instead of going to my seat, he sits down next to Mike and pulls me right beside him.

And throughout the rest of the service, we stay in that same position. He never lets me go. My palm starts to sweat, but I don't dare break the contact. Somehow, this man needs me, and I'm not going to go anywhere until he tells me to.

The piano plays, and his little sister sings 'Amazing Grace' as the pallbearers take their place next to the casket. The only person left to get up is Sam, but by the grip he has on my hand, I have a feeling he doesn't want to go anywhere.

"Sam," I make sure to sound sincere and soft in an attempt to get his attention.

"I can't bury my mother today, Mercedes."

"Sam, you have to hold yourself together a little longer, okay? For her. Do it for her."

"For her."

Sam realizes the only way he can get through the rest of the day now is if he keeps his mother at the forefront of his mind. I knew he would. He lets go of my hand, letting our fingers slide over each other until he is too far.

We break apart and I can tell the strength he has is dissipating. Sam depended on me, but this is something he has to do for himself. He has to realize that now. As he passes Stevie and takes his place in front of Mike, I see Mike's hand patting his shoulder as a sign of support.

The guys walk down the aisle, passing by the burning candles at the end of every pew as the piano plays a melancholy song that makes everything feel sadder. Everyone's cries fill the church, echoing off the acoustic ceiling. Rain taps against the roof as a slight smile starts to curl from my lips when a memory of Ms. Evans surfaces.

"There goes the angels again. You'd think they would use a cloud as a tissue, right?" she would say every time I cried and nudged my shoulder.

I stare up to the vaulted ceiling with massive beams and listen, hoping that Ms. Evans is one of those angels, and right now I'm hoping she's telling Sam everything is going to be okay.

Sam's soul just lost a piece of itself. His bright disposition darkened today, and I know if he isn't careful, he will lose himself to the shadows.

We will all lose him.

Sam

I think it's been two weeks.

Maybe.

I don't know. I've been drinking too much to care to keep track. Like right now, my head is drumming against my skull, and the light peeking through the curtains is too much for my alcohol ridden brain right now. So I turn over in my bed, throwing the covers over my face as I try to go back to sleep.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

At first, I thought it was the throbbing in my head smashing against my skull, but when the sound continues, it riles me from my drunken stupor. Someone is at the door.

"I'm coming!" I slur.

I stumble from the beer cans crunching under my feet and catch myself on the wall. Okay, I don't catch myself, the wall catches me. Same thing.

"Sam!" Mike's voice comes from outside. "Open this damn door, now!"

"I'm coming! Hell, you're the one interrupting me," I yell when I turn the corner and my elbows slams into the sharp edge of the wall. "Ow, dammit."

That would have never happened if Mike wasn't behind my door. I trip over my shoes in the middle of the entranceway and kick them away…somewhere. I open the door a smidge, only letting Mike see one eye.

"What?"

"Sam," his voice drips with pity.

"No, if you're going to do that, you could have called."

"I tried. Your phone goes straight to voicemail."

"Oh." Right, I haven't charged it. "What do you want?"

"I'm checking in on you, man. It's been two weeks since we spoke." He leans forward and wrinkles his nose. "You smell like shit, Sam. When was the last time you showered?"

I hold my weight up on the door handle when the case of beer I finished yesterday makes be a bit off−balance. I lift my arm and take a whiff, but I don't smell anything. He's lying.

"Do not."

"Yes, the hell you do. Sam, people are worried about you. What about your company? Let me in. We need to talk."

"No," I try to shut the door, but his foot slips in the crack, stopping me and then he kicks it open, sending me falling on my ass, crunching more beer cans.

I don't bother getting up. I lay there as Mike spins in a circle, staring at how I've kind of let my house go the past few weeks. The floor is cold, sobering me up a bit, and I reach under me to grab an empty beer can. I crush it with my fist and throw it, hitting something in the distance. I have a feeling Mike is going to give me a lecture. I don't want a speech. Anything he says won't matter. Everyone has the right to go through his emotions.

It's not like I got a parking ticket or lost my job and I'm overreacting. I lost my mom. It's not like I got a parking ticket or lost my job, and I'm acting dramatic. I lost my mom. Everyone can go to hell if they can't understand that. I did not only lose my mom; I lost my best friend and the only close family I had left. Stevie and Stacie were my half-sbiblings who I saw for the first time when my mom died, and for the third time at the funeral. They lived with my no good piece of crap dad in Kentucky. I was the only Evans I was related to in Ohio. It's just me, and it's never been just me. It terrifies me.

Mike squats next to my head, placing his elbows on his knees and sighs, "I'm worried about you, man."

"Don't be. I'm fine."

"This isn't fine."

Mike grabs my hand to help me up, but I yank it away from him and scoot against the wall.

"It is fine!" I shout. "Let me just grieve in peace. Get out."

"No."

"I said, get out!" I stand, teetering on each foot from lack of coordination and too many days of drinking.

"I'm not leaving you," Mike wraps his arms around me in a bear hold and I struggle pushing him away, but the sucker locks his palms behind my back. "I'm not going anywhere. I gave you time. I gave you time to be alone, and I only left you alone because Mercedes said to for a little bit, but then to kick your ass if you don't come up for air."

"Mercedes?" I whisper it as a question. She was there. At the funeral. "She was there."

"Of course she was," Mike pulls back and shakes his head. "Man, you are choosing to do this alone. You aren't alone. I'm here. We are all here, okay?"

I lay my forehead on his shoulder and think his words over. I know they are there, but them being here doesn't stop the loneliness. I have a piece of me that's numb and broken now, and I don't think I can fix it. No, I know I can't. The sooner my friends realize that, the better.

Mike pushes me down the hallway and shoves me in the bathroom.

"What are you doing?"

He turns on the water, not caring that I'm in sweatpants, and pushes me over the edge of the tub. I land hard, yanking the shower curtain down on top of me as the metal rings that held it up snapped and scatter in the porcelain tub. One even hits me in the face while cold water starts to stream down on me.

"Step one; you need to bathe — you fricking stink. While you soak the last two weeks away, I'm going to clean your place. After you're through with step one, step two is to repeat step one, and then when you're finished with that, start over. I don't want to see you for an hour."

"Fine," I grumble, tossing the shower curtain off of me. The cold water sobers me up some, and the blurry edges around the sides of my eyes clear.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Your mom was a good woman, but she wouldn't want you like this and you know it. She was too hungry to live life, and she'd be disappointed to see you're squandering the opportunity."

"Whatever."

After saying words that make guilt eat my drunken soul alive, Mike shuts the door behind him. "I locked you in! There's a chair under the door handle, so you can't think about getting out of this."

Asshole.

Mike thought of everything. He's right, though. If mom were still alive, she'd be furious at me. I need to be better. It will take some time, but I'm willing to try and get back on track.

I toss the curtain off of me and plop my wet sweats on the floor. I don't bother adjusting the water temperature. I leave it ice cold, letting the frigid temperature awaken my bones. I can hardly remember these last two weeks. It's all been a blur. My days and nights ran together, and I didn't know my left from my right.

The water washes away the guilt, depression, anger, and only a chip of sadness. I figure it will take longer to get used to living a life without her. I still have her number in my phone, her last messages, the pie she made in the fridge, and her famous beef stew recipe sat on the counter because she was going to make it last weekend.

My eyes start to burn again and a part of me hates how I've become. I need to get over this. Dying is a natural and inevitable part of living. But when I try to get past the pain, something pulls me back. I want to be stronger, but how when I'm surrounded by everything my mother loved. She lived with me for the last year, when the cancer got too bad. I knew my time with her would be cut short, so I didn't give her any other options but to be with me. I'm glad I got that time.

I'm so angry I didn't get any more.

With a heavy exhale and a languid arm, I wash my body. Scrubbing alcohol, sweat, tears, pity, and a bit of pathetic off. The drain gurgles, struggling to contain how much grime is coming off my body. I do what Mike says. I bathe three times until the water runs clean and my mind is somewhat clear.

"You almost done?" he shouts from the other side, and the word 'shit' follows quickly behind. A bag of cans rustles before I hear the crashing of aluminum falling to the ground. I'd laugh if I didn't know all of those cans were beer. I'd laugh if I didn't know all of those cans weren't beer bottles.

"Yeah, I'm done. I'm going to brush my teeth."

"Good, then you're going to pack your bag and we are getting out of here, maybe burn this place down. I don't know if there is hope for it."

"It's not that bad," I say, running the toothbrush under the water before the paste, then under the water again. It's the law.

"It's worse. When we leave, I'll get someone to come to clean this place."

"Can you unlock the door now and tell me where we are going? I don't feel like going anywhere."

"Too bad, Sam." He moves the chair and opens the door, and I notice how clean the hallway is. I owe him one. "We are going to Vegas."

"What? No. I don't feel like stepping outside the house and you want to take me to Vegas?"

"Yes, you don't feel like it because you're depressed. I understand, which is why I'm taking my best friend to Vegas with a few other buddies of mine."

I know there's nothing I can say to get me out of this. The minty fresh toothpaste burns the rancid after beer taste off my tongue, and the clean sensation has me feeling a little brighter, like when a dying plant finally finds water and sunlight.

"Maybe we can swing by the company and update them since we are going to be out by the west coast."

I cringe, remembering one last thing I did before I tossed myself in a cave. "No need to do that."

"Why? It isn't a big deal. It's only a few hours away—"

"I said it isn't needed, okay?" I grip the counter with my palms and debate on how to form the next words. I finally did what I've wanted to do after I made my first billion.

"Sam, what the hell did you do?"

I don't need to tell him. It's my business not his.

I double check the towel around my waist to make sure it's secure and stroll by him. When I get to my room, it's completely different from when I left it an hour ago. The floor can be seen. All the shiny beer cans are gone. There's a few stains on the floor and an old pizza box sitting on my computer table, but it's better than it was.

"I didn't do anything," I reply with a shrug. "Nothing that I haven't wanted to do for a long time anyway."

I fish through my closet and find a plain green t-shirt and throw on a pair of sweatpants.

"Are you broke? You went broke, didn't you? Damn it, Sam. I told you—how could you let this happen? You built an empire on investments! I can help if you need money—"

I hold my hand up to stop him from talking and then grab the deodorant off my dresser.

"I sold the company. Before you freak out—"

Mike shut his mouth so hard his teeth clank together.

"I sold it for a lot of money, Sam. Money isn't the problem. I sold it because the thought of working right now is too much. I have a lot going through my head that I need to work through. I might travel or something but I need time and work doesn't give that to me."

A sly smile crosses his face as he leans against the wall and crosses his arms. "It sounds like to me that you have money to burn."

"I suppose I do."

"Vegas is going to be so much fun, man. All your worries. All your stress. Poof," he flicks his fingers in the air to gesture something disappearing from thin air. "Gone."

Gone.

I like the sound of that.

Mercedes

I have only returned home because not only did I lose my job, but because of the funeral. It has been two weeks though, and I haven't heard a word from Sam.

I've tried reaching out a few times, but my calls went straight to voicemail so I did the next best thing– I called Mike. Mike gave me updates telling me that he finally got Sam to shower, and then he told me that he threw away so many beer cans in the recycling bin, that he had to make a cardboard box to go next to it and label it 'recycling.'

It only made me worry about Sam more. Maybe coming to Vegas was a bad idea. I should have been a good friend and stayed with Sam. Perhaps I should have barged my way into his place. I chose not to though because I know the kind of person he is. He needs time to process everything, no matter how he does it, but I remember the pact we made when we were teenagers. If either of us got lost in the darkness for too long, it was time to reel the other back in.

I bet he forgot about it, but I never did.

I debate on texting him again to see how he's coping after being in the dark, but I don't have time. I have a job interview at Caesar's Palace to be a blackjack dealer. There's the training I need to do, but it's paid and the money is fantastic; and if it doesn't work out, I don't want to go back home because there are no opportunities for me there. Vegas has a hundred options, and when I saw their ad on Twitter, looking for people to join the blackjack training program, I packed a bag immediately.

Now here I am, sitting in the lobby, waiting for my name to be called, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm out of my element. I'm dressed in an ugly pink button-up shirt that's tucked into a black pencil skirt and wearing black heels that have a cute bow tie on the back. The rest of the women are in crop tops and short shorts.

I know prostitution is legal in Vegas but to interview for it? That's odd.

"Mercedes Jones?"

A woman who seems to be in her early thirties calls out from the door that holds all my hopes and dreams into making it in the adult world. An endeavor that I'm hopelessly failing at.

I haven't had a steady job in years. I've just trying to land a record deal and to make ends meet I have being doing one odd job after another and I'm sick of it. Vegas is kind of an off the whim idea just to try. I have never been here before but I love new places. My dream was to sing and tour the world now it is has been amended to travel and see the world, but I have no idea what to do to make that come true. Perhaps getting this job will be the start of that.

I stand up and run my hands down my skirt to straighten it, hold my head up high, and stick my hand out, "Hi, I'm Mercedes Jones."

