Serendipity

by xfphile

The night that Sam and Nick Radford officially moved to Middleton was normal. Uneventful. Completely and totally unremarkable. Just a man and his son, moving to small-town America for a fresh start. It changed everything. Only . . . it didn't change anything.

6. The Maze Runner (2-2)

I just want to say 'Thank you!' to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I love seeing your thoughts and comments, and I hope you enjoy the second half of 'The Race'!.

Also, a huge thank you and shoutout needs to go to lawand_disorder, who has beta read the holy hell out of this story. You are awesome, girl!

The Maze Runner (2/2)

As Sam waited in The Bistro for the race to start, absently listening to Derek Sanders successfully reining Martha in (and he was seriously impressed because that was not an easy thing to do; he was also thankful, as the thought of Martha Tinsdale with any kind of percussive weapon would terrify a team of Navy SEALS), Stephanie made her way over to him. His spirits were buoyed for the first time in a while, so as he let himself flirt with her — and enjoyed it a hell of a lot more now that she wasn't impersonating a starving piranha — Sam found himself truly starting to consider asking her out. She had a dry wit that he appreciated and didn't seem to mind that he wasn't the most talkative of people. Granted, her hint about the ball wasn't exactly subtle, but he couldn't hold it against her, given his ongoing determination to completely ignore her — well, her. Still, it sounded like fun, though he wasn't fool enough to just give in, because that would be utterly unlike him.

Also, there was still some enjoyable chasing to be had.

And apparently, she felt the same way, because she suddenly shifted tactics a bit.

"I'm catering it," she replied to his question about her attendance at the ball. "The whole town's going to be there," she added, her arms folded across her chest and her expression surprisingly inscrutable.

Huh. That was new . . . but he liked it.

"Well, I'm told that I should mingle more with my fellow citizens," he replied, looking away for a second at the reminder of just who had dispensed that bit of wisdom.

Could he really not stop thinking about Cassie for five damn minutes?

Stephanie nodded sagely as she sought his eyes. "Mingling is good," she chirped, obviously cheered at what sounded like a genuine effort on his part.

"You know," he replied, absently peeling his banana as he worked his way through the thought that had just hit him. "I lived in the same building in New York for 15 years and I'd be hard-pressed to pick any of my neighbors out of a line-up."

This was a completely true statement, but he could see in her eyes that it wasn't a sentiment Stephanie could truly grasp, because she'd never experienced it herself, so she just chuckled softly at what she thought was — well, he wasn't sure. A pick-up line, maybe? Or just general flirtation; Sam was good at that, after all.

"Not a lot of mingling in New York, huh?" she teased, picking up a tray of pastries.

But the truth of his words struck Sam unexpectedly and to his surprise, he found himself feeling . . . melancholy . . . about that. How much had he missed by not wanting to make an effort to connect with other people?

"Not on purpose, no," he mused pensively, meeting her eyes again and hoping that she might actually see what he was attempting, badly, to say: that he was open to trying, with her.

"So, does this mean I will see you, or . . . "

Hmm, not yet. Not totally, at least. But this was promising, so he gave her some hope even though he'd already decided to go, because that was the Sam she knew: the noncommittal flirt. "You just might," he told her, and smiled softly at the happiness his answer caused, though he realized instantly that he needed to keep things at this light level a little longer; he wasn't close to ready for full-on anything. So he snagged a muffin off her tray before she headed off to do her thing, gave her a droll look, and drawled, "Thanks," which earned him an arched eyebrow as she left.

Once he was alone, Sam took a moment to consider the situation he found himself in.

Or more accurately, the situation he had put himself in.

He really should look into the possibility that he'd picked up a brain-eating amoeba, because now that he was thinking about things, this . . . well, this . . . was not something he would do of his own volition, at least not in the normal course of events.

Then Ryan twitched in what looked unnervingly like an epileptic seizure and Sam remembered: Cassie.

And . . . well, to be honest, he was a little freaked out. After Ryan's office visit yesterday, it hadn't taken a leap (or even a baby step) of logic to figure out that Cassie had been behind that inspirational/pride-provoking speech. And while he was flattered that she apparently cared enough about him to want him to join in this event for his own sake, it was also a bit terrifying to realize that she now understood him well enough to know that her little stunt would work.

But her help with Nick had been . . . invaluable, even though he knew it was going to be a long, exhausting slog before any actual results were achieved, and he owed her big for that. So running in this race? Didn't bother him at all.

Being manipulated into it?

Bothered him a little, though he was honest enough to admit that she had asked him directly first, and been shot down hard and fast with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

And yet here he was, running in the race. And then going to the ball.

Well, at least he knew that life with her would never be dull.

Wait.

That wasn't . . . that wasn't what he meant.

No. He just — would always feel engaged in his interactions with her.

And seriously, was Ryan actually having a seizure?

Sam found himself genuinely concerned about this and headed to the other man, coming up beside him just as he started, um, wheezing.

"You okay?" he asked . . . all right, demanded. Hey, he was actually looking forward to running — fine, he was looking forward to trouncing Ryan, and he couldn't do that if the man was sick.

"Yeah," Ryan huffed. "I'm just, uh, psyching myself up."

Oh.

Of course he was.

"Oh, good," Sam answered a bit dryly. "I thought you had asthma."

Well, telling the competition you thought he was actually spazzing out would be unsporting. And Sam fully intended to win this race cleanly and decisively. Cassie Nightingale might have maneuvered him into position, but he was a grown man. The ultimate choice to run was his and his alone. And he was surprised at how much he'd come to look forward this since he'd officially entered the race.

So he wanted Ryan Elliott to be at his best, because otherwise, it would be meaningless. Well, at least it would be for the two of them, and that was Sam's primary motivator here. Yeah, his competitive spirit was up now that he'd been reminded about just how much he'd always enjoyed racing and he was looking forward to losing himself in the joy of running to win. But right now, more than anything else, he wanted the satisfaction of seeing Ryan's face when he lost fair and square to a superior opponent.

And yes, that was arrogant. But Sam, throughout the course of building both his professional career and reputation, had discovered that arrogance wasn't, in and of itself, a bad thing. You had to be mindful of it, sure, and watch out for hubris, but knowing how good you were also meant that you understood your limits — and thus knew what you needed to improve on (or avoid entirely, if that was more prudent). All of which meant that Sam was completely confident in his ability to win this, because he'd been doing it for years, and often against semi-pro (and the occasional true pro) runners. This wasn't to say that he was discounting Ryan's capabilities, because he wasn't; he couldn't, if only because he hadn't actually seen the man run. But his observational skills were among the best in the country for a reason, so he was expecting a healthy competition, but he was also anticipating a decisive win.

And he really, really wanted to knock Ryan's smugness down a peg. Or ten. But at the same time, he didn't want to be a jerk about it, because he didn't want to upset Cassie.

Okay, seriously? Could he really not go five minutes without thinking about her?

So naturally, here she came. Think of the devil and she shall appear.

No, wait. That was Linda.

This was just the woman who now strolled in and out of his mind like it was her own house, leaving traces of her presence everywhere she went.

Yes. There was definitely a brain-eating amoeba running around somewhere in Middleton.

That had to be the case, because he could not think of a single other reason for her to be offering him beet juice.

"Is that a dare?" he asked incredulously, forcing himself not to take a step back just to be safe.

An affectionate look accompanied her lecture on the merits of beets (which, let's be honest, no one needed or wanted), and then came the inevitable poke at his medical knowledge and the intimation that he should already be aware of these facts.

"I don't need beets," he assured her (oh, and Ryan; Sam had forgotten he was still standing there). "Just skill and hard work."

That last was directed straight at the other man, because . . . well, Sam wanted there to be no doubt that when he won, it was completely and totally him. No gimmicks necessary.

"Hmm, I think everyone could use a little extra help," Cassie said, her emphasis not escaping anyone's attention.

Never let it be said that Sam Radford wasn't a good sport. With a thoughtful, "I think you're right," he grabbed a glass.

And immediately handed it to Ryan, who was, of course, already holding one.

To give him credit, Ryan merely scoffed, sucked up to Cassie, and tossed down both glasses, before trying (and failing) to one-up Sam.

And then he got a look on his face that was startlingly similar to that guy in Ghostbusters when he'd first seen Slimer (stunned, horrified, and revolted), turned on his heel, and . . . wow. He was actually scurrying away.

Um. Color Sam confused; he didn't think he'd been that mean, and not because he remembered what he'd said. Cassie hadn't said anything either, and Lord knows she would have spoken up if she thought he'd gone too far.

He registered her finger wave to someone behind him even as he asked, "Something I said?"

Her voice was hushed as she replied, moving so that his body was shielding her and only further confusing him. "No, someone he saw."

Yeah, that was helpful.

"Who?" he asked, glancing behind him (like that was going to help; there were very few people here he could identify right off the bat).

"Annie," she whispered, ducking down a little.

Good grief. Every time he had a conversation with Cassie where he needed information, it was like running a verbal obstacle course.

Actually, no, it wasn't. Sam liked obstacle courses and was quite good at them. This was a flipping scavenger hunt, complete with cryptic clues and only being allowed one piece of information at a time. Well, at least he knew the rules.

"Who's that?" he obligingly asked, resigned to the game.

"His ex-fiancée," she informed him, giving such a fake smile to the woman in question that his own teeth hurt a little.

That was unexpected and he swiveled back to her, his eyes wide with surprise. Ryan had been engaged? That was . . . he would never have seen that coming. But—

"Who's the guy with her?" he prodded, knowing that her boyfriend/fiancé/husband wasn't the only answer.

"Oh, uh, that would be Mark," she said with a bite to her voice. "His ex-best friend. Um, Annie's husband."

Ah, hell.

Really?

That was quite possibly the only thing on earth that could make him feel sorry for Ryan Elliott, because he could wholly identity with him. The only difference was that Linda hadn't slept with Liam — well, that and the fact that they had been married, not engaged.

Still.

Ryan had been cheated on by two people who were supposed to be his best friends, and they decided to show up, unannounced, on the same day as an important race?

What a pair of douchebags.

But what was really frustrating about knowing this? Ryan's behavior around Cassie made sense. He still didn't like, mind. But he got it.

And Sam knew it was petty. He did. But he was irritated now, because he was going to win this race . . . but not fair and square. There was no way on earth Ryan would have his head in the game, and Sam understood that. He knew that he was unusual because he possessed the ability to totally ignore the emotional impact of his negative feelings while still being able to turn them into the raw determination to win (of course, the trade-off was that he collapsed for a solid 24 hours after he had . . . well, won, but he maintained it was worth it). It was one of the reasons he'd not only gotten through med school in three years, but he'd also been at the top of his class.

Ryan, on the other hand, simply didn't have that kind of personality. And that wasn't a put-down; most people didn't. But now Sam was irked, because his day had just gotten a lot less fun. And, if that wasn't enough, he also had his own memories (well, demons; he was thinking about Linda) to shove back down. Luckily, running had given him a lot of practice at turning that particular demon into speed, endurance, and a flat refusal to let anything beat him.

Well, at least his win would be decisive. Hell, the mood he was in? He might just pull a Secretariat in this race.

But it would be tainted for all of them. And he didn't want Cassie to feel that.

Well. His mind was downright insistent on going there, wasn't it?

Yeah, he needed to find a cure for this brain-eating amoeba yesterday, because he had to stop thinking about her.

She wasn't his to think about.

She wasn't.

She couldn't be.

{{**}}

Cassie sighed quietly as she stepped into the main dining area of The Bistro and found Ryan. He was slumped despondently by the wall, radiating misery.

"Hi," she offered quietly, not knowing what else to say.

"Hey," he replied, looking up for just a second before his gaze skittered away and he gave her a vague hand wave. "I just feel like being alone, thanks."

For some reason, that hurt.

Well, no, she knew why. He was her boyfriend and so he was supposed to come to her for comfort and support. Instead, he was trying to tough it out with a false show of bravado.

But Cassie wasn't going to fight him on it; between Annie and Mark's arrival and then losing — badly — to Sam, Ryan was in no state to be reasonable.

"Okay," she whispered.

And then promptly settled herself beside him.

As if Cassie Nightingale would leave anyone alone when they were hurting as badly as Ryan was.

The incredulous look she got was almost funny, but when he scoffed in fatalistic acceptance of her presence, tinged with a somewhat resigned hum—well, no, not humor, but acquiescence, a small smile pulled at her lips. She might be able to coax him out of this after all.

"I'm sorry about the race," she said, both because it was true and because it was the lesser of the evils that were bothering him.

When he rested his forehead against his clasped hands and shook his head, his lips twisted in a small, bitter smile, she frowned. "I think we both know that's not what this is about," he stated quietly, with no fire or even anger. There was nothing in his voice but dull acceptance and Cassie almost shivered when she heard it.

"I take it you didn't know they were coming?" she checked, even though she knew the answer.

And here came his second incredulous look of the afternoon, along with an equally incredulous, "Ah, no!"

Then he met her eyes and Cassie nearly sighed with relief when he allowed himself to vent. He still trusted her. And maybe now, with the anger gone, he would be open to the possibility of forgiving them so that he could finally start to move on.

"And you know what I can't stand?" he asked rhetorically, clearly not needing or wanting an answer. "That she still gets to me, and he still gets to me."

He trailed off with a sigh, one that Cassie echoed because the anger hadn't gone, but — knowing the minefield she was about to enter — she still decided to try getting him to consider forgiveness. Tentatively, she said, "It takes a lot of energy to stay angry."

"That's interesting," he shot back, looking at her with more than a little disbelief. "Doesn't change how I feel."

Well, she could understand that. She disagreed with it completely, but she could understand it.

"I know that you can always forgive people," he continued, sounding . . . almost contemplative. "But for me, there's a limit."

He sighed again, this time in utter exhaustion, and Cassie hated that. He was in so much pain and she ached for him, but she knew from experience that holding on to all that pain and anger and heartache were only hurting Ryan; not only would Annie and Mark not care about his torment, they would, in fact, relish the knowledge.

So, after an unusual beat of hesitation and an actual second thought on her course of action, she decided to follow through. "Maybe it's time to change tactics," she suggested carefully. It had worked on Sam, and he could be a lot more volatile than Ryan.

"Yeah," he said with a laugh that wasn't — well, it wasn't happy, but maybe . . . curious? "Okay. What are you suggesting?"

It was reluctant, but she could hear sincerity as well.

Oh! He was serious!