She blows out a breath and stares at my hand, "That's good to know. Follow me." My hand is left in the air as she turns around and walks away from me.

Awesome.

I follow her down a bright hallway with large candlestick lights hanging from the ceilings, glistening off the marble floor. On the walls are pictures of showgirls, cocktail waitress, blackjack dealer, customers who hit the jackpot, and everyone is happy and smiling. Well, it has to be fake considering how that woman just greeted me.

"In here. Mr. Schuester will be with you in a moment."

"Great," I say, flashing her with another dazzling smile.

She rolls her eyes, "Newbies." When she shuts the door, I'm left with my mouth hanging open. The audacity of her! She doesn't need to treat prospective employees like this. I'm nervous enough. Now, I'm going to think this guy is rude and dismissive, just like her.

I sit down as I cast my eyes around the room. It's luxurious. An expansive onyx desk reflects the chandelier hanging above it. The marble that makes up the hallway stops at the door and hardwood replaces it, giving the office a more professional look. Bookcases line the wall behind the desk, and to the right there are floor to ceiling windows offering a view of the strip. The sun has set now, and the eccentric show of lights flash from different buildings.

"Wow," I say, standing as close to the glass I can get to take in the view.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

I scream, throwing my hand to my chest and take a few deep breaths. A man is sitting behind his desk now, a bit older with silver teasing his hairline.

"I'm sorry you startled me."

"Are you all right?" he asks. "Please, take a seat."

I nod and make my way over to the leather chaise lounge with gold buttons outlining the seam.

"I'm fine. I was so enraptured by your view that I didn't hear you come in."

"I understand. It's why I refuse to move offices when they recommend it. So–" He rests one arm on the desk and grabs a few papers. "I see here you have a lot of experience but none in the hospitality industry."

"I read the job requirements, and it said that there is a training program and no experience was necessary?"

I start to sweat. It's a possibility my chances are blown.

"You are correct. I'm just curious what brought you to Vegas, Ms. Jones."

I sigh, contemplating in my head how to not make myself sound like an unemployed dreamer.

"Well, honestly, ever since my last job laid me off two years ago, it's been hard to get back on my feet. I want to be happy with my work. I want to interact with people. I want more than the slow-paced life my hometown has to offer me, and I can longer afford to live in LA. I came to Vegas for a new start."

He scrubs a hand over his face and nods. "Well, there's just one problem with all this and it makes me feel terrible."

My heart sinks. What am I going to do now? Well, I guess instead of celebrating a new job my first night in Vegas, I'm going to be applying to more jobs tonight instead.

"The blackjack training program is full as of this morning. Now, I know what I'm about to say isn't what you want, but I think you'll do well at it. You're a pretty girl, smart, and have a rack, ass, and a nice smile. Would you be interested in a cocktail waitress position? Some nights, they make even more money than the dealers. And if you're still interested, when the next dealer program starts, you'll be the first on the list."

A smile replaces the frown after hearing him describe my body but when he mentions I could be in the next program, I couldn't stop my teeth from showing. "Yes, please. I'll do anything right now, honestly. And I definitely want to be considered for the next program."

"I'm already marking you down, but it is the season for gambling so cocktail waitresses are in high demand. Go to HR, and they will give you the uniform you'll be wearing. You'll be getting a packet on our rules and your first few shifts. I'll see you on the floor, okay?"

"You mean to tell me you can leave the view long enough to come to check on us?" I say, light-heartedly.

"Absolutely. This office can get stuffy. I need to know how my employees are doing and what I need to change to make them happy. We care here. I know Sue, my assistant, doesn't necessarily fit the bill but... she's the best damn assistant I've ever had."

"That explains so much," I mumble. "The two minutes of interaction I had with Sue made me second guess working here."

He tosses his head back and laughs, which makes him look a bit younger as he flashes his straight white teeth.

"No need to be nervous. You're great and you're hired. When can you start, though? So I know to put it on the packet you take to HR."

"As soon as possible. Now, if you want."

"Eager, I like that. You're going to do well here, Ms. Jones. I know being a waitress isn't the dream, but all of us need to start somewhere. I was the assistant to the assistant's assistant when I started back before the paper was made."

"Oh, you can't be that old. You don't look a day over forty!"

"Aren't you sweet. If only. Those were the good years."

He gets up and buttons his blazer, and I take it as a cue to get up as well. He holds out his hand for me to shake, and when I meet it, he places a hand on my shoulder as he steers me out of his office.

"It's nice to meet you. Follow this hallway all the way and make a right, HR will be right there. I'll see you around, okay?"

I give him a smile that could brighten an entire room. "Sounds like a plan."

When I start to walk away, it might be me overthinking things, but his hand seems to linger for a few seconds too long until I am too far out of reach for him to touch me. I glance over the curve of my shoulder and notice him watching me walk down the hall, giving me a friendly wave when he notices that he has been caught.

No, it's all in my head. This is a new start, and my boss is a friendly old man.

But if that's true, then why am I walking down the hallway faster?

Sam

"Go ahead, say it," Mike says as we step off his private jet toward the SUV.

"I'm not going to say it."

"You know you want to."

I shake my head and take my phone out of my pocket. Now that it's fully charged, I'm waiting for a text back from Mercedes. She left a few voicemails, which I saved because the sound of her voice soothes me in a way nothing else has been able to, not even alcohol. She also sent a few texts a while back, and I finally answered her back, telling her I wasn't ignoring her but that I had lost myself for a bit.

I wonder if she's read them. She hasn't messaged back and it's been hours. The last time she saw me can't be the last time she sees me. I need her to see me again when I'm not on the verge of a mental break down.

"She'll message you back," Mike says as he climbs into the black SUV.

I stuff my phone in my pocket and shrug. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I hate how Mike seems to know everything that's going on with me. Okay, I don't hate it. He's my best friend and it's his job to know these things, but it's unsettling sometimes how he always knows what I'm thinking.

"Surrre, you don't. Mercedes Jones, your high school best friend and the only woman you have ever been in love with? Not her, huh?"

I stare out the window, taking in all the significant buildings, flashing lights, and the number of people walking on the sidewalk. Street performers draw clusters of people in along with the Bellagio's water show. Blues, purples, and green lights strobe as the water dances from the digital manipulation. It's a beautiful sight.

Mike is right. I'm glad to be out of the house and back to the land of the living. I feel better than I did two weeks ago and that's progress. I've had a hundred people say it just takes time to heal, but it isn't just about healing. It's about learning to live my life differently without my mother's presence. It's about adapting and adapting takes time.

Healing after someone you love dies…it doesn't just happen. There's always that major piece of your life missing.

Time—what a joke.

"You okay?"

"You're right," I say, flicking the lent off my pant leg. "I needed this."

He's right about Mercedes too, but I can't inflate his ego too much or I'll never live it down.

"I need a break from reality."

"I'm glad to give it to you, Sam."

"How's Tina doing? You said a while back that the pregnancy was hard on her."

He turned the blinker on as he made a lefthand turn at the red light.

"Things are better. She isn't alone. She has one of her friends staying with her while she is on bed rest this last month, but I wouldn't have come if the doctor hadn't assured me that everything was okay. Plus I think Tina wanted me to leave. She said I was smothering her. How could she say that? If I'm smothering her, it's because I care. Hell, she's carrying my baby."

"She needs breathing room too, Mike," I smile.

It feels good to talk about something other than me.

"I'm sure she gets tired of you telling her what she needs to do, eat, walk, and move," I chuckle a little remembering the last time I went over to their house. Tina threw an entire chocolate cake at him after he said she couldn't eat it because it would cause her blood sugar to rise, which could induce early labor if she wasn't careful.

"I swear I'm still washing cake out of my hair," he grumbles.

She's a firecracker that Tina.

"It's funny how things work out, huh? I never thought you and Tina would make an actual go of it."

"She's easy to fall in love with," he says with so much adoration that it's impossible not to tell he is head over heels for her.

Yeah, that's how I've felt about Mercedes. Even after five years of not keeping in touch, she's the only woman I ever thought about every day. When I saw her at the funeral, more beautiful than ever, I thought, "That's her. That's the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with." And I've known that since I was fourteen and dealing with the hardships puberty brought. Why have I never done anything about it?

We pull into Caesar's Palace, and the valet guy, who can't be more than eighteen years old, runs in front of the SUV and opens Mike's door. Mike gives him the keys to the rented Range Rover and tips him two−hundred bucks.

"Thank you, sir. Do you need help with your luggage?"

"No, thanks. We got it."

Mike pops the trunk and we reach in to grab our suitcases. The entrance to the hotel is extravagant. It has intricate carvings that mimic classic roman design. A large red velvet carpet laid on the ground, plush with a lot of cushions, and my shoes sink into as we stroll through the automatic doors. A gush of a/c makes my face cold, but the singing of slot machines quickly heats my blood by pumping my heart full of excitement. I worked hard to make my money but staring at the slot machines, blackjack, and craps tables; I can't wait to blow it. Or if I get lucky, I'll win. This trip isn't about winning. It's just about adapting again.

"So who is meeting us here?" I ask, almost slamming into a waitress who is carrying an entire tray of drinks. "Sorry," I shout after her, but she pays no mind, slithering through the crowd of money-hungry people.

"My friend Rory is meeting us. I met him traveling for work. He's…different from what you'd expect."

"Different how?"

"You'll see," Mike says.

I decide not to think a second more about it. If Mike trusts him, then I trust him. We finally get to the front desk, marble with gold trim.

"Hi, welcome to Caesar's Palace. My name is Marley. How can I help you today?"

"Hi, Marley," Mike greets, setting his suitcase on the ground. "I have a reservation under Mike Chang."

Her eyes round with surprise, and her cheeks turn a shade of red. "Mr. Chang. I'm so sorry; I should have known it was you." Her hands fly over the keyboard as she types, "Of course, here is your key. You have the penthouse suite with two extra rooms. I have here you are staying for a week. You will have complimentary champagne delivered every night. Thank you for being a gold-plated member for five years."

"It's okay, Marley. Not a problem at all. Thank you so much. Can you have someone deliver our bags? We are ready to hit the casino floor if you don't mind."

"Of course, Mr. Chang. I will take them up personally," Marley says, hurrying around the counter. She's cute in an 'I'm a complete mess' kind of way. I can tell she is trying to make up for not knowing who Mike was, but we know being rich doesn't make us famous, we just wished other people knew that.

"Marley, take a breath, okay?" I reach into my pocket and pull out a hundred. "You're doing great."

The whites of her eyes show again. "Thank you, Mr–?"

"Evans."

"Evans Inc.?" she stutters, licking her dry lips.

"If I say no, would that make you relax?"

"No, because you'd be lying."

I slide the money into her palm and smile. "Have a good night, Marley."

I quicken my steps to catch up to Mike and feel better than I have in a while. Come to think of it; I've been weighed down by knowing my mom is going to die for so long that I can't remember the last time I had fun.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Mike says before we step down to the smoke-filled room. I don't smoke but I wouldn't mind having a cigar.

"Nothing, just thinking about how good I feel right now. Where's your friend?"

"He said his flight got delayed two hours. He is flying from Ireland, so I'm not too surprised."

"Ireland? To come to Vegas? We should have gone there."

"It was Rory's idea. I think he wanted to get away too."

Huh, interesting.

"What do you want to do?"

I take a good look around, looking over the crowd. A few people are celebrating by the penny slots, an older couple. Each of them is wearing a visor and a fanny pack. To the right of them, a man holds out his palm to the woman next to him. She's wearing a tight black dress that pushes her breasts up to her chin. Her lips are painted red, and she smiles when she realizes what he wants.

She bends over and blows on the set of dice, bringing luck. He rolls them, and he shouts with celebration when he gets what he wants. He wraps his arm around the woman, kissing her cheek. I guess she brings him luck after all. It's all overwhelming but in a good way.

"Blackjack?" I feel a bit devilish. I shouldn't play cards, but playing by the rules is something I don't want to do right now.

Mike's lips twitch in a knowing smirk when he remembers my secret.

A secret he only knows.

Mercedes

My feet are killing me, my cheeks are killing me from smiling so much, and this uniform keeps riding up my ass. It's supposed to but damn it's uncomfortable. I'm wearing a black bodysuit corset paired with red stockings and black stiletto heels. The corset sucks my stomach in and pushes my boobs up, the bottom half of the bodysuit settles right between my butt cheeks.

The uniform is a downside but the tips? Holy shit, the tips are amazing. I've already made two-thousand dollars because Mr. Schuester, my boss, put me in the VIP section. The uniform is kind of slutty and the work isn't glamorous, but it feels so good to have money.

"Mercedes! Table sixteen, new people. Go," the head waitress orders as she struts by me with empty glasses on her tray.

I get up and wince when my feet tingle and ache from being pushed in the tight confinements of these shoes.

"I'm going," I groan and grab my notepad to take their orders. A few people shout out me from other tables, but they aren't in my section, so I push on, turning my body left and right to miss the incoming bodies.