Emboldened by the possibility of helping him finally purge this grief, her answer wasn't as well-thought-out as it should have been. "Forgive," she said succinctly.

Mistake.

"You're kidding me!" he exclaimed, giving her such a disbelieving look that she knew she had failed, at least for the moment, and he continued without giving her a chance to reply. "No. No way," he said firmly, shaking his head in emphasis. "I'm sorry, Cassie, but you're wrong about this one."

And he just . . . walked away.

Cassie watched him go, unable to really identify how she was feeling. She was hurting for Ryan, of course, and felt a little angry on his behalf, but . . . she thought she should be upset that he didn't trust her enough to heed her advice, because — well, shouldn't you at least consider it when the person you were dating was the one to offer it?

And he hadn't even done her the courtesy of pretending to think about it.

She should be very upset at the lack of faith from her boyfriend.

Only she wasn't.

And she didn't (want to) understand why.

{{**}}

Nick's sullen refusal to accept the new status quo wasn't surprising, but it was aggravating, as was his flat rejection of coming to the ball.

Sam honestly could not understand his attitude. He had never in his entire life seen anyone so determined to be miserable, and he was a trauma surgeon who had also run one of the busiest ERs in the country. More than that, he'd been married to Linda Wallace. But his son was unwavering in his efforts to deny Sam even a miniature victory, and he finally had no choice but to resign himself to that.

As Martha Tinsdale had so astutely told him, he could lead the boy to the starting line, but he couldn't make him run.

Or dance.

Or have anything resembling a good time, especially if it resulted from something his father had recommended.

So be it.

Sam had tried until he was blue in the face to show his son new options, and he was exhausted. If Nick was that damned determined to shut life out so he could throw his tantrum, then fine. Sam would let him, so long as he kept the damage to himself.

But that didn't stop it from hurting.

{{**}}

Hey, look at that. He was at the Bell, Book, & Candle.

For no reason at all, other than the desire to see Cassie.

Well. This was certainly an interesting development, wasn't it?

Because he truly, honestly, didn't know why he wanted to see her.

He didn't want to discuss Nick and he was doing just fine in moving things along with Stephanie.

And he sure as hell hadn't developed a yen to talk about Ryan Elliott's problems.

So . . . why was he here?

"I hear congratulations are in order," she said quietly as he came up behind her and — ah.

That was why he had come.

Winning had been the frustrating combination of satisfaction and disappointment that he'd been expecting, and he wanted . . . well, he wanted to—

No. No, there wasn't 'want' this time. He needed her to know that he understood Ryan's pain, and his anger, and that he would never say a word about that situation to anyone other than her. But he also wanted her to know that he was all-too-familiar with the bitter, acrid taste that the ashes of betrayal left in your mouth. And . . . that brain-eating amoeba was making progress. Fantastic.

Because the last thing on earth he should want was to talk about his divorce.

But he really needed Cassie to know that he was — he just wanted her to realize that he did have a legitimate reason for not wanting to reach out or get too close to people.

Only . . . she sounded . . . very Not Okay, behind the sincerity of her statement.

All right; he would start small, and if she needed him to be there for her, he would gladly shove his own feelings aside so he could give her what help or support he could provide.

"I won," he said quietly, grimacing a little at the reminder, respecting and acknowledging her obvious unhappiness. "Ryan came in second."

"He didn't have his mind on the race," she said firmly in the other man's defense, turning to meet Sam's gaze and flat-out daring him to contradict her.

Which he wouldn't have done even if he hadn't understood how Ryan was feeling, because he wasn't stupid.

But there it was. She needed to talk about this, and he wanted to be her friend, someone she felt safe in confiding in, so he mentally took a deep breath and belly-flopped directly into the deep end of the pool.

"His fiancée took off with his best friend. Wow, that's rough!" Sam started, trying to feel his way through a minefield he was intimately familiar with but one he suspected she was not. He could be wrong, of course, but it would surprise him to learn that any idiot had been dumb enough to cheat on her.

She looked down at his words, her expression twisting with something he couldn't identify.

"Yeah," she replied quietly, taking a long moment before meeting his gaze, "but anger isn't healthy."

Really?

That, more than anything else, told Sam she had never experienced the sheer, indescribable mess that being cheated on made of a person's mental, physical, and emotional health.

And he was thankful for that, he really was.

But still: anger isn't healthy? Seriously?

No, he could not let that pass unchallenged.

"Yes, it is," he firmly contradicted her, tilting his head to the side in emphasis.

"No, it's not," she said quickly, her lips quirking up just a little (he assumed it because they were, in a sense, bantering, and — well, it was something they both enjoyed. And he got a sudden glimpse of his future: Cassie Nightingale was either going to become the best friend he would ever have or be the reason he became a raging alcoholic. So that was something to look forward to.).

But he couldn't return her light teasing, not right now. He just . . . couldn't. Not now.

"Sometimes that anger is all that gets you out of bed in the morning," he retorted, memories of that very occurrence rising. How many times had he gotten up and gone to work, determined to set a record — or break one — and done it, simply because he refused to let Linda destroy him completely? He might not have been the world's best husband, but by God, he would be the best surgeon in the state of New York.

By the time the divorce was finalized, he was one of the top three trauma surgeons in the United States.

Yeah. Don't ever tell him that anger wasn't healthy or productive.

"But you wouldn't understand," he added, turning away when he realized that his resentment was building, and quickly. He didn't want to fight with her, or unload his issues with his ex-wife on her shoulders, so it would best if he got out of this conversation now.

"Excuse me?" she demanded, sounding incredulous, and he turned back, eyebrows arching in surprise even as he mentally shrugged. Okay. If she wanted to do this with him, he would oblige her. He was a safe target, after all; wasn't that why he'd decided to stay? You know, be the person she felt safe in talking to?

Yes, it was.

But they had wildly differing opinions on this, based on actual experience (him) and zero experience (her), so his reply was a little . . . it wasn't as polite as it maybe should have been.

"You're one of those, um, 'turn the other cheek' people, I can tell," he said snidely, coming closer to her as he made his point, a sardonic smile curving his lips as the full weight of his memories surged up.

She scoffed and then looked him straight in the eyes. "Well, forgiveness isn't about the person who hurt you," she stated authoritatively. "It's about you and moving on." This was said with a small shrug as her lips curved in an almost-smile that wrenched Sam's heart because the sorrow behind it was obvious, even if he didn't know why it was there (but why did he feel like he should?). "Hate traps you in the past," she finished, shrugging again, her eyes never wavering from his.

He simply nodded in response, his suspicions confirmed, and began to make his own point. "Yeah, well, you've never been . . ."

Here, he actually paused, startled by how much he really didn't want to say it. His anger at Linda hadn't abated, which was fine, he worked well with anger, but the hurt was still just as strong.

And he hated that.

Especially because . . . oh, hell. He wanted Cassie's good opinion of him and he was afraid that he would go down in her estimation by revealing what had happened to him. See, infidelity always involved three people and to the best of his knowledge, it had never occurred because 'my spouse is a saint.' And Sam had experienced the joys of the accusation that HE was the reason his wife felt the need to seek sexual satisfaction elsewhere — from people who should have known better. He'd honestly thought they did.

But he'd willingly walked in the middle of this minefield, so there was no choice now but to tiptoe through to the other side. He could curse himself later for being such a damn fool.

"Never been what?" she asked innocently, and damn if that didn't tug at his heartstrings, because even now, she didn't quite understand. She and Jake Russell had been lucky, lucky people.

He scoffed softly in resignation before replying, "Cheated on," even as he somehow found the courage to hold her gaze.

Comprehension finally washed over her and she softly said, "Ah, but you have," as sympathy lit her eyes.

And for some reason, that made the hurt ten times worse, so he tried to play it off as not all that serious, because he didn't want her to see his sudden vulnerability.

"Well, it wasn't my best friend or anything," he said, forcing himself to continue even as she nodded her understanding. "My wife's Pilates instructor. I should have known. She was always going to the gym, but she was in horrible shape," he added in an absent aside, because hindsight and all; he really should have seen it. But Sam just wasn't that kind of person. If he didn't want to be around you anymore, he — well, he would stop hanging out with you. Cheating on someone or going behind their back wasn't something he would ever do, so the thought of it happening to him was — or had been — inconceivable.

Cassie gave him a small smile when he was done, before gently asking, "And you never forgave her?"

"No," he replied a little sharply, astounded by the question. "I divorced her."

Why that surprised her, he couldn't say, but seeing it pushed him past his limit for this conversation, so he gave a rueful smile while he looked down and huffed out a slightly-bitter laugh.

"Well, I have some work to do, at the clinic," he excused himself, not caring in the slightest at how blatantly obvious he was being, even as he somehow managed to meet her eyes again. When she immediately looked away from him, he mentally winced.

Damn. This right here? This was why he didn't get close to people. Someone always, always, got hurt, and he was so tired of that.

So why he suddenly wanted nothing in the world but for her to be happy again, he did not understand, but there it was, so he found himself compelled to add, "Um, see you tonight?"

When she said, "Yeah," his heart couldn't decide whether to leap for joy or freeze in horror.

So he left.

Raging alcoholic it was.

{{**}}

Long before Ryan blew into her shop that day, Cassie knew that her future had suddenly changed, and seemingly without any input from her.

For better or worse remained to be seen. Had she been less frustrated with the entire miserable situation, this would have troubled her, but as things stood, she simply didn't have the mental energy to spare. She was concerned about Ryan, but Sam . . .

She had been . . . well, brooding, actually, over her conversation with Sam, who had been seething with bitter resentment when he left her. She'd also taken a few minutes to be astonished at the brooding, as that wasn't a state she typically found herself in.

Trust Sam Radford to be the exception to that rule.

Sam . . .

It was encouraging to see how much he was coming to trust her, though the information he had so reluctantly shared was heartbreaking.

And a little confusing, to be frank. How on earth could anyone cheat on Sam Radford? The man literally radiated 'honesty', for heaven's sake!

But the knowledge did help her understand both father and son quite a bit better. For Nick, his anger at the situation was being compounded by Sam's own negative feelings. And Sam — well, it seemed that he had learned the hard way that he could no longer trust the people he should never have had to question . . . and, given his surprisingly strong response to her response to the pain and heartache he had inadvertently swamped her with just before he left, well . . . it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was afraid of losing her good opinion.

And that was surprising and touching and something that she would take the time to cherish later, because it spoke volumes about his opinion of her. And to her mild bewilderment, Cassie found that she wanted Sam to think well of her.

But his reaction also told her that he had been spurned by people who should have been supportive, which in turn explained both his standoffishness and his stubborn refusal to really integrate himself into Middleton life.

And she got that, she did.

But just because it had happened once didn't mean that it was the new rule for the rest of his life.

Though, having said that, infidelity was something she'd never endured, so it was unfair to judge him for his emotional turmoil now. She knew with complete certainty that forgiving his ex-wife would go a long way to easing his pain and help restore his ability to trust people, but just like Ryan, Sam wasn't in any shape to hear that. And she had no frame of reference for the anguish they had experienced at the hands of the women they had loved.

Which made her feel . . . useless . . . in this situation. Neither of the men in her life wanted to hear the only thing she had to say, so what, exactly, was she supposed to do?

Stop.

Sam wasn't a man in her life; he was her neighbor and her friend.

But it still hurt a little, because she didn't know how else to help either one of them.

Which, of course, was right about the time she suddenly felt her future being . . . solidified, maybe? Or just . . . a decision had been made, and the result had eliminated the other major possibilities.

Hmm. This was a new feeling, and not one she cared for, it must be said. But no matter how closely she tried to look or how deeply she searched her emotions and those of the people around her, she could not find anything other than what she already knew: her future was about to change drastically, and it didn't feel like she had a say in it.

So when Ryan blew into her shop, she was unsurprised when he laid out the situation.

Irritated, yes. Frustrated beyond belief, yes. Unappreciative of being put in the middle of Ryan's issues with Annie and Mark? Oh, most definitely, yes.

Surprised? Not remotely.

As his girlfriend, Cassie was supportive of his endeavors. But his stubborn, blind refusal to see that Annie and Mark could not care less about him was . . . well, tiresome. It was patently obvious that the only reason they kept picking at Ryan was because it worked, and because they were two of the most spiteful, mean-spirited people she had ever had the displeasure of meeting. But if Ryan would stop providing easy entertainment every time he saw them, the pair would quickly tire of the game.

Now, having said that, Cassie would not mind in the slightest finally shutting Annie Markowitz up. That woman had nearly ruined a good man simply because she could, and because she didn't even have the common courtesy to tell him the truth about her changing feelings. And then to make such a public spectacle about getting together with Mark . . .

No, Cassie was honest enough to admit that she really, really wanted the other woman to finally face some consequences for that.

But . . . she didn't want to announce her relationship with Ryan just so he could get even with his ex. She and Ryan were better than that and she didn't want to cheapen what they had by doing the same thing Mark and Annie had done — declaring their status in a public forum — especially when it would only serve as a form of punishment for people who would neither understand nor care.

Besides, her plan had been to slowly introduce she and Ryan as a couple tonight, not with an announcement but simply not denying it if people asked. And she still thought that was the best course of action.

When she sighed in resigned frustration as his initial frenzy wound down, Ryan took that as the cue to start seriously making his case.

"But I know her," he began earnestly, leaning forward to emphasize his point. "She's just here to check up on us."

This earned him an arched eyebrow.

"And since we are together," he continued, his voice rising with his own frustration, "why can't we just admit it?"

"Just to rattle Annie?" she replied, crossing her arms.

"No!" he insisted, throwing his hands up.

When she only looked at him, her eyebrow going even higher, he groaned and closed his eyes.

"Okay, fine," he huffed. "See, Annie is only here to find out if you and I are together and she is hoping that we are not, because she likes that she's happily married and I'm still single."

Wait — he knew this and he was STILL letting her play him?

"In some sick way," he continued, oblivious to her thoughts, "it makes her feel superior to me. And that . . . that is one among many reasons that I will never forgive her. Or them."

Wow.

Cassie had no idea what to say to that.

But before she could even begin to formulate a response, the decision was taken out of her hands. Annie and Mark strolled through the door like they were perfectly normal customers and made a beeline straight for the couple, Annie wearing a smile that a shark would be wary of, and Cassie found that she couldn't do anything but watch them approach, her eyes widening in mild disbelief that this was actually happening.

"What?" Ryan asked, reading her face.