Everyone looks so wealthy. All the men are in fancy suits, and the women have on long gowns that are tailor made to their curves. Their necks, ears, wrists, and fingers are dripping in diamonds.

And here I am, nearly losing my mind over my tips. It goes to show how different social classes are. The game has started when I get to table sixteen and I start from the right, taking orders until I get to the last two men.

"Mercedes?"

Oh, no.

This is not happening.

My breath hitches when I hear the familiar deep voice that has starred in too many of my late-night dreams. My pen falls from my hand and I try to hide my cleavage with my tiny notebook.

"Sam?" I say with horror. He has never seen so much of my body before.

"Well, it's funny to see you here, Mercedes," Mike says, turning in his seat, tapping his finger on the green felt to signal the dealer to hit.

"Um, yeah. Wow. What are the chances?"

"Chances are pretty great," Mike singsongs.

What is he so smug about?

"Mercedes, what are you wearing?" Sam asks.

My cheeks are on fire being caught by Sam. I don't feel like I'm doing anything wrong, but being near him, it makes me second guess if I should be doing this. I bend over to grab my pen, and Sam's shoes push it closer to my fingers. When I stand, he is so close I can smell his cologne and it nearly makes me dizzy. I want to fall into him and bury my nose in his chest forever.

"Answer me," he says.

I clear my throat and click my pen, removing my notepad from my breasts. "I'm here to take your drink orders. Mike, what can I get you?"

Mike scrubs his hand over his mouth but doesn't bother to hide his grin. "A scotch on the rocks, top−shelf."

"You got it." I spin around and my hair fans out, hitting Sam in the chest. "And what can I get you?"

"A reason why you are wearing that?" He unbuttons his blazer and shrugs it off.

"What are you doing? No, Sam." It's no use. He covers my shoulders with it and the jacket hangs down to my knees, effectively covering my ass. "Sam—"

"You can't wear this, Mercedes. I'm not saying you can't, but I'm saying you shouldn't."

"What are you my daddy?" His eyes darken. Wait, what I said didn't come out the way I meant it to. "Listen, it isn't up to you, Sam. I need to work. This job makes money. I need money. Now, stop making this more awkward than it is and tell me what I can get you from the bar."

Sam growls, actually growls. The rumble in his chest is sexy and heart throbbing, making the thin bodysuit I'm wearing wet, leaving me hot and bothered. "I'll order if you leave my jacket on."

I lift my chin, take the jacket off and throw it in his face. "Then I guess you'll die of thirst! I'll be back with your drink, Mike." I huff, adding an extra sway to my hips as I walk away.

I blow out a breath and try to relax. I never expected him to be here, ever. I never expected to see him again, to be honest, but here he is, mad about what I'm wearing. I'm confused. Is he disgusted? Does he like what he sees? What's the big deal?

I place Mike's order in and make a trip around the room to gather empty glasses and more drink orders but I'm being watched. I feel Sam's gaze on me, igniting a fire within my belly. I want to make him happy. I want to wear his blazer and feel the warmth of it from him wearing it all day, but I want to wear it because he is jealous, not because he is an overprotective friend.

Sighing, I pick up another glass, and someone bumps into me. The pint glass falls out of my hand and then the man who bumped into me wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his body. I try to wiggle free, but I can't.

"Sir, let me go," I say, pushing against his chest. Vodka and smoke are rancid on his tongue as he breathes in my face. He bites his lip as he checks me out.

"Look at you," he slurs. "So thick, dark, and pretty. My own petite Lizzo. Can you twerk like her? Damn, what I'd do to you." His hand slips down my back and grabs my ass and I whimper. No one is helping because this is the life everyone is used to living in the casino. I don't feel safe. I feel violated. Tears burn my eyes and I push harder against his chest.

"Get your damned hands off her."

A tear breaks free when I hear Sam's voice. Nothing's changed since high school. He always saves me.

"Back off. She and I are busy."

"I said," Sam's hand lands on the man's shoulder and turns him around, breaking his hold on me. "Let. Her. Go."

"Go to hell." The drunk man stabs his finger on Sam's chest.

And Sam lets out a sarcastic chuckle, stretches his fingers by curling them into his palm and straightening them.

"No one touches her," his voice deepens, and the boy I once knew disappears, and the man I love replaces him.

Sam throws one punch, his muscular arm flying in the air as it hits the drunk man's cheek. My attacker falls over, smacking his head against the table and lays limp on the floor. Sam rushes over to me and puts his jacket around my shoulders again.

"Are you okay?" he asks, checking me over for any injuries.

"I'm fine."

"Why are you crying?" He brushes a tear away that drips down my cheek.

"I've never been in a situation like that before. I froze. I didn't know he'd touch me. And when he did I couldn't get away and no one was helping me, but then you came." I stare at him through watery lashes.

He tugs me to his chest and embraces me in a gentle hold.

"Mercedes, no matter how much time has passed I'll always come for you. Always."

"Mercedes!" Mr. Schuester pushes through the crowd that has formed and stares down at the prone body on the floor. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"That man sexually assaulted her. She's done for the night."

Security comes up to the scene next and pulls out handcuffs. "Is this true, ma'am?"

I nod burying my face in Sam's chest, my safe haven, the place that's always felt like home.

After they carry the unconscious man off, I let out a deep breath. "I'm okay." I go to take his jacket off when Sam stops me.

"Keep it on. You're done for the night, Mercedes."

"Sam, I need to work."

"Sam is right, Mercedes. Take the night off. We will see you the day after tomorrow," Mr. Schuester says, handing me my earnings for the night. "Regardless of what just happened, you did well. Nearly three thousand. It's good to have you on the team."

He leaves me with a wad of cash and I have nowhere to put it. Sam does that growly thing again.

"What now?" I ask him.

"I don't like how he looks at you."

He steers me away from the VIP room and waves toward Mike as we depart from the casino to the hotel.

"He's my boss."

"That means nothing," he scoffs, keeping his arm around my shoulders as we walk side by side to the elevator. When the white plated doors open, the mirrored walls causes a mirage. It looks like there are a hundred of us in here, but it's just him and me in a small space, close, his breath on my nape, and my heartbeat thundering. "You're too beautiful to work in a place like this, Mercedes."

Does he think I'm beautiful?

Don't get excited. Don't get excited.

Sam presses the button for the penthouse and I'm reminded why he and I would never work now. The boy I knew grew up with was just like me with no money, but now he is richer than sin and moves in a different world than I do. I'm not complaining, I think it's incredible and I'm proud of him. But I'm still the same girl who grew up with nothing…and still has nothing.

He types in code when we get to the penthouse floor and when the doors open to the most beautiful place I've ever seen, he and I are alone. He's the savior, the best friend, and I'm the girl pining for him in the worst of ways.

Years later it seems as if the circumstances have never changed, and I wish they would right now, but not all wishes come true even if he is my shooting star, my once in a lifetime, my dream guy.

Dreams are dreams for a reason.

They are a long shot on a lucky strike.

Sam

I'm seething still. My hands are shaking from the amount of fury in my body. I never took my eyes off her, which ended up making me lose two-hundred-thousand dollars in the game but was worth it when I saw her in trouble.

I can't stop seeing that asshole's hands on her, squeezing her ass.

I take a shot of whiskey and slam my glass down the counter, wishing I could punch him in the face again. He touched something that didn't belong to him. Something that is mine. She's mine. She may not ever love me for more than a dear friend, but it doesn't change how I feel.

"Sam?" Her voice has a natural rasp to it soothing the anger sending me back to the dark.

"Yeah?" I turn around and see her clutching the coat together, hiding her body from me.

Her body.

That uniform.

I got so angry downstairs. All those men seeing how beautifully shaped she is from the swell of her large breasts to the round curve of her big juicy ass. They saw it and I saw red. I have never seen that beautiful body I've fantasized over for years, and the first time I do is shared with every other man in that room.

She stepped in front of me in that skimpy thing they call a uniform, and I wanted to rip it off her, throw the chips off the blackjack table and screw her right then and there, claiming her in front of everyone. But then everyone would see even more closely what was mine, and I couldn't have that.

"Thank you for doing what you did. I feel so pathetic." She places her hand on her cheek and then takes off my coat, laying it on the back of the stool.

I grab another glass and pour two fingers−worth in each. I hand it over to her while keeping a good grip on mine when I see her tits pushed up, the tops of those succulent mounds catching the kitchen light. Her skin has a deep golden tint to its darkness, just under the surface of her luscious flesh. It almost shimmers. It looks so rich and delicious my mouth waters for a taste — only one little lick.

Internally, I groan. Who am I kidding? One taste would never be enough.

"Don't feel pathetic. No one knows how they will react until put into a difficult situation. That guy was way out of line. No one should ever touch you like that."

I down the whiskey I just poured in one gulp and then fill it to the rim. The urge to take her and kiss her is too much. I need to quash the desire. So many years of want, need, and desire are building up to a head. I'm about to blow.

"Maybe this job isn't for me." Mercedes bends over and takes off a heel that's way too high for anyone to walk on and she lets out a groan that makes my cock twitch. "Holy hell, these heels suck," she giggles.

Once she has the towers off, she's back down to her height, short and sweet just how I like her. I take another swig and stroll over to the couch that overlooks the strip by the window.

"Come over here," I say, patting the space next to me. "I'll rub them for you."

"Oh, a famous Sam Evans foot rub," she hobbles over, trying not to put pressure on the pads of her feet.

I roll my eyes from all the memories of giving her a foot massage. "I'm a little rusty. Last time I touched a woman's feet were yours, prom night to be exact, because once again you wore heels too high."

"Pain is beauty," she says, plopping on the couch. Mercedes lays her feet on my lap and takes a sip of whiskey.

I gulp down half of my drink, preparing myself to touch her again after all these years. I'm feeling good, a bit tipsy from drinking four glasses so fast. I take one of her feet in my hands after setting the beverage aside and dig my thumbs into her heels.

She moans. The sound awakens something deep inside of me.

"Now, this is a life I can get used to," she says, enjoying the massage.

I bend her toes, rubbing the tops of her pedicured foot. I never thought feet could be pretty but hers are. Even through her red stockings, I can see her toes are painted black, like always, her go-to color. She hasn't changed too much and I like that. There are bits and pieces of who she is now that I still know.

I want to tell her that this can be her life. She can have whatever she wants if she's with me.

If she wants to wake up and have mimosas every day while we sit on the balcony, from wherever in the world and have her feet rubbed?

Done.

She wants diamonds?

Done.

She wants heels she can hardly walk in?

I'll buy her name brand or custom made—only the best for her.

I lay her foot down and retake my drink, downing the rest. I need more. Hell, I might as well drink out of the bottle.

"Need a refill? I'll come back and do the other."

She chugs the amber liquid and makes a face when her glass is empty. "Bleh, this stuff is disgusting."

I chuckle, "It's supposed to be savored, not rushed." Just like Mercedes.

"Then why are we chugging it?"

Because I can't be sober around you; it's too much to bear. All the love I have for you. It hurts too much.

"It's been a rough day," I say instead, taking the half-empty bottle from the kitchen island and walking back over to her. I take a large drink from the bottle and hand it over to her, taking her other foot in my hand like I said I would. I imagine what her skin feels like under her stockings. It's probably soft, so soft, like silk or velvet. I want nothing more than to peel this uniform off of her and feel her entire body against mine, sending me to heaven.

I'm not sure how long we've been like this, drinking, talking about old-times, but soon the bottle of whiskey is gone, and both of us are laughing until tears are leaking from our eyes.

"Remember when you stayed in a canoe all night, naked, on a dare? By the time we found you the next morning, you were across the lake. We had to get another boat to get you." She holds her stomach as she laughs, the sweet harmonic sound is music to my ears. "I can't believe you did that."

I stop massaging and start to draw lazy circles on the top of her foot. "I wanted to look brave for you. I would have done anything to have you see me the way I saw you."

Crap, I didn't mean to say that. Crap. I grab the bottle and turn it up, forgetting that it's empty.

"Let me get another bottle." When I get up to stand, I sway and fall back down. "Never mind."

Her laughter comes to an end and she looks at me with big, round eyes. The contrast between her forest golden irises and her skin is so beautiful. God, I could look into her eyes forever if she let me.

"What do you mean? What did you just say?"

"Nothing," I shake my head. "Nothing, don't worry about it. I remember that next morning. I was freezing but when I saw you the next day, covering me with a blanket, it was all worth it."

Shit, maybe I should have stayed sober. My tongue is way too loose.

Mercedes crawls onto her knees and pushes a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"Sam, what did you say?"

"Nothing. Really. It's nothing." I squeeze my eyes shut as the room starts to spin and rub my fingers over them. "Ignore me," I say.

"It's everything," she says, swinging her legs over my lap until she straddles me.

I swallow loudly and tilt my head back as she hovers over me, her fingers running through the back of my hair. I've dreamed of this since forever. This can't be happening. I'm asleep. It's a dream. Maybe she's really drunk too.