Then he heard their footsteps and turned, his face twisting with anger at the sight of his ex and her husband before he gave a half-shrug of resignation and moved to stand beside Cassie.

Annie gave Cassie a huge, fake smile that any TV game show announcer would have paid top money for and said, "Ryan tells me congratulations are in order," with such phony enthusiasm that Cassie nearly rolled her eyes in response. It was hard to believe that a grown woman could still be such a child, let alone allowed to run around unescorted by a responsible adult.

She debated hard with herself for several seconds, but when Ryan grabbed her hand and squeezed desperately, she found herself boxed in, because Annie and Mark both zeroed in on the movement like a snake watching a mongoose (a comparison that was a lot more accurate than Cassie really wanted to deal with right then) and she refused to abandon Ryan like that.

"I guess they are," she replied with her own more-than-a-little-fake laugh, despising the situation they all suddenly found themselves in even as she let Ryan lift their joined hands.

Because if her boyfriend actually thought this was going to end well, he was a lot more naïve than she'd realized, especially when she saw the shocked fury in Annie's eyes, satisfying though it was in the moment.

Still, what was done was done. And maybe . . . maybe it was a good thing that things had been taken out of her hands this way.

Now there was no going back.

{{**}}

Okay.

So, remember when Sam had declared that he wasn't a masochist?

Right. Well, apparently, that was a big fat lie.

Or that brain-eating amoeba had completely eaten his brain.

It had to be one or the other — and it said volumes about his current state of mind that he wasn't sure which one he was hoping for — because there was literally no other reason on earth that he was headed to Grey House with the sole intention of talking to Cassie yet again about his divorce, this time with the aim of explaining himself a little better and thus clarifying some things.

It was extremely disconcerting to discover just how badly he wanted her to have a good opinion of him.

Particularly since he wasn't a man who cared about what other people thought.

But that was Cassie: the apparent exception to all of his rules.

He really needed to figure out how he felt about that.

She was dusting when he came in, up on a stepstool with her back to the room (and yes, he was steadfastly refusing to appreciate her lithe figure as she stretched to grab something, because he wasn't interested in her that way), so her greeting him without even turning her head took him by surprise, as it always did, and he gave a helpless shrug at the now-familiar feeling of having missed something. It was something he experienced a lot around Cassie and while it was unnerving, it was also, somehow, fun.

She turned and, seeing the look on his face, laughed softly and said, "I saw you walk up."

"Oh," he replied, because what else could he say? He didn't quite believe her, but he also didn't care right now.

"So, uh, what can I do for you?" she inquired as she climbed off her stool and met him at the couch, eyes wide with curiosity.

Now that the moment had arrived, he found himself uncharacteristically tongue-tied and sighed heavily.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head, because he was here to do something for her this time, and hopefully clear the air about his divorce, the reasons for it, and his resultant feelings.

"And yet, here you stand," she returned with a gentle laugh, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners.

He liked to see her laugh.

Wait.

What?

Okay, it was definite: the amoeba had finally eaten his brain. Well, he might as well dive in, then. It wasn't like he had anything to lose.

With his own soft sound of (admittedly dark) amusement, he took the plunge.

"I just don't want you to get the wrong idea about me," he told her, mentally swearing at his failure to map this conversation out before he came over here.

"Wrong idea?" she repeated, brows drawing closer in confusion.

See? This was why he always planned everything in advance, because it headed crap like this off at the pass. And he couldn't go back outside and start over, so now he was stuck, blindly feeling his way through a conversation that promised to be awkward — and that was him being optimistic.

"Earlier," he specified, catching her eyes and tilting his head in the vague direction of her shop (because what else could he be referencing? God, this woman actually was going to drive him to drink.).

"Yes," she confirmed, watching him carefully.

"I was just saying that I . . . I understand how Ryan feels," he continued, deciding on the spur of the moment to bring the other man into it. If nothing else, it would help deflect attention from his own issues.

He hoped.

When she just nodded and said okay, it took a second for him to realize what was happening, and then he got irritated.

He hated when women did that: agreed with you so you'd stop talking while silently disagreeing so loudly that the neighbors heard it.

"Don't do that," he warned softly, shaking his head. He deserved better than that.

"Do what?" she asked with that damned coy smile that usually amused him but right now was nails on a chalkboard.

"Sound like you agree with me with me when you really don't," he said, frustration tingeing his words.

"Sam . . ." she started with what sounded like a resigned sigh, looking down.

"Some things can't be forgiven," he insisted, barreling over her. She had the right to her opinion, but she didn't have the right to judge him for his, given that she had (thankfully) never experienced the agony of the person you loved throwing that love back in your face with the extra humiliation of doing it via a third party.

"I believe in forgiveness, you don't," she answered, and nearly ignited his temper. She knew only what he had told her but she still thought that she had the right to make any kind of informed statement?

Oh, hell, no.

"No," he snapped back. "I believe in forgiveness, it's just that some things are unforgiveable!"

He might, on his own, have been able to forgive Linda for the pain and humiliation she had put him through. But the hurt she had caused Nick? No, he would never be able to forgive that. And so much of it could have been avoided if she had just acted like a grown fucking adult and talked to Sam. They would still have gotten divorced, he suspected, but there wouldn't have been so much bitter acrimony. And he refused to tell his son that his mother had abandoned him for both her job and another man, because Nick loved her and Sam . . . Sam didn't want to taint that by him finding out what kind of person Linda really was.

Being without his mom was hard enough; Nick didn't need that disillusionment on top of everything else.

Cassie, who was utterly oblivious to his thoughts, kept right on with their conversation.

"Forgiveness is like love," she said earnestly, her entire being imploring him to understand and agree. "If it isn't unconditional, it doesn't work."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sam shook his head. He had not thought this through near well enough.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he muttered, cursing himself again for a bad idea. "From what I can gather," he added, looking back at her, "you had a pretty idyllic marriage."

She stared at him in silence for a few seconds before quietly saying, "Yeah, that was ended by the person who killed Jake."

. . . fuck.

FUCK.

And damn. And son of a bitch and you stupid bastard and every other curse and derisive phrase for his own stupidity that had ever been invented, to the power of infinity.

He had completely forgotten about that and at her stark reminder, he wanted to cut his own tongue out. Or just beg Cassie to kill him now and end everyone's suffering. God! He could be a moron. And a jackass. And because he was Sam Radford, Overachiever, he had to pick today to be every single iteration of 'jerk' at the same time.

To a woman who had been widowed by a trigger-happy burglar.

Yeah, he should just get his pocketknife out now and hand it to Cassie. The blade was dull, but he deserved that and then some. What in the hell was wrong with him?!

Only—

"And you don't hate him?" he wondered aloud, feeling incredulous disbelief at the thought, because how could she not? He hated the bastard on general principle, because he'd hurt Cassie and Grace, two people he cared for a hell of a lot more than he should.

"I did," she replied steadily, though he could see the grief in her eyes. The sight brutally tore at his heart and he despised himself a little more for forcing her to relive it so that . . . so that she could help him.

Oh, God. Just kill him now. The guilt he was feeling for himself because he had deeply hurt a woman who had only ever tried to help him was overwhelming, made even more so by the fact that he didn't have the right to feel this way — because it wasn't his hurt. But what was even worse? He knew that Cassie wouldn't want him to feel the self-loathing that was currently flooding his body.