"Tell me again," she whispers against my lips. "Tell me, Sam. Please. Please don't tell me that after so many years of thinking you didn't love me that you did. Don't tell me we spent years wanting each other and did nothing about it."

My hands lay on either side of her hips, the rough material of her stockings scratches against my wrist. I hardly feel it. I'm too focused on how my fingers wrap perfectly around her waist as if she was sculpted just for me. My eyes travel from the space between her legs, hovering over my rock hard cock, sliding up her body until my eyes meet hers.

"Tell me," she says, nearly begging.

"Marry me." The words are out of my mouth before I can tell her what she wants to hear. My hands run up and down her torso, curving over the side of her breasts.

"What?" she leans back, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and I get a whiff of that sweet scent that's made me unable to love anyone else.

"Marry me. I love you. You wanted to hear it, right? I love you, I've always loved you, I've never been able to love anyone. Marry me."

She silently stares at me in shock as her whiskey laden breath mixes with mine. The silence becomes thick, causing my heart to sink. I said to much.

"It's crazy. We are drunk—"

"Yes."

I sit forward, cupping her face with my hands as I dart my eyes over her face. "Say it again."

"Yes, Sam. Yes. I love you too. It's always been you."

I grip the back of her head and smash her mouth against mine. Finally. Finally! Her lips are softer than I dreamed. She opens her mouth as I turn my head, and I use the opening to shove my tongue inside her hot cavern, dancing our tongues together.

She rocks against my cock, whimpering into my mouth as I wrap my arms around her tighter, pulling her closer to me, so there is no space between us.

"I love you," I repeat, thrusting my hips up so my cock finds the space between her legs.

The desire coursing through my veins makes me feel like a teenager jacking off to the thought of her. And just like a randy, uncontrollable teen, she dry humps me, stroking her clit along my sheathed cock, soaking my pants with her juices.

"Oh, god!" she cries, breaking her lips free of mine. "Sam." She bites her lips as she stares at me, rocking.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Until my balls pull tight and my cock swells further, preparing to come. I bury my head between her breasts and lick the space between. I try to yank the top of the corset down, but it's too tight. I growl in frustration, wishing I could cut the top off, but there is no time. She is panting harder, faster, curling her fingernails into my chest.

"I'm going to come," she whimpers. "Sam."

"Do it, baby. Come. Come for me. Let me see how good I make you feel," I say, biting into the swell of her tit, marking the flesh as mine.

Her hips stutter as she leans back, the ends of her hair tickling my knuckles as I hold her hips down. I thrust my cock up, hitting her clit with every stroke until she finally cries out. My name falling off her lips. Mercedes grabs her breasts as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

"Sam," she whispers, and that's all it takes for me to unload, coming in my pants.

I throw my mouth against hers, grunting my release as stream after stream floods my briefs. My hips continue to thrust, wishing I was planting myself deep inside her channel, right to the tip of her womb.

"Finally," she says, her body shaking against mine as we both come down from our high.

The alcohol is roaring through me, the only left to do is get this woman to marry me.

"Let's not waste another minute," I say, kissing her hairline. "We're in Vegas. Let's get married now."

Mercedes swings her legs off me, and I notice my lap is soaked with her juices and mine. A part of me is thinking about taking her now so I can taste her, but she fluffs her hair and holds out her hand.

"I think we've waited long enough," she slurs, the whiskey catching her tongue.

Way too fucking long.

Mercedes

"Do you take this man to be your hunk of burning love, for now, and always, through sickness and in health?"

The Elvis officiant does his classic signature move, spreading his arms out as he takes turns bending each knee and curling his lip. I was never a big Elvis fan but even I have to admit this is exciting.

I'm getting married.

Holy freaking crap!

My brain is a pile a mush, and I'm convinced this is all a dream but I go with it.

"I do," is my response as I squeeze Sam's hands.

"And do you take this woman to be your own little Priscilla? For now and always, through sickness and in health?"

He repeats his move again; his custom outfit has a cape on the back that flutters when he spreads his arms.

"I definitely do," Sam says.

What a nightmare it would have been if he said no.

"By the power vested in me and the state of Nevada, you are now husband and wife. You can kiss your bride!"

The piano plays a happy tune (some variation of an Elvis tune), and everyone waiting to get married behinds us claps.

"Finally," Sam says and pulls me into a toe-curling kiss.

My foot does the most cliché things and lifts behind me as Sam sweeps me off my feet.

"I love you," the whiskey sitting in the back of his throat says.

"And I love you."

We lay our foreheads together for a few seconds before he takes my hand and tugs me behind him as we run out of the chapel. We stumble a bit, tripping over our feet from the amount of liquor we've had.

"We need rings," he says, dragging me outside the doors into the chaos of the shops nestled inside the hotel. "The best rings. Only the best for you, baby."

He spins me around in a circle, dancing with me in a crowd of hundreds. "What do you want? Diamonds? Your birthstone? Whatever you want, it's yours."

He twirls me until my hands land on his chest. It's a good thing he has a hold on me because I'm feeling light-headed. I'm not sure if it's from the booze or from how happy I am, but either way, it isn't a bad thing.

"I have what I want. I have you. It's all I need."

He grins, showing that boyish smile I fell I love with all those years ago. "While that's sweet, I need everyone to see that my woman is taken."

I glance down thinking about my dream ring when I'm reminded of what I'm wearing. My uniform. I still resemble a hooker.

"Can I get a new outfit first before we go shopping?"

"I don't know," he bites his bottom lip. "I like this one…a lot."

Sam spins me again and makes a hum of an appreciation.

"But whatever my wife wants, she gets. But first, I want a kiss."

Oh, what a horrible deal. I place a long, soft kiss against his lips and sigh. Nothing can get better than this.

"Come on."

He drags me from store to store, and while I'm trying on dresses that cost more than I'll ever make in my life, he buys a bottle of champagne, and again, we drink it without glasses.

I'm not sure how many outfits he buys me, but my favorite is the one I'm wearing. It's velvet. A deep red, the color of the deepest ruby, hugging my body in the sexiest, comforting way. Instead of heels, I'm wearing gold sandals that lace up my calves.

"God, you're sexy. How did I get a wife this gorgeous?"

Sam purrs in my ear as we lean against one of the glass shelves showcasing so many sparkling rings. His hands run down the curve my back and squeeze the globes of my ass.

"Sam," I whisper in warning, looking left and right to see if anyone is looking. I take another gulp of champagne, loving how detailed this dream is. Something that feels this good has to be a dream, right?

"I can't help it." He moves my hair from my shoulder and places a kiss on my neck. "How much longer? I'm not sure how much longer I can wait."

"Wait for what?" I turn my head, my lips an inch away from his.

"To be ten inches deep inside that tight pussy," he says, grinding his cock between the crease of my cheeks. "I can't wait to feel you."

Liquid need soaks my folds and my inner thighs since I'm wearing no panties. I've never told anyone this, because in today's world I was embarrassed, but I've never had sex with anyone before. I've dated, I've messed around, but I never went all the way because the only person I ever felt safe enough with to share that part of me with was Sam.

The need was there with other guys but not the trust. I've been thinking about having sex the last few years, but then I just waited so long, I figured, why have sex now? I might as well keep waiting.

And then Sam comes roaring back into my life.

"Yes, I want that too." I press my ass against his cock, grinding against it until he puffs a hot breath against my neck.

"We can get rings later," he growls and goes to pull me away when a sales associate stands in front of us with a wide smile.

"What can I get you folks?" the older man asks with a broad smile on his face.

Sam groans in frustration and I giggle.

"We just got married and need rings," I say. "You wouldn't happen to have a yellow canary diamond in a rose gold setting, would you? With small diamond accents around it?"

"Thought about it much?" Sam chuckles, kissing my cheek.

"Maybe."

Every girl dreams of their wedding ring. This isn't news.

"Of course we have one. This way."

We follow the man to a singular glass case holding one ring. The light shines down on it, and the prisms cut into it, glitter against the shine. Oh my god, it's perfect. I gasp, staring at the large rock.

He takes it out of the encasement and the world slows. He goes to slip it on my hand but Sam interferes.

"May I?"

The man takes a step back. "Oh, of course. I understand."

He hands the ring over, and Sam gets down on one knee, staggers a bit from all the alcohol but rights himself.

"I didn't do it the right way."

He slides the ring on my finger and tears burn my eyes.

"It's a four−carat yellow diamond with two carats surrounding it. It seems to be a perfect fit," the salesman says. "We have a matching band to go with it."

"Do you love it?" Sam asks me.

I nod, holding a hand over my mouth as I stare at it. "I love it so much."

"We'll take it," Sam says.

"It has to be so much money though, Sam, I can't," I say. I didn't expect six carats!

"And I want a band for her to match that ring with diamonds all over it, and one that will match hers for me. Maybe not with diamonds," he adds and hands over a black credit card. "Size us up."

"Mr. Evans, it will be a pleasure."

The white-haired man smiles so much his eyes squint. Fifteen minutes later after sizing our rings, there's a heavy yellow rock on my finger, and a diamond eternity band to match my new status as a married woman.

Sam has a ring on his finger too and knowing he is mine now, forever, it only makes the dream that much sweeter.

"Let's celebrate," he says.

"In the bedroom?" I ask, a bit coy from the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"Hell yes in the bedroom," his chest rumbles, and he drags me behind him, nearly running to the elevator. "In the bedroom, living room, kitchen, everywhere. We have a lot of time to make up for."

The elevator dings and he pushes me inside. I barely have time to catch myself on the wall before he is on me, his chest to my back, sucking the neck of my skin as if he were a greedy vampire.

His hands grope my breasts and he rocks his hard cock against me, a moan escaping his lips.

"You are going to make me lose it again before we get to the penthouse."

I grind my ass against him again, hoping he does because nothing is sexier than when he comes because I made him come.

Nothing.

"Penthouse," the elevator's robotic voice interrupts us.

"Finally." Sam yanks the straps off my shoulders and spins me around, punching in the code, the doors open.

I toss my shopping bags on the floor and wiggle out of my dress, showing off my new sheer bra and matching panties as Sam loosens his tie. The look in his eyes is predatory, primal, and savage. Every time he takes a step forward, I take a step back.

Until he corners me against the wall, both of us nearly naked. His cock is hard through his briefs, curling to the right as it lays down his thigh. So big, just like the rest of him.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this." He grazes his fingers down my sternum.

And he has no idea how long I've waited for him.

But he'll find out soon enough.

Sam

Mercedes trembles beneath my touch. I'm entranced with every inch of how her body moves. I take a step back while my hand kneads her breast, my fingers rolling her nipples, pinching them tightly. I guzzle the champagne I still have in my left hand and then bring my mouth to hers, letting the bubbly drink overflow into her mouth. She moans and drinks it down and never in my life have I been so turned on.

I run my hand down her chest, her skin wet from the champagne, and stare at her bra. I can see her brown nipples through the material, hard and beaded, showing me how much Mercedes wants me. I grip the material between my hands and rip it off her slender frame, her big tits bouncing with freedom.

She arches her back when the champagne and cold air hit her tight buds at once.

"That was new," she chastises me.

"I'll buy you a hundred more like it," I growl dismissively as my hands start to wander down her plump belly and pluck at her belly ring. The light pearl stands stark against her skin, and I tug on it, causing Mercedes to whimper.

Her panties are next. The flimsy material doesn't stand a chance as I pull them away too, the ripping sound sending shivers of anticipation down my spine.

For the first time, I see Mercedes Jones Evans naked and it's nothing compared to what I've envisioned in my head all these years. It's better.

"You're magnificent," I whisper, watching my finger circle the trimmed bush over her pussy. When I slip my hand between her legs, nothing but her juices soak my hand as she moans, pushing her breasts in my face.

She's slick, dripping with need. I explore a bit, watching as her body jerks and shakes every time I pinch her clit. I step closer, venturing further down her sheath until my fingers find her tight hole. I tease it, dip the half my finger in before pulling out and bringing my shining fingers to mouth.

"Mmm, you taste good, Mrs. Evans."

"Sam," she whimpers. "Please."

Hearing her beg breaks all the resolve I have left. I lift her in my arms and carry her to the bedroom and slam the door shut. I toss her on the bed, watching her bounce as her body settles and curl my fingers around the waistband of my underwear, tugging them off.

My dick slaps against my thigh, precum dripping from the slit, sticking to the flesh of my inner leg. I'm throbbing for her. I'm so hard it hurts.

I prowl toward Mercedes, running my hand up her leg as I get situated between the apex of her thighs.

I settle onto my stomach, hissing when my cock strokes against the mattress. It feels good, and I need relief, but first, I need to taste her. I need to taste what's finally mine.

"Sam," her fingers grip my hair. "I need to tell you—"

I don't give her time to finish her sentence, I dive in, spearing her tight hole with my tongue as her cream spreads across my taste buds. Her savory flavor turns me into a maniac.