He needed to fix this, only . . . he honestly didn't know if he could.

But, by God, he would try, and he met her eyes, desperately hoping she would see the sincerity and the depth of his remorse.

Because she was Cassie Nightingale, she did. And she wordlessly forgave him.

The strength of her character nearly flattened him and he had to swallow back an unexpected bout of tears at the unwarranted show of faith in humanity — no, in him — that he had done nothing to deserve.

And he saw, clearly and vibrantly, that Cassie could so easily be his best friend, his touchstone, his guiding light, his North Star.

Only she couldn't. And he couldn't. And—

"I'm human," she added with a shrug, her voice thickening a little with emotion, which only deepened his guilt and shame while making the desire to protect her flare up even more fiercely (the irony nearly choked him). "But if I continued to hate, it would have consumed me," she explained, somehow managing to hold his gaze as she imparted the wisdom that he had forgotten she had. "And that's not a way to live."

And she — she was completely and totally right. For the first time, Sam could actually see that and the fact that she had apparently been able to forgive the man who had destroyed not only her life, but her children's lives, and George's, with one careless, violent act, just . . . awed him.

Shamed him.

Humbled him.

So — maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to at least try dealing with what had led to Linda cheat on him. If nothing else, he'd just keep being angry about it and his life would continue as it was.

Even though he wasn't so sure that was what he wanted, now.

Before he could begin to articulate his thoughts, though, the young woman who had been causing consternation for what seemed to be everyone he knew in town came in, escorted by Brandon Russell. Sam stepped to Cassie's side and in silence, observed her relief at the girl's safe return. It was . . . he liked watching the way she cared about people, he suddenly realized, and then frowned mentally, uncomfortable with that train of thought and knowing that he should get out of here. Cassie needed to deal with — well, whatever this was, and Sam needed to be alone.

He excused himself as unobtrusively as possible and headed home, thinking back over that conversation and coming to several conclusions. Some were welcomed, others not so much, but all of them combined to the point that he could no longer deny the need to sit down with himself and take a long, hard look at some of the things he'd been so assiduously avoiding.

And give himself yet another firm reminder that Cassie Nightingale wasn't his to think about in the way he kept thinking about her.

She was probably with Ryan.

He was about to be with Stephanie.

Cassie was his friend, yes, and he was allowed to care about her as such. But it had to end there.

It had to.

They couldn't be anything else and that was all he wanted anyway.

Right?

{{**}}

If she needed any additional evidence about how distur—no, she wasn't disturbed. Cassie Nightingale was positively discombobulated about the collective situation with Sam, Ryan, and Annie and Mark, and so made an exceedingly rare misstep: she sent Anthony after Grace, who had gone to see Nick for some reason. Had she not been so mentally distracted, she would have known this was a Bad Idea and managed to deflect the boy . . . but she didn't.

Proof positive that Cassie Nightingale was not, in fact, perfect.

Good to know.

But between dealing with the two most exasperating men she'd ever met — simultaneously, because why not? — and then having to calm Martha's hysterics down, Cassie was, to be blunt, frazzled. So the Teenage Drama™ that was going on between Grace, Nick, and Anthony just . . . fell through the cracks (and, worse, by the time she realized what she'd inadvertently helped cause, it was too late to do a damn thing about it).

She spent all afternoon in an agony of thought, second thoughts, arguments with herself (and imaginary Ryans, because she needed to yell at him and this was her only option), third thoughts, and one brief consideration of changing her name to Helga and moving to Iceland. The more she thought about the upcoming ball and the scene (one of many, she suspected) that was sure to happen, the less happy she became.

And, given that she had begun her ruminations in 'ticked off' mode, that was saying a lot.

But she had promised Sa—Ryan! She had promised Ryan, her boyfriend, that she would be there, and Cassie Nightingale did not renege on her promises. So with a deep breath and an even deeper exhale, letting the tension drain out of her with the expelled air, Cassie reached for her usual calm demeanor and pulled it around herself like it was her favorite sweater (which, she supposed, was true in a way, and the realization made her smile).

Then she started getting ready for the ball, only to run into an unexpected snag.

It had been about a week shy of their one-month anniversary when she bought the dress, because it was beautiful and she knew Ryan would appreciate it. But . . . fast forward a month and suddenly, she wasn't nearly so sanguine about wearing it, because it could very easily send the wrong message (if only she could figure out what that message was). Yes, she fully intended to stop hiding her relationship with Ryan tonight, but not by making an announcement, which this dress . . . kinda did. And she didn't want Ryan to think that she was ready to go further — well, no . . . yes. No.

Yes.

Yes, that was a part of her hesitation.

But she mostly didn't want Sa-Ryan to think that she was in any way, shape, or form prepared to take up the mantle of Middleton's Newest Power Couple, because he was beyond ready to go there. It was one of the things that was making her be so cautious about their status as a couple, because mentally and emotionally, they were not on the same page yet (she occasionally wondered if they were in the same book, even).

The only other dress she had that was suitable for this type of event was a little too sparkly (literally, though on reflection, she thought it might suit Heather), so with a shrug and a sigh, Cassie got dressed and went to meet Grace so they could start preparing to greet their guests. As her daughter didn't seem to be ready yet, Cassie settled herself in the downstairs window set and gazed out at the night, thinking about the first time she and Jake had gone to a police function and how much fun it had been, once her nerves had subsided. To her enormous relief, the memory made her smile and her spirits lifted at the knowledge that she was finally starting to move on. She would always love Jake, and miss him, but he was gone and could never come back, and she had finally come to a complete acceptance of that.

And she knew that he would want her to be happy.

So when Grace came to the door and she saw their daughter, so grown-up and breathtakingly beautiful, she nearly cried. Where had the time gone? Wasn't it just last week that Cassie had been crowing over her Tommy the Turkey hand painting? And now here she was: mature and wise and sweet and just . . . just gorgeous.

"You look so beautiful, Mom," Grace gushed, her eyes wide with appreciation (and the surprise that inevitably hits every child when they realize that 'Mom' is actually a human being and not just, well, 'Mom').

Cassie's own eyes widened as her daughter came in the room and she saw the full effect of her outfit. It was so moving that she had to stand up just to take everything in.

"Ah, but you are the real beauty," she breathed with a soft smile, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

Grace blushed a little and looked down, but met her eyes again almost immediately.

"But . . ."

But?

"You don't wanna look beautiful, do you?" she asked so astutely that Cassie actually felt winded.

(was this what people felt like when she revealed their hidden motivations? God, she hoped not.)

"What?" she managed to ask, somehow managing control her voice, though not her expression, which showed her discomfort. And thus, the accuracy of that statement.

"Well," Grace answered, holding her eyes. "If you look beautiful, then you'll attract people—"

Cassie had to look away, utterly unable to deny the truth of that.

"—then maybe you'll feel attracted to them," she finished, with such disturbing directness that Cassie actually felt a stab of unwilling amusement even as those words hit home.

This was exactly she hadn't told Grace that she and Sa-RYAN were dating.

Let there never be any doubt that Grace Russell was her mother's child.

"It's not cheating on Daddy," the young woman continued, her eyes dark and earnest.

"I know," Cassie whispered back, because she did. But that didn't make it easier, and how could she explain that to her 14-year old daughter?