I grunt and growl, flattening my tongue up and down her folds, licking every inch before sucking her clit into my mouth. Her legs shake, and she tries to lock them around my head when it becomes too much but I spread them with my hands since they are settled in the crook of each hip. Her clit is erect, poking through her hood, begging for more.

And I give it to her.

I concentrate on her bundle of nerves while one finger slips inside her, followed by another, followed by another, until I'm four digits deep. I have to make sure she can take me. I'm not a small man.

"Sam! Sam. Sam."

Nothing has ever sounded as graceful as my name falling off her lips in a fit of passion.

"Oh. Ah, yes! So good."

I glance up to see her lips puckered, forming an 'O' as her eyes roll to the back of her head and her pussy clamps around my fingers. I hurry to bring my mouth to her entrance, gathering all the nectar that flows out of her while she comes.

My eyes roll to the back of my head and the drunken lust I find myself in gets knocked up a peg or two from her sweet cream.

"Sam," she shakes her head back and forth, already debauched and damn if that doesn't make me feel good.

I kiss her sheath, then trail kisses along her inner thigh, dip my tongue in her navel, lick up the middle of her body and settled over her, caging her head in between my arms. The hands that hold our rings come together, intertwining, and I stare at them for a second, in awe and disbelief that I'm here.

It's something I'll never take for granted.

"I don't think you know how much I love you," I tell her, rubbing our noses together when my nerves get the best of me. The next step is a big one, and I don't want to disappoint.

"If it's as much as I love you, then I have an idea," she says, lifting her head to steal a kiss. It's slow, and I taste her, but it doesn't stop her.

She licks my lips and sucks my tongue into her mouth, and it's a direct line to my dick, and this time, a broken whimper leaves me in bated breaths as I hold back my orgasm.

My cock jerks once, coating the outside of her pussy in my seed. My arms shake, and I squeeze my eyes shut when I hold back, my jaw ticking and my teeth grinding together from the impossible force rocking my shaft.

"Sam? Did you…"

Dammit, this is embarrassing.

"No. Yes. A little."

She licks her lips and starts to shimmy down beneath me. I think she's going to suck my cock and tear the last remaining thread I'm hanging by. I stop her and grip both of her arms, pulling her up until her head is on the pillow.

"The next time I come, it's going to be inside of you."

Mercedes nods, and I reach down between us, fisting my cock in my hand. It immediately hardens again, and I hiss from the sensitivity. I'm not too sure how long I'll last. I'm riled up, married to the woman of my dreams, she naked under me, wanting me, and I could come again right now. Right this very second. Sweat is dripping down my face, and I let out a shaky breath when my tip meets her entrance.

I meet her eyes, not wanting to miss her expression when we are finally connected. I push in, slowly, wanting to enjoy every single inch of her searing hot, wet walls and the tightness of her channel. Mercedes pinches her lips together, and her eyes well with tears. Her body locks up, and I stop everything I'm doing, afraid that I'm hurting her.

I kiss each eyelid. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Keep going," she says.

I press forward again.

"Just−"

She starts to say something but her sentence is cut off when my cock bumps against something. I stare down to where we are connected and tilt my head up to look at her.

That can't be right.

No fucking way.

I press forward again only to stop when Mercedes grimaces. I lay my body by hers and cup her face, staring at her in disbelief. I need to hear her say it.

"Mercedes, are you a virgin?"

Obviously she is. I mean, I felt it, but how? Why?

"Sam, I'm yours. Always have been. Make me yours," is all she says.

I thought it was impossible for me to love her more but at this moment? I do. Without even asking I know deep down she saved herself for me. I wish I had done the same, but I was a fool, tired of loving someone who I didn't think loved me back and had sex with someone my first night in college. I don't even remember it.

Mercedes may not be my first, or my second, but she's definitely my last. And that's the only one that matters.

My jaw drops when I push in again, and this time, I don't stop. Mercedes's nails scratch down my back, and the pinch of pain added with the pleasure is almost too much. When I break the barrier, I moan in bliss while Mercedes grunts in discomfort.

"I'm sorry," I say with guilty alcohol-laden breath. I never want to hurt her.

She reaches over to the nightstand and takes another swig of the champagne, takes a few deep breaths and nods. "It's okay, give me a second to get used to you. You're so big, but I want this more than anything. I want you."

My forehead falls against her shoulder as I also try to catch my breath. She's so wet. My hands grip her ribcage, and I bite into her skin, doing my best to hold back. I'd never move until she told me too, but that doesn't take the difficulty away, the driving force of lust throbbing my dick.

"It's okay, Sam. You can move now. It doesn't hurt."

I bring my head up and press a kiss a dozen times over her face when I pull out an inch and slide back in. I keep that slow and steady pace until she's moaning and meeting my thrusts. I speed up, bringing my cock almost all the way out until the tip is left in and slam home.

The noises coming from her drive me more.

"Yes, Sam. Ooh, it feels so good now," she grits and pulls me deeper inside her by grabbing my ass.

I'm like a man possessed now. I flip her over and pull her to the edge of the bed. I'm standing, but with a bend of my knees, I'll be level with her swollen, dripping pussy. I position her on her knees and smooth my hand up and down her back, pressing between her shoulders. I stuff her face into the mattress and ram home, fucking her hard and fast.

My swollen sack pounds against her clit at the same pace my cock pummels her pussy making it mine. She's all mine and lucky for me, my wife is a fast learner.

"Yes, Sam," she grunts, clawing at the mattress, her ass pushing back with every hard thrust I give. I bring her arms back, so she has nothing to hold herself up with. It's her face against the mattress while I use her arms as leverage to fuck her the way she wants.

She seems to like it a bit rough and raunchy. Mercedes is most definitely made for me.

"Sam–"

I'm starting to learn that tone of voice. She's about to come.

"Do it, baby. Come all over me. Let me feel you squeeze my dick."

She buries her face in the bed and lets out a murderous scream, her walls clamping around me so hard, I can hardly move. I fall over her back, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. Her spasms stroke me until my orgasm slams against me hard, and I spurt stream after stream of seed in her depths. With every stream that leaves me, I plant myself as deep as I can, using her shoulders to hold on tight and help me get as deep as I can. I look down to where we are connected, seeing that every inch of me is inside her.

Being here, intertwined in intimacy with Mercedes, marrying her, loving her. It's everything I've ever wanted.

Literally and figuratively, she's my home.

Mercedes

My head is killing me.

Even blinking hurts.

I groan when I flip to my back. I lift my hand to block the sun when something catches my eye.

What in the ham sandwich?

When my vision clears after blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I gasp when I realize what it is. No. That's not what I think it is.

My mouth is agape. This is like a bad sitcom episode. I glance under the covers to see that I'm naked, and from the soreness between my legs, I did more than get married last night.

I had sex.

With who, idiot?

No. No. No.

This wasn't supposed to happen like this. I think back to last night and what I can remember. My memories are hazy. I look to my left and see Sam, and then my heart slams against my chest.

It's him? Did I marry Sam? Did I sleep with Sam? A part of me breathes a sigh of relief knowing that I married someone I knew, but then another part of me panics.

Oh, god… I was a virgin and now I'm not.

I bury my face in my hands when embarrassment swells inside of me.

"Come on, Mercedes, think," I say to myself, thinking back to when I was working last night.

I saw Sam out of nowhere, he wasn't happy with what I was wearing, I made rounds, and then a man grabbed me.

"We came back up here," I say with realization.

We drank some sort of expensive whiskey.

He massaged my feet.

It felt damn good.

And then we drank some more.

I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress when I see a dress on the floor. Everything after that is a bit of a blur until I truly focus on the ring. It robs me of my breath. It's everything I've ever wanted and dreamed of.

The yellow diamond twinkles from the rays piercing the room and I glance over the curve of my shoulder again to see Sam in a deep sleep, the sheet covering the bottom half of his body, draping right over his ass. His tight, muscular, firm ass and a flash of what happened last night reminds me that I know what that ass feels like in my hands.

"What did we do, Sam?" I whisper out loud, knowing he can't answer me back.

This is the last thing he needs right now. He's going through too much. He just lost his mother. When he wakes up and realizes we got hammered and married, it will be too much for him to handle.

Wrapping the sheet around my body, I stand and head to the bathroom. It's fancy just like everything in Sam's life, except me. The floors are marble, and the soaking tub is big enough for two people. The walk−in shower has a slate grey tile covering all the walls, and the shiny rainforest heads attached to the ceiling paired well together. I've never been in a shower that felt like a waterfall, so before I go, I want to experience it.

I drop the sheet and look at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess; a mane of tangled single strand knots from all the hair grabbing and yanking Sam did last night.

In fact the more I think about it, the more I realize we didn't have sex just once last night but multiple times. I hold a hand over my mouth as I smile and inspect myself in the mirror. I have finger-shaped bruises all over my body and hickeys all over my breasts. Holy shit. I think I even did it doggy-styled.

My face heats when I think about all the filthy things he said to me, so primal, so alpha, and I need to stop thinking about them before I actually wish for all of it to happen again.

I grab the metal gold handle and turn it to hot, not needing to wait too long before steam fills the chamber of the stall, fogging the window, effectively blurring the marks on my body.

I tilt my head back and let the water wash over me. The heat seeps into my skin and I inhale steam, letting it take the worry away for a split second. How can things get out of control so fast? He and I have barely reconnected after a zillion years and now we are connected forever.

I place my hands against the wall and hang my head, taking another look at the ring on my finger. It's big, it's probably uber expensive, but it's breathtakingly beautiful. It's everything I ever wanted in an engagement ring. And god knows that I've never wanted anything more than Sam, but now that I have him I just wish things would have happened differently.

Drunk and out of our minds in Vegas isn't exactly how I wanted to marry a guy I've loved since I can remember. I'm nervous that when he wakes up, things will go from bad to worse and my heart won't be able to handle it.

Leaving before that happens is vital.

Tears brim in my eyes when I think about the one friendship I have just ruined. This is why I never told him how I felt. Our friendship has roots; uplifting those roots kills any future we have at being friends. How can we fix this? How can we turn back time?

My hands shake as I reach to wipe my face, and the metal of my wedding ring rubs against my lips.

Arms wrap around me, making me jump, and I spin around to knock who it is away when I see a very sleepy, very hungover Sam Evans.

He pulls me close to him, our chests pressing together and his semi−hard cock presses against my leg. Sam pushes a few strands of damp hair out of my face as he analyses me.

"What's wrong, Mercedes?"

"You're in here," I say shocked. "You're in here with me naked. Sam, do you have any idea what happened last night? Do you remember everything?"

Sam's plump, shapely lips tilt into a knowing smirk as he looks up and down my body.

"Baby, I remember everything."

He intertwines his hands with mine and our rings clink together.

"I remember drinking with you, marrying you, and having the best sex of my life with you."

I glance down and a waterfall cascades down my face. His fingers slide under my chin and tilt my head up. Sam seems disappointed and a bit heartbroken at my reaction as he takes a long look at me, but he still has one arm around me.

"You don't want this? Are you not happy?"

I shake my head and take a step to negate the space between us.

"No, no, god, Sam. You—we—you are everything I've ever wanted. I woke up in shock is all. I never knew you could ever love me and when I woke up, I thought you'd see that girl again."

"Again?" He pushes me back and cages me in with his arms. "There has never been an again," he growls. "There has never been a time when I haven't loved you, Mercedes."

Sam's hands roam up my body and cup my tits. "There's never been a time when I didn't want you."

His cock pushes between my closed legs and starts to rock; the broad head spears my clit as he slowly strokes.

"When I didn't crave you."

His hands pick me up by my ass, and I wrap my legs around his lean hips, and his cock probs my entrance. Sam's fingers tangle in my hair and yanks my head back as he nips my chin.

"When I didn't want to screw you."

He thrusts his cock inside me, causing me to cry out from the intrusion. I'm still sore and there is a bit of pain, but the pleasure drowns it out. My fingers dig in his neck and I groan as my clit rubs against his pelvis with every curl of his hips.

"There's nothing better than being inside you and the fact that I'm the only one?" He rolls his head over his shoulders as he picks up the pace, pounding me harder by using his arms to move my body against him with more momentum. "Hell, it drives me to the edge."

My back is aching against the tile wall from the hard surface but I never want it to stop. Who knew shower sex could be so good? Sam's a thief as he steals my lips, plundering my mouth with his tongue. Our lips get caught in the clinks of our teeth, but it doesn't stop us, and it sure as hell doesn't stop him from pounding me into oblivion.

The water turns cold, but my skin is hot and able to keep me warm.

"There's never been a time when I didn't love you," he mutters against my neck, somehow finding a way to get deeper with every sliding motion of his cock. "Never."

I tilt my head back and stare at the skylight next to the shower head and blink away the tears. His breathing picks up, the speed of his thrusts become erratic, and he grabs my head pulling our foreheads together.

"Come with me," he says in a near whine.

As if I could ever disobey.

My body bends, my lower belly burning with the twisting of my orgasm exploding through my body. My pussy sucks him deeper, pulling him until there is no more room left in me.

"Mercedes," he whispers, making my name sound like the most important word he has ever spoken.

One, two, three, four thrusts later, he buries himself to the hilt, the tendons in his neck straining.

I rub my hands over his shoulders, and the cold water makes us both shiver. When he slides out of me, he is still hard, and his cum is leaking from the tip.

"Let's go in the living room, have coffee, and sit by the fireplace. If you want to talk about this, we will, but know I love you and I'm willing to work at this for you. I've never wanted anything more. It's always been you, Mercedes. It just took us a long time to get here."

We stay like this under the cold water, our skin in an array of goosebumps, as we hold each other. I'm all right with being cold if it means being in his arms.

"It's always been you too, Sam. I just was too afraid of ruining our friendship to find out if you felt the same."

He kisses the top of my head and pushes the glass door of the stall open to step out. My eyes may have drifted down to his ass. How can I not? It's such a good ass. Sam grabs a fluffy towel from the shelf and unwraps it, wrapping it around me.

"You'll never be afraid again."

If this is how my day starts, I'll have no complaints for the rest of my life, as long as it is Sam beside me when the sunrises and sets.

Sam

I'm not going to lie, when I woke up this morning, I thought everything that happened had been a dream. Then, I hear the shower going, and I step inside the bathroom to see Mercedes, bathed in water, steam roaring around her hourglass body, and it hits me that last night really happened. We got married, and I was her first.

"What are you smiling about?" Mercedes asks, drying her hair with a towel. It's the color of ink before it dries on paper and mid-length with messy waves.

I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. "Nothing, just happy."

"Mhmm."

She doesn't believe me.

"Can't I just be happy?"

"I know your happy smile and that wasn't it. Remember, I've known you for a long time. I know the differences in all your smiles."

"And what did that one say?" I ask. She throws her hair up in a messy bun, a few strands framing her hair.

"It says you were thinking something naughty."

She bites her lip and then digs through my suitcase until she finds a black t-shirt. She slips it on and it falls to her knees. It's one of those moments where I see how naturally beautiful she is. Her face is free of makeup and she looks like she just rolled out of bed. It's how she is at the end of the day, no fancy outfit, no makeup, no perfume, just her au natural in her best form.

It's a sight to see.

Beautiful.

"I was thinking something dirty," I tell her, watching her stroll by me into the living room. I follow her of course. What am I supposed to do? Have a wife this beautiful and not be near her all day and night?

She bends over, grabbing something from the bottom shelf of the fridge, and I get a slight peek of her swollen pussy. My cock starts to harden. I want her again, but I know I need to take it easy considering last night she was a virgin, and we had sex a good five times. Well, six including this morning.

"Stop growling," she teases, setting the creamer on the counter.

I didn't realize I was.

Mercedes glances down and sees my erection and licks her lips.

"What's got you so worked up, Sam? What's got you on edge? I thought we took care of that earlier?" she purrs, closing the lid of the coffeepot with a little too much force, never taking her eyes off my swelling dick.

"Just thinking about how I'm your first." I grab my gym shorts and yank them down, my shaft hard and ready. "You have no idea how much it affects me."

"Oh, I think I do."

She drops to her hands and knees and slowly crawls toward me, her ass swaying in the air. When she gets in front of me, she sits up on her knees and runs her nails up my leg and I shiver. She adds just the right amount of pressure. I hardly know what to do with myself.

When she gets to my cock, she trails her nails over my orbs, and I fall back against the wall looking for something, anything to hold onto, so my hands find her head and I hold on as she explores. She doesn't do anything at first but I watch as her fingertips slowly trace my abs to the V on my hips. Before making her way to my aching dick again.

That's all she does for what feels like hours. If she keeps going, she won't have to do anything else. The tease is enough to make me come. Her on her knees in front of me is enough to make me come.

Precum is coming out of my slit and Mercedes gathers a dollop on her finger and brings it to her mouth. Her eyes shut as she lets my taste swirl around on her tongue, savoring my flavor as she takes her precious time.

"Mercedes–" I say with a trembling breath. I'm not sure what I want. I want her to keep doing what's she's doing, but at the same time I want her to make me come.

It's an evil, vicious, delicious cycle.

We should be talking and figuring this marriage out, but it's like nothing else matters right now except devouring each other's bodies since we held back for so many years.

"What do you want, Sam?" She pouts her lips, outlining the crown of my cock with her fingernail. I double over from the sensitivity. She's hitting all the nerves, making them skyrocket through my entire being. I'm sweating. My chest is flushed.

And then she does something I don't expect.

Mercedes keeps one hand circling the bulbous tip and takes the other to scratch the bead of my nipple. I intake a sharp breath from the sensation. I've never played with my nipples, and a woman has never bothered to try. I never thought it was common practice, but Mercedes has always been different from other women. I know she's trying to discover what I like, what sets me off, and honestly, anything she does to me will make my skyrocket.

"Do you like that?"

"I don't know," I answer in nothing but honesty. "I'd probably like anything you do."

She pinches the hardened bead next and giving it a good tug while sucking the first few inches of my cock between her lips.

"Oh, fuck!" I shout, gripping that messy bun on the top of her head for dear life as she plays with me in ways that are going to cause an out of body experience.

"I think you do. You're just afraid to admit it."

She blows cold air along with the wet trial of her spit coating my shaft and I shake again. She continues the nipple play, pinching and scratching, tugging and slapping while she slurps her tongue around me to the base, licking me like I'm her favorite damn lollipop.

Her free hand drops between her legs, and the sight is nearly enough to cause me to unload down her throat. She whimpers and hums and the vibrations of her throat are tickling my rock-solid muscle. My blood is boiling. The rush of it is all I hear.

I can't breathe. It's too much. It isn't enough.

She takes me into the back of her throat and hollows out her cheeks, suctioning those lips tight around me.

"Mercedes, damn it, you have to stop. I'm close. It's…I'm really…"

My breaths become broken and uneven and while I want to come down her throat, it isn't where my cum belongs. Not yet.

"Are you close?" I ask in desperation.

She nods, circling her hand faster and faster.

What I see is heaven. The girth of my cock stretches her lips wide, and her green eyes flash at me through her lashes, and it's all it takes for me to come undone. I grab her by the shoulders, pick her up, carry her to the couch, sit down, and impale her on me.

Mercedes cries out and starts to ride me as fast as she can. She rocks back and forth, faster and faster. Our cries mingle in the echoes off the walls, and I can tell she's at the edge. I grip her hips and help her, making her move faster. Her fingers find my nipples again and flick, the zing of tiny needles tinging the nubs is felt all over my body.

I come.

Hard as fuck.

Pumping her full of what's left in my sack and roaring out the most intense orgasm I've ever had in my life. Mercedes follows right after, her channel gripping me, trying to tug me in deeper. She collapses on me, my body sweating, and my chest is rising and falling from exertion.

After a few moments my little sex fiend starts to rock against me again when the door opens and Mike's voice travels from the door and another follows.

Oh, shit. It's Mike and Rory.

"Baby, stop, stop," I say because she is too busy rocking against me to hear the door open and people come in.

"Shh," I say, bringing my finger to my lips. It's too late for us to move. As of right now, we are covered. My chest can be seen, along with my reddened nipples but her shirt covers her.

If we move now, it's just going to get messy and I don't want anyone seeing my cock or any of her.

"What do we do?" she whispers, still kind of rocking.

I lift a brow at her. Is my wife an exhibitionist?

"Woah," Mike squawks, being a little startled at what he sees. "Okay, yep. That's unseen. Cool."

He covers his eyes, but Rory looks on, tilting his head to the side to take in the view. I wrap my arm around Mercedes and clear my throat.

"Hey, fellas."

Mercedes lifts her hand to wave but doesn't turn to face them; she's laughing too hard.

"One," Mike keeps his hands over his eyes. "I'm happy you two finally saw the light."

"Oh, they saw more than that," Rory chuckles, and his accent takes me by surprise. I can't place it.

"Two, there's a bedroom."

"We did it in there already," Mercedes pouts and silence falls for a brief second before everyone laughs.

I keep her shirt pulled down as much as possible, so I know nothing can be seen of my wife's goodies. I don't want to poke anyone's eyes out, but I will if I have to. I'm glad she is the type of girl to go with the flow of things and not make a big deal about this.

"You guys are perfect for each other," Mike turns his back and slaps Rory to do the same. The man turns around and his shoulders move up and down from laughter. "Sam, Mercedes, this is Rory."

"Good to meet you," I say, a little annoyed. "But can you two give me and my wife a little privacy, please?"

"Your wife?!" Mike exclaims.

"Privacy, man?" I shoo him away with my hand which of course he can't see because he's still covering his eyes like a child.

"You've had too much of that it seems," Mike snorts.

I'm going to kill him.

"Out!"

Mercedes lays her head on my chest and laughs. We've been caught doing it as if we were teenagers. I lean my head back on the couch and cover my eyes with my arm, a growing chuckle causing my belly to shake. It makes sense for us to be caught.

We do have a lot of time and a lot of hormones to make up for.

Mercedes

I greet each table with a genuine smile at work tonight. I'm too happy for anything to get me down. My life is perfect. Sam is at a Blackjack table, blowing thousands of dollars because he wants to watch me all night. His gaze is intense; heat swirls in his eyes every time I dare to look at him.

He's drinking a gin and tonic, top-shelf gin with a twist of lime and lemon, and with how he turns the glass up, I know he needs a refill. I can't get to him quite yet. I bend over to pick up a glass, turn my head, and find him watching me. I sit my tray down; he is still watching me. He taps the table for a new card and then continues to watch me.

Mike and Rory try to get him to focus on the game but his focus is on me. It's always on me.

I shake my arms and my head, trying to ignore those penetrating eyes I love so much because I need to concentrate. I'm not getting as many tips tonight either. It seems the ring is a big turn off for men that care more about getting laid. The others don't care; if their drinks are full all night, they'll leave a tip. That's how it should be done. Being single versus married should have nothing to do with gaining tips.

"Mercedes?" Mr. Schuester blocks me from entering the casino floor. I have a tray full of heavy drinks that are getting heavier by the second.

I readjust my hold on it and smile at my boss. "Hi, Mr. Schuester."

I notice a bit of sweat trickling down his temple and his face is ghastly like he has seen a ghost. His eyes are darting around the room, and I take a step back when my instincts tell me to run. I lean to my left and see Sam out of his chair, striding toward me like the knight he has always been for me but I shake my head.

This is my boss. I have to deal with this myself. "Are you okay, Mr. Schuester?"

"I'm fine. I'm wondering how you are? How do you like it here? Is the place treating you all right?"

"It's only my second night but I like it for the most part. As you said, I don't know if it's forever but it will do for now."

I actually hope it is the last night. Sam and I haven't had a chance to talk about what our plans are now that we are married, but I want to be with him and travel. I want my next adventure to be with my husband.

"That's good to hear," he tries to smile but I don't buy it. "HR gave me a few pages of paperwork they forgot to have you sign. You aren't on the payroll yet, and we need to get that fixed. Can you come with me to my office so I can make sure you get paid when the other waitress do?"

Come to think about it, I don't remember signing any payroll information.

"Can I deliver these drinks and meet you in this spot in five?"

"Absolutely," he says.

I shrug away my paranoia and give him my back as I make my rounds delivering drinks. My last stop is Sam, and as I slide his drink toward him his hand catches mine, making me smile. He always needs to be touching me. I absolutely don't mind that at all.

"Kiss me."

"You never have to ask," I say, bending over to capture his lip quickly. I break away and grab my empty tray when he grabs hold of my wrist and tugs me to his lap.

"Get a room," Mike says, pulling a long drag on a cigar.

"They get all the rooms, Mike." Rory's Irish accent is thicker than usual when he jokes.

"I need to go, Sam," I pout, letting him know that I don't want to go but have to.

"Is everything okay? With your boss?" he asks. "Do I need to be worried?"

I wave off the worry.

"No, love. There's no need to worry every time a man speaks to me. I forgot to sign some payment information so I can get my paycheck. No big deal. I have to cross some T's and dot some I's. I'll be fine."

"You only worked two days."

"So! I want my money."

"I'll pay you."

"You're not my boss. You're my crazy husband."

"What floor is it on? I need to know."

"Sam, it's okay."

"I never want to be underprepared with you, okay? I want to be ready. I have to be ready to make sure you're okay."

The panic in his voice causes my heart to break. His pupils are blown, and the beautiful green of his irises are gone. It's just now in this moment that I realize what this is truly all about.

I take his face in my hand and sigh. "I love you, Sam Evans. Nothing is going to happen to me. This isn't a situation where you need to be prepared. This isn't your mom, okay?"

It hasn't been that long ago that he lost her. I've been so swept up on everything going on between us, I need to do better at checking up on him and making sure he is okay.

"Please, tell me. I won't be able to think about anything else besides your safety."

I glance over at Mr. Schuester and he taps his watch signaling to me that I need to hurry.