"He wants you to be happy," Grace added, because she could feel her mother's pain and wanted desperately to make it go away.

Cassie nodded, feeling tears starting to fill her eyes, and looked away, because she — how could she explain the tangled muddle of her emotions to her daughter when she herself hadn't been able to untangle them?

"Yeah, I know," she choked out, "but, umm . . ."

"Mom . . ." Grace interrupted gently but with firm purpose. "It's time."

Which was the most heartbreakingly true statement Cassie Nightingale might ever have heard.

So she swallowed down her tears and found a smile for her daughter.

"Thanks," she whispered, and got a loving smile before Grace turned and left the room, giving her mother a minute to compose herself and marvel again at the magnificent woman her and Jake's daughter was becoming. She really had been blessed.

So with one final deep breath, she left the room as well.

Grace was right.

It was time.

{{**}}

Her conversation with Heather's grandfather, short though it was, helped shore up Cassie's nerves. Her final advice to him, about needing a little lesson in bravery, was also her version of a self-directed pep talk.

With a deep breath, Cassie entered the fray.

And of course, because God does have a sense of humor, she ran into Stephanie first (okay, she was headed to the kitchen, so who else would be there, but still . . . she didn't see anyone before she got to The Relationship Bloodhound of Middleton?)

"Wow!" Stephanie said in sincere admiration, leaning back a little to take in the full effect of Cassie's outfit. "Ryan is gonna be knocked on his . . . well, you know."

She did know and that was exactly the problem. Her doubts came flooding back and instead of taking this golden opportunity to officially acknowledge her and Ryan's status as a couple, Cassie floundered for a few seconds and fell back on old habits before she could even register it had happened.

"Uh, I—I didn't dress for Ryan," she managed, her voice not quite as steady as she would have liked. And it was true: she hadn't. But she knew how it looked and . . . well, again, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Stephanie gave her a look.

"Well, he dressed for you," she said pointedly, earning a surprised look from Cassie.

"Uh, what do you mean?" she asked, not sure that she wanted to hear the answer.

And look at that: it seemed that Stephanie had actually learned some subtlety, because she never looked up from wiping glasses that were already clean as she answered.

"It is amazing that you see so many things for other people—"

This earned her an incredulous look before Cassie forced her attention back to the punch.

"— but yet are totally blind to the fact that Ryan likes you — and not just as a friend," Stephanie finished, leaning in and giving Cassie what she suspected was supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace.

Which was odd.

Before Cassie could think up any kind of response to that, someone came in. A second later, she recognized him as Ryan and turned to greet him, only to pause when she saw him really see her.

When his reaction washed over her, Cassie was nearly overwhelmed: admiration, awe, lust, gratitude . . . those she expected.

The smug pride, however, was a different story.

And not something she was okay with.

But she couldn't call him on it, not then, so it was just . . . there.

Grating against her.

"Wow!" he said with a laugh, his eyes skimming over her again and making her a little uncomfortable, though she did appreciate his genuine admiration for her appearance. "You look marvelous."

She gave him a smile and a sincere 'thanks' because it was a lovely compliment, but didn't have anything else to say, so after a slightly-awkward silence, he held up a bouquet of flowers and said, "Um, these are for you. Thank you."

And again, without conscious thought, Cassie let another opportunity to enact her own plan slip away. Literally: her brain had no say in the matter.

Instead of kissing him, which, you know, a girlfriend would do at this point, she simply replied, "Sweet!" as she accepted them.

"Yeah," Stephanie interjected, her voice just this side of saccharine. "Sweet."

And then, thankfully, she headed for the door, leaving the couple alone in an uncomfortable silence. After nearly a minute without either of them saying a word (well, not out loud; Ryan's expression was saying plenty and she had to admit that it was warranted), Cassie finally excused herself and went to go help with . . . something.

Anything.

Maybe if she was busy enough, she'd stop thinking about why she was unable to keep her promise to let people know that they were officially a couple.

What was she so afraid of?

{{**}}

Well, she wasn't afraid of being eaten by a shark, Cassie mused as she walked away from her mini-confrontation with Annie. She was in no way deluded enough to think it was over, but she had landed a few good zingers and finally gotten the woman to shut up, at least for a minute. Though she did wish she was . . . well, catty enough to respond to Annie's not-remotely-subtle probe as to the speed of their getting together with a snotty — yet completely true — comeback of 'well, unlike you, Ryan and I see no need to involve the entire town in our personal business.'

It was actually on her lips, but her inherent personality overrode the 'bitch' portion of her brain and she let it slide. Besides . . . it wasn't like Annie would appreciate any of the subtlety, or her own hypocrisy. Self-reflection was not one of her gifts.

So, after walking away from one headache, she immediately encountered Sam (and no, she hadn't been looking for him, thank you), who was suspiciously asking about the contents of the punch.

Seeing him settled her (again! What was it about this man that was soothing for her? Why did she have a sense of 'safety' so often when she was around him?) and Cassie laughed softly as she approached, taking a moment to appreciate the way he looked in a darker shade than he usually wore.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased, coming to his side.

He chuckled in response and told the server, "Yes, one punch, pl—" and then really registered her presence. "Make it two, please," he requested before turning to face her.

The expression on his face when he took her in warmed Cassie down to her toes.

Oh.

That was . . . this couldn't be good.

Especially when he followed that with the heartfelt declaration, "Well, you look stunning."

But unlike Ryan, she felt nothing except genuine admiration and appreciation.

And that was a dangerous feeling, coming from him.

So she forced herself to laugh, vaguely worried that it sounded a bit off (to match the way she was feeling), and gave him the equally true compliment, "You clean up nicely yourself," even as she mentally chastised herself for noticing how well that dark color set off the blue of his eyes.

"Oh," he replied, looking pleased as he accepted the two cups proffered by the server and handed one to her. "Thanks. I didn't think I'd be wearing this suit again so soon, but, um, you know, Middleton is more of a casual place. I like that," he added with a little surprise, making Cassie smile. Sam was just . . . fun . . . sometimes.

Oh, yes, she was definitely in danger.

From what, she couldn't (wouldn't) say, but nonetheless, it was true.

Deflect, deflect, deflect!

"But we still like to put on our party clothes," she replied . . . a lot more playfully than she'd intended.

And why, in the name of God, had she said that?

"Clearly," he agreed, giving her another appreciative look. "You should do it more often."

Before her blush could form, he changed the subject so unexpectedly that it actually caught her off-guard.

"Hey, uh, I'm sorry about earlier. That conversation . . ." he began, giving her a slightly-hangdog look.

And she refused to let him carry any guilt for that. He had in no way intended to hurt her and had apologized so profusely without needing to say a word that the devil would have forgiven him. Besides—

"Oh, it's okay to be hurt, Sam," she soothed him, because it was. He had made several very good points, some of which she had never even considered, and . . . well, truthfully, she probably owed him an apology.

"Yeah, she cheated on me," he retorted (which — well, he couldn't read her mind, so she could understand his need to reiterate that point), only to pause with a wince — and she suddenly wondered if he'd ever talked about this with anyone. Somehow, she found herself doubting it and that made so much sense.

And she was so incredibly glad that he felt safe confiding in her.

Her sympathetic, understanding nod pushed him back from the brink of anger and they shared a rueful laugh.