"The office is on the fifteenth floor. When you get off the elevator, take a right. Just look for his office if I take too long. His name is on the door."

He chugs his drink down and nods, "Thank you, baby. Thank you."

"I'd do anything for you and for that brilliant mind of yours to be at peace."

Sam lays his hand on top of mine and leans into the touch. "You make me stronger," he whispers just low enough that only I can hear him. "You always have. You've always been stronger than me and I love you for it."

There's no way a little woman like me makes this gigantic, smart, and sexy business mogul stronger. He thinks he is weak but I know better. His heart is big and it carries a lot of love. He views it as a weakness, but I find it incredibly remarkable.

"I love you, Mr. Evans. Don't forget that."

"I love you too, Mrs. Evans."

"Oh, I like the sound of that." I bounce on my heels as I walk away.

"I'll show you how much I love it later."

He smacks my ass as I strut away, yelping from the slight sting. I blow him a kiss and with a newfound pep in my step, I hurry over to Mr. Schuester, who is looking pretty annoyed in his disgruntled three-piece suit. He looks a bit disheveled than he did the first time I met him. His tie is loose, his shirt is half untucked, but it isn't uncommon with people who have jobs that are so stressful to have bad days.

So I let it roll off my shoulders.

"Sorry, Mr. Schuester. My husband wanted a word with me."

"Your husband? That's new," he ends his sentence with a disdainful bite.

I glance over at him when he punches the elevator button harder than necessary and my hackles raise.

"It happened last night. It was sudden."

"That can be fixed," he mumbles as the door opens.

"Excuse me?" I say, taking a step back to run when he grabs me by the wrist and throws me in the elevator.

My head hits the stainless steel and as the doors close, I see Sam pushing through the crowd to get to me. Our eyes lock and I try to scream for him as I scramble to the closing doors. As they close a fist lands on my cheek, and I hit the floor with a hard thud, my face rubbing against the floor that so many others have walked all over.

Cigarette smoke and whiskey could be the last thing I smell, but my final thought is that I'm so damn glad Sam made me tell him where I was going, because it proves that anything can happen and not everyone can be trusted.

My husband was right.

Sam

"Mercedes!" I yell at the top of my lungs, barely missing the opportunity to grab her as the elevator doors close. My palm burns and stings from slamming them against the unforgiving metal.

"Mercedes!"

My fingers press the button as quickly as I can, but the elevator keeps going up and the other ones aren't moving.

That son of a bitch.

I rub a hand over my face and try not to think of the worst. This isn't the worst. The worst is what happens after this and I have to get to Mercedes before that happens.

"Sam? What's going on, lad?" Rory places his hand on my shoulder, and Mike stands beside him to create a barrier so no one can see what's going on.

Everything slows down, the people around move at a sloth pace, my vision slants, and sweats pours from my face as I think of what to do.

"Sam, you're drawing attention to yourself. You need to calm down and tell us what happened."

"The stairs. Where's the stairs?"

I try and push by them but they stop me, holding me by my coat.

"We aren't going to let ye go anywhere, lad. Tell us what's going on."

"There's no time!" I roar. "I need to go. I have to get her."

Rory throws me against the wall and lifts me by the lapels of my suit. "We could already be on the way if I'd tell us what is going on."

I try and push him away but the fucker is abnormally gigantic. I'm a big guy, but in comparison, I'm an ant.

"Her boss took her to his office, said something about paperwork—"

"That's normal," Mike says, pointing out the obvious.

I lunge at him and Rory slams me against the wall again. "Calm down."

"It isn't normal when I see him punch her in the face before the doors close."

I point to the elevator. Rory loosens his grip and I shove him away. Who the hell does he think he is stopping me from going to her? I throw my arm back and let my fist fly across his face, square in his jaw.

"Sam!"

"Don't ever keep me from her again!" I point up at the humongous jackass who has done nothing to help. Rory has to be seven feet tall. "Now, get out of my way."

My voice is low, threatening. I'll do anything I need to do to get them out of my way.

Rory wipes his lip, flicking his tongue over the wound. Mike presses the elevator button again but no luck. They aren't working.

"Get out of my way," I growl, pushing between them and run as fast as I can down the hall. I slam into a waiter and he falls backward then drinks fly everywhere, but I don't stop until I see the red light of the sign pointing to the stairs. My shoulder slams against the door and the handle gives allowing me in the cold stairwell.

I have fifteen flights of stairs to climb and I've already wasted enough time. I don't run up the steps, I climb them, pulling myself up with the rail as my legs stretch over as many levels as I can.

"Sam!" Mike yells.

I ignore him. The only thing on my mind is Mercedes. My lungs are struggling to breathe and my legs feel like jello. Sweat is burning my eyes, pouring off my face in buckets and blurring my vision.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

I can't breathe.

Fourteen.

Mercedes.

Fifteen.

Losing my footing, I gasp for breath and when I try to open the door, my body falls into it. No, I can't stop. She is depending on me. I saw it in her eyes. I promised I'd protect her.

I take a few deep breaths, filling my body with the oxygen it couldn't get while climbing the stairs. Instead of storming the hall, I'm careful when I press against the handle. The less noise I make the better.

Rory and Mike catch up and follow behind me. The only sounds are the light taps of our shoes on the floor.

"Sam? What exactly did you see in the elevator?" Mike asks. "What happened? Should we call the cops?"

Rory shushes him, looking into a room to make sure it's clear.

"Enough," I answer because it was. I never want to see anyone lay a hand on her, and for that, that man will die. I can promise her that. When she made eye contact with me, well, let's just say it's a look I'll never forget.

"I'm sorry, lad," Rory says. "I thought ye were drunk of yer mind."

I'm not ready to forgive him yet. The time he stole from me was time I could have been looking for Mercedes.

"How big is this floor? Every room is empty and the halls have fucking halls," Mike huffs with frustration.

"She told me to follow this hall until I saw his name on the door."

I press my back against the wall when I hear footsteps and bring my finger to mouth to tell the guys to be quiet. I look around the corner to see a woman digging through her purse and heading toward the elevator. Her shift must be ending. When she presses the button, it doesn't work.

"Oh, come on. I don't want to go down fifteen flights of stairs," she whines and kicks off her heels to through them in her bag. "This day sucks."

"Remind me to never work here. People are miserable," Rory says.

I inch my way from around the wall and make sure the coast is clear before moving out. Mike is right, this place is massive. The hallway seems never-ending. Time is of the essence.

"Shh," Rory says, pointing to his ear.

We stop walking, and I listen, but I don't hear anything. "What are you—"

He puts a hand over my mouth, silencing me. "Listen," Rory repeats.

I pinch my brows when I hear a low murmur behind the large French doors at the end of the hall. As we step closer, I knew Mercedes was behind those doors. I rip out of Rory's grasp before he can pull me back and kick the door open. The wood splinters into a thousand shards, a few splinters embedding themselves the material of my pants.

What I see makes my blood run cold. Her boss has her bound and gagged, and her cheek is bruised. He has his hand lifted in the air to strike again when he pauses, staring at me with cold, dead eyes.

"You," he hisses when Mercedes tries crying out my name. I can barely hear it through the rag stuffed in her mouth. "You're the reason why I can't have her. Do you know how much money I'm going to lose because she's married? She was going to be the show."

I take a step forward when he lifts his hand again. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What do you want with her?" I ask through a heaving chest.

"Are you kidding? Look at her!" He grips her chin and I launch forward again, but Mike holds me back when the man takes a gun out, placing it right under her chin. "You don't learn, do you?"

"Yo, man. Let her go and this can all end very differently," Mike warns calmly.

"Let her go," I add, spit coming out of my clenched teeth.

"No, because a woman like her in Vegas can bring a man like me a lot of money. Men would pay so much money for her."

"What the fuck–"

"I assure you it's all perfectly legal. This is Vegas. She just needs a little convincing. A little grooming. But your fucking wedding put a snag in my plans."

This fucker is crazy. I step forward again and he points the gun at my chest.

"It doesn't matter. Either way, she's mine. I'm going to shoot you and your friends and I'm going to add this little beauty to my collection."

He runs his knuckles down her cheek and she jerks her head away disgusted by the touch.

There's no way in hell that I can let him take her. I will die trying. I no longer care about my life. I run toward him, jumping over the table when he swings the gun back at me. His fingers pull the trigger, once, slamming into my shoulder, twice, hitting me in the chest. I can't feel the pain. All I'm thinking about is Mercedes and making sure she is safe.

My body slams against him; my blood staining his shirt.

Mercedes screams but everything drowns out when pure rage surges through my body. I knock the gun out of his hand and wrap my hand around his throat. He punches me in the face, and while I'm getting weaker, I'm sending every last bit of energy I have through my fingertips to constrict his throat.

There is a fury of chaos around me. Someone grabs my shoulders, trying to pull me off the man that hurt my Mercedes.

Mine!

Not yours.

How dare this animal think he can take her from me. "I'll fucking kill you for touching her. For even thinking about her. I'll kill you!"

"Looks…" he gasps and smiles at the same time, "like I'm killing you first." His eyes land on my chest, and when I look down, the white shirt I have on is now stained red.

"Not a fucking chance."

But I'm too weak to back up my words. He pushes me off him and grabs the gun again. I am lying on my back, struggling to breathe when Rory flies over me and another gunshot rings out.

My vision darkens along the edges but I can't feel any pain. Everything is lighter. It's almost a floating sensation as the light at the end of the tunnel gets darker the closer I get to it.

I fight to stay awake.

Mercedes needs me.

But darkness wins.

Somehow the darkness always seems to take the women I love from me.

Mercedes

I sit tied to the chair watching the love of my life bleed out on the floor. Tears blind me, pooling in my eyes so quickly and falling like a steady river flowing down my face. I tip the seat back with my feet planted on the floor and use my weight to rock forward to try and get close to him. I say his name through the rag in my mouth, now wet from tears, but he doesn't respond.

No, this isn't how it's supposed to end. We are supposed to have more time than this. Life wouldn't bring us together to just rip us apart. I know the world is a cruel place, but surely it can't be that cruel.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay, it's okay." Mike blocks my view of Sam and takes the rag from my mouth.

"Sam!" I scream. "I need to get to Sam. Please."

"Rory has Sam. We need to worry about you."

"No, I'm fine. I want to be with Sam." I pull at the ropes around my wrists as Mike unties the knot.

He stops me from moving when he places a hand to my chest. "Rory is applying pressure to the wound on his chest. We are waiting for an ambulance. It's something you don't want to see, Mercedes."

"I don't care!" I shove him out of my way and grab Rory by the shoulders, and use my body weight to push him back on his ass.

"Oh, God." A sob leaves me when I see Sam on the floor, blood trickling from his lips. "Sam."

I put pressure on the hole in his chest to try and stop the onslaught of blood slipping through my fingers.

"Sam? Baby, can you hear me?"

He coughs and those beautiful eyes of his flutter open. Sam gives me that tilted smirk that always sends me into somersaults, but it isn't as bright as usual.

He's tired. His left-hand lands on mine covering his chest, and I notice the gold ring on his finger has blood on it. I lean over him and give him a kiss on the lips not caring about the blood.

"Hey, baby."

He tries to open his mouth, but I place a finger over his lips.

"Don't speak. It's okay. I know," I nod. "I know you love me. I'm not ready to let you go, Sam. Fight, okay? You have to fight for me. For us. What were you thinking jumping in front of bullets? You're a crazy man."

The paramedics burst through the door and I don't move my hands. I keep them on his chest, so I can try and save every bit of blood I can while they prepare to take him to the hospital.

"I'm crazy," he wheezes. "For you."

"Such a romantic even near—" I realize what I almost said and turn away.

"Near-death," Sam whispers. "That's how all the classic love stories end."

They take Sam's vitals, put him on a gurney, and start rolling him down the hall. I jog right beside the gurney making sure to keep my eyes on him. I won't be out of his sight again.

"Not ours, Sam. Ours isn't a classic and it ain't ending yet."

They stroll my man into the elevator and I never leave his side, only noticing after a moment that it's the same elevator Mr. Schuester slapped me in.

Sam saved my life. That big, bleeding heart has no bounds for the people he loves. I'm so lucky he loves me.

The elevator dings and everyone who is having fun gambling turns to us, gasping and murmuring, trying to figure out what happened on their own terms.

"That's Sam Evans," people whisper.

It's one thing about wealthy people, they all seem to know each other. After getting through the cloud of curiosity, we make it outside to the cool Vegas night and the paramedics load him in the ambulance.

"Mrs. Evans? Are you coming with us?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation and climb in the back of the box. Rory and Mike run to their car when they see me driving away in the ambulance. I stare down at Sam, his face pale, blood dried on his skin, oxygen over his mouth, and his slow heartbeat on the monitor. It doesn't give me much hope.

After all this time of loving each other from afar, love is what is going to take him from me. It is his love for me that got him into this position. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it, letting him know that I'm here.