"I don't want to talk about it, really," Sam told her, looking down. "It's just that . . . I only want to apologize," he repeated, sincerity ringing in his voice.

"Mm," she murmured, giving him a coy look. Here was a chance to make her amends without letting things get maudlin. "For being right again?"

His laugh pulled an answering one from her and they shared a warm glance.

"Bottom line is, people don't change," he stated, his eyes darkening with what she suspected was remembrance.

And she understood why he felt that way, though she didn't agree. But that was exactly why they were so well-matched. Their views weren't true opposites; rather, they were tangential, so they often came to the same conclusion, just from different paths (and frequently with a nudge here and there; the man could be incredibly stubborn sometimes).

"But sometimes, they do surprise you," she countered with a knowing smile, catching sight of Nick dancing with Amber.

His forehead crinkled as he turned to follow her gaze, his own eyes widening when he saw his son.

"Hey, Nick!" he greeted, unable to hide his surprise (or his relief). "You came."

Nick nodded and slowly came closer. "Uh, yeah, I did," he answered, looking a little sheepish as Amber came to his side and slid her arm around his.

There was an awkward beat of silence where nobody knew what to say, and then Amber said, "Nick," and he leaped at the opportunity to leave (not that anyone there blamed him; 'awkward' was fast devolving to 'embarrassing'). "Uh, see you, Dad," he said before letting her pull him away.

"Okay," Sam said, turning back to Cassie with the most befuddled look she'd ever seen.

God, he was cute.

Before she had time to . . . well, do anything about that thought, Ryan suddenly appeared and took her arm.

"Excuse us," he said to Sam before catching her eyes.

"Oh!" she replied in surprise as she put down her punch, having not expected that. Or him, to be honest.

"You're an 'us' now?" Sam asked as Ryan tugged on her hand.

And Cassie finally found the courage that had been eluding her all evening.

Because Sam was dangerous to her, but he was also a decent, honorable man.

So she met his eyes as she let Ryan lead her away.

And nodded.

{{**}}

Sam Radford had been punched in the stomach once in college, by a mugger wearing brass knuckles.

He'd graduated from medical school in three years. At the top of his class.

Then Linda had cheated on him before abandoning him and his son.

So, when Sam told people he had a genuine pain scale, he wasn't joking.

This? This pain was both unexpected and shockingly intense. It wasn't a Linda, but if that mugger were here, Sam would gladly throw up his arms and take another direct hit or three.

"You're an 'us' now?"

Such a casual question, one that he thought was rhetorical, because the answer was obvious.

Only—

She nodded.

She nodded.

And he—

Okay, look, he didn't want her for himself. No matter how beautiful she was, or how much she challenged him in a good, enjoyable way, or the fact she never asked him to change who he was, only that he consider a different perspective . . .

What was he saying?

Right. Sam Radford was not remotely interested in Cassie Nightingale. Not romantically.

He wasn't.

But as her friend and protector (whether she needed it or not), Sam was simply Not Okay with the thought of her dating Ryan Elliott.

And it wasn't because he disliked the punk.

Okay, not just because of that.

But Sam . . . well, he was a trauma surgeon. So it followed that he'd witnessed a lot, and he was very, very good at what he did. But see, here's the thing: not all trauma is physical.

And his experience made him extremely wary about the potential path he could see for the couple.

But he couldn't change what was happening, or ask her to break up with Ryan just because he had a 'feeling.' He couldn't even discuss it with her because there was nothing concrete to talk about. For all that Cassie was extremely empathic and good at reading people, she wouldn't understand why Sam was concerned about her and Ryan. Hell, even he couldn't really say for certain, because as far as he knew, nothing had happened. He just didn't like the signs he'd observed because he'd seen them before, and had also seen where too many of them ended up.

And once they were on his operating table, it was generally too late.

So hell would freeze over with flying pigs and the devil wearing a pink sundress before he allowed that to happen to Cassie. Or Grace.

But.

He — you know what? He was getting ahead of himself. Like, massively. Not once in any of his dealings with Ryan had Sam gotten a sense that the man was dangerous and he didn't see that changing. He just really, really didn't like him and truthfully, he couldn't see Cassie with him long-term. She was like Sam in that regard: they had to be with an intellectual equal, and—

Anyway.

Whatever happened, he would just do what he could and be there for her, as someone she could talk to or argue with for the fun of it or just . . . sit in companionable silence while she drank tea and he ate her delicious baked goods after forcing down the vegan crap she insisted was real food (vegan ice cream? Really?!).

(no, he still wasn't over that)

And if (when) it ended, he wouldn't say a word. He would just be there in whatever way she needed with no hesitation and no questions asked. Nothing but steadfast, endless support.

But if Ryan hurt her, Sam would—

Surgeon, remember?

Sam would let him live.

{{**}}

He was watching Cassie serve as Ryan's trophy wi—arm candy, resolutely not thinking Anything At All, when Mark Markowitz (he did feel a little sorry for the man, being saddled with that moniker, even as he wondered just what kind of pregnancy his mother had experienced that had caused her to do that to the kid) decided that next to Sam was a safe place to be standing.

Which told him a lot about the mood of the room, at least regarding Ryan's . . . uh, former romantic entanglement.

Or, in the real world: a clusterfuck.

And the man apparently possessed neither a brain nor an ounce of respect for another person.

Seriously: who actually TELLS someone they don't know that they're in town to steal business from a man the whole town (actually, considering Martha, it was likely the entire state) knows you stole his fiancée from?

Sam was . . . well, truthfully, he was a little in awe of the man's pure gall. Appalled, sure, but there was reluctant admiration for the utter lack of shame.

He was also revolted and walked away as soon as he was sure he'd gotten all the information he could. His skin was crawling and it took entirely too much effort to keep himself from decking the bastard.

Wow.

He was feeling . . . remarkably violent tonight.

Huh.

Shaking off the unusual (and unnerving) feelings, Sam debated for a few seconds before deciding that Stephanie was his best option for getting a clearer picture of things about Ryan, Mark, and The Ex. Martha would probably be a better source, but Sam was honest enough to know that in his current mood, she might well cause him to snap and that was a headache that nobody needed, least of all him.

Besides, if he was going to ask Stephanie out, he really should start seeking her company out first, to show an interest similar to what she had given him.

(the fact that it got him away from the sight of Cassie and Ryan was pure coincidence)

As he expected, she was happy to see him, which lifted his spirits, and he recovered enough equilibrium to flirt with her, obliquely promising her a dance while still preserving 'the mystery.' He'd forgotten how much fun the chase could be and wished that he was in a position to truly enjoy it. But between Cassie, Ryan, and his new discovery about Mark, Sam's mental resources were stretched a little thin at the moment.

For such a small town, Middleton was freaking exhausting sometimes.

As Stephanie clinked her glass against his, secure in the assurance that she would end up in his arms at some point this evening, Sam debated on the best way to bring up the subject and finally decided to just be blunt.

And he listened in growing disbelief and anger at the story of two of the most duplicitous, smarmy, despicable people he'd ever heard about or met — and he had been married to Linda Wallace, so his bar was set pretty high.

Ah, crap.

Now he felt sorry for Ryan again. And, given the information he now possessed, he knew he had to tell the other man what was going on.

Ugh.

He didn't like Ryan. Not even a little.

But what those two had done to him? And what Mark was actively working to do now?

Sam would have told the devil himself