"I'm so sorry," I place my forehead against his knuckles and weep. I'm not sure what else to do. I just want him to be okay. Losing him, I'll lose myself.

Sam is the happy feeling I get when I've had a really great day. Even the years of not being together, when I thought about him, when I researched him a little on social media. Seeing him out there, knowing he was still out there, made me feel safe. Made me happy.

Now that we're together, I smile all the time. His love for everyone and everything is infectious and contagious. I start feeling and doing more good whenever I feel that energy. He's the sun in my heart when it's pouring rain, still keeping me light on my feet during the most savage storm.

He's the journey I'm meant to take.

I had to be without him for a while, to miss him, to yearn for him, in order to appreciate what we have today.

"He's going into V−fib," the dark−haired paramedic says, grabbing two paddles. The other medic rips open Sam's chest and I sit back and watch in horror as the hum of the machine charging gets ready to zap the dying heart of Sam.

"Come on, man, I've seen guys make it through worse," the medic says to Sam who is unconscious at this point.

"Clear."

He places the paddles on Sam's chest and hits him with a bolt of electricity.

This time it's a flatline.

"No! Sam!" I scream through a soul−breaking sob. "You can't leave me yet! We only just started."

"Clear," the man zaps him again, and Sam's body arches and falls from the intensity of it.

"Nothing."

The medics look at each other as if Sam may be a lost cause.

"No," I cry out, holding onto my stomach when it turns and knots. I feel sick. "Sam," I whisper and lean to his ear, petting his hair as I talk to him. "Come back to me, baby. I love you. Don't leave me like this, not like this. Please, we have each other now. Don't go."

I step back when the medic announces he is going to try again. "One last time, clear!"

And we wait..watching his body rise and fall again, and then we see something. The heart monitor jumps from the electric shock. The monitor beeps again, and again, and again.

"We have a rhythm. It's weak, but it's there."

I gran Sam's hand tight and place my cheek against it as I cry. "Thank you, baby. Thank you for not giving up," I whisper, clutching his hand like I'm feeling it for the last time.

We pull into the hospital, tires screeching as they come to a stop, and the medic opens the doors, dragging the gurney out. When I get out, Rory and Mike pull right behind the ambulance, turning their flashers on and get out.

"GSW to the chest and shoulder lost him on route. He's lost a lot of blood," the medic states to the doctor running alongside Sam as they run through the double doors to take Sam in the back.

"Prep an OR right now and give me all the O−neg blood you can find. Let's go," the doctor barks orders at everyone around him and they move in a synchronized frenzy.

A nurse stops me from entering. "You can't go past here, ma'am."

"That's my husband!" I yell, pointing toward the large emergency double doors that he was just pushed through. "I need to get back there."

"I can't let you do that, ma'am. I'm sorry. They are taking him to surgery. You have to wait out here."

"But he's my husband," I say in a trance. "He's finally my husband."

"Mercedes?" Mike embraces me in a tight hug. "He'll be all right. He's tough. We just have to wait."

"I have blood on my hands," I mutter as I pull away from him, flipping them over to stare at how red they are. "So much blood."

"She's in shock," Rory says right as my eyes roll to the back of my head, and I succumb to something other than this reality.

Sam

The whooshing of cold air flowing into my nose wakes me up. Opening my eyes, I wince when the light pierces straight to my brain. Fuck, that hurts. It all hurts.

I look down to see what the problem is. My arm is in a sling and my chest is wrapped tightly. I look like a mummy. I touch it with my free and holy shit, I've never felt so much pain in my entire life. My eyes water when pain makes it hard to breathe.

"Sam?"

Ah, I know that accent.

"Rory," I gasp and for a split second I swear I see dust coming from my mouth since it's so dry.

"Here."

He brings a cup of water to my lips with a straw, and I suck the cold liquid down greedily.

"Woah, slow down. Too much too soon, brother."

He takes the cup away from me and I almost want to cry.

"Mercedes?" I croak.

"She's in the next room over; Mike's with her."

My heart rate speeds up on the monitor. "Is she okay? What happened to her? Why is she in the hospital?"

"Calm down, lad. Ye wife is okay. She went into shock when they wouldn't let her go back to be with ye. She fainted but come to find out that her spleen was bleeding. It seems the bastard kicked her pretty hard in that elevator."

My fists clench at the thought of him hurting her. I had been so close to killing him. He was in my reach and I let go. I fucking let go!

"Where is he now?"

"I took care of it," he says. I notice the faint amount of blood around the collar of his shirt.

"What's that mean?" I manage to eek out.

"It means you won't have to worry about him. He tried to kill ye, I was in my right to kill him back. I have a pretty far reach, lad."

I have no idea what he means by that, but the threat is gone permanently. That's what matters.

"He's dead?"

"Six−feet under, my friend."

"Thank you." I cough and groan when it rattles the pain in my chest. "Being shot sucks."

He brings the water to me again and smiles. "Death would be worse."

"You don't say?" I take a sip of the water and lay my head down on the pillow. "She's okay? They stopped the bleeding and everything?"

"She's fine. She might have a wee scar; that's what they said."

"Wee?"

"A wee one," he repeats, crossing his leg over his knee.

I have so many questions for this guy, like who the hell is he and how he knows Mike, but the door opens and the doctor comes in. Before he can say a word, Mike follows pushing a very tired, albeit beautiful Mercedes Gold into my room.

"Mercedes," I say, my eyes filling to the brim with tears.

"Sam," she tries to get up but Mike stops her to keep her in the wheelchair.

"You'll bust your stitches. It's like dealing with a feral cat this one. She tried so many times to come to you, and I think I earned some scratches keeping her back."

"Damn right you did," she says. She takes my hand when she gets close enough, staring at it like she saw a ghost and kisses all over the back of my hand. "I thought I had lost you."

"Nothing could keep me away from you, Mercedes."

"It almost did."

"No, I would have never left, not when I just got you."

She tries to stand, but her hand drops to her side and pain scrunches her face.

"Relax, little kitty," Mike says. "You can kiss each other when you're all better."

The doctor laughs, writing down something in the chart. Apparently, he agrees.

"Your friend is right, Mr. Evans. You were lucky, as was your wife. A person can live without a spleen, but they can die from internal bleeding if it isn't caught soon enough. She will heal quicker than you, so you have a much longer recovery. Being shot in the chest isn't something to take lightly and your arm, you might always have pain there forever. Nothing will be the same after this."

As I see Mercedes and her big green eyes I've loved for nearly half my life, I know that this is the time for things to be different. I don't ever want our lives to be the same as they were before. This is a wake−up call. A time to live my life to the best I can. A time to live with intention.

No more grieving.

No more wallowing.

No more being stuck.

I know where I need to go now and it's in the direction of my wife. She's the person I have to take care of now.

"You'll need physical therapy for that arm in a few weeks," the doctor continues.

"What kind of physical therapy and how physically are we talking?" I ask, sending Mercedes a wink.

"Sam," she scolds. "You're throat. Stop talking."

"He's halfway dead and makin' sex jokes." Rory rubs a hand over his beard and then scratches behind his ear.

Mike is nodding, wiggling his brows at me. He supports me. That's all I need.

"I'm afraid sex is out of the equation for a while, Mr. Evans."

"All sex?"

"What's that?"

"Sam, let it go." Mercedes places her head on my good shoulder and once I feel her again, her warmth against mine, I know there is no way I'll be able to stay away from her. I have to touch her.

"Oral sex? An old-fashioned handy? Can I also reciprocate?"

"Is this what we're really talking about right now?" Mercedes fusses.

"Depends on the position. No weight on the front of your body, Mr. Evans." The doctor slams the medical chart closed and shakes his head smiling. "Oh, to be young."

"You're insatiable." She says smiling at me with a grin that was blessed by the sun.

I cup the side of her face and finally feel her soft kiss on my dry, rough lips. My heart rate spikes again for entirely different reasons than health-related ones.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you too, Sam. So much."

It may be a long road to recovery but our path is paved into eternity.

We are destined. Like a classic love story always is.

Always has been. Always will be.

Epilogue

Mercedes

Two years later

We are on the coast of Australia, watching the waves crash against the cliffside while we sip coffee on our balcony. The sun is high and hot, the water is blue, and if I squint my eyes, I can see the surfers trying to catch their next wave.

Sam has taken me everywhere in the last two years. I've been around the world, eaten food that I never thought I'd taste, and met people I'll always remember in this lifetime. Now we have settled down, and we spend three months out of the year in Australia, our favorite place that we have visited so far.

I get up and stretch and his eyes linger on my hips. It's bikini season and the three months that we are here, he never lets me wear anything else. Men are so damn visual.

"Do you need anything from the kitchen?"

"No, I'm going to call the flower shop back home and have them deliver flowers to mom."

I rub the scar on his chest. It reminds us both of the bullet he took for me that was so close to his heart. I bend over to kiss his cheek when he turns his head at the last minute to make my lips instead.

"I love you, Sam. We can go home whenever you want—"

"I know that."

He stands with me, the wind wrapping around us, and I get a whiff of his aftershave. I place my ear against his chest, right against the scar, and listen to the heartbeat that I'm so grateful I was able to hear again.

Ba−dum, ba−dum, ba−dum.

I'm so thankful for this sound. It's something not everyone thinks to listen to, but I do, every day, whenever I can. I listen to remind myself that he is here, that I love him, and for me to cherish every moment of his life.

"I love you for that, Mercedes, but I don't want to go live in the past. We're not going to fly across the world to visit a grave." He taps his chest. "I have her inside of here."

He says that every time I bring it up.

"Okay," I stand on my tiptoes and kiss the underside of his chin. "I'm getting coffee."

"I'll miss you," he says and I roll my eyes afterwards. He's so dramatic.

"I'm not going to be far. Relish the time you have away from me," I tease, stepping inside the cold a/c of the house. "It's the only time you'll get."

"Never," I hear him say in a whisper, not expecting me to hear.

I grin, closing the door behind me as I step inside the two-bedroom cottage. It's an open floor plan, not big, but the view is breathtaking. We have bamboo floors and beige walls to keep it open and airy. The kitchen is painted teal to bring some color into the place and has stainless steel appliances with a large farmer's sink.

I bypass the kitchen and head straight to the restroom. I've been on birth control ever since we met. Even when I wasn't having sex I was on it because it helps with my period, and as much as he wants to knock me up, he also wanted to show me the world.

We put kids on hold until we decided to settle down somewhere, but now that we have, we've talked about it, and I've stopped taking my birth control a few months ago. If it happens, it happens; if not, well, I don't want to think about that.

I want nothing more than to see what our child will look like. The color of their eyes, the perfect combination of their skin, their hair, their laugh. I want to know everything, and I want to hold him or her and kiss the tops of their heads, smelling that baby smell.

I sigh as if I have the weight of the world on my shoulders and lock the door. I dig under the cabinet and open the box of pregnancy tests, tearing away the clear wrapper. It's so small, so simple, yet it contains the answer to everything. I let out a breath and pull my pants down, sit on the toilet, and let the pee stream onto the stick.

And then I wait.

"Mercedes? You okay?" Sam knocks. "It's been a while."

Worry wart. It's literally been five minutes. The man can't do a minute without being near my side and as laughable as it is, I love it.

"I'm fine. I'm just washing my face. I feel gross."

A lie which is semi-believable because I wash my face twice a day.

"Okay, I'll be on the balcony."

"I'll be out in a minute," I say in a state between shock and happiness. I pick up the test, and right there in the little box, it says pregnant. I mean, I hoped, but I didn't think it would happen. I had only missed my period two days ago, and sometimes it's a few days late. I took this because something told me I had to know if I was.

And I am.

I grab the stick and hide it behind my back. I can't stop the tears of happiness trailing down my face. Not only am I sharing this beautiful life with my best friend and soulmate but to have children with him? Wow, we are certainly blessed.

He's going to be an amazing father, and I can't wait to go on this journey with him as well. I wipe my face down and walk back out on the balcony.

"Hey, you." He pulls me into his lap and kisses me senseless. "You taste salty."

The tears.

"You love me?" I ask.

"More than every drop of water in the ocean."

I place the test in the middle of his chest where the circular scar is. "Do you have enough room in your heart to love more?"

He picks it up with shaky hands and flips it over. "You're pregnant? Really?"

"Really."

He holds me tight to the point that I can't breathe until I tap his shoulder.

"I love you," he says. "All the space in my heart is reserved for you and what's ours, Mercedes. My heart doesn't belong anywhere else."

He stares at the test again and wipes under his left eye. "I'm going to be a dad."

"The best dad."

His hand flattens against my belly and his breaths come out shaky.

"This is by far the best adventure you've ever given me. You have forever pulled me out of the darkness I lingered in, Mercedes."

"That was always the deal, right? Since we were kids?"

"I hope our kids are just as lucky."

He flips me over, settling himself between my legs and thrusts, showing how much he really does appreciate me.

The waves in the distance do nothing to cover my moans as he takes me higher.

I've been lavished in love, and now the new adventure between us truly begins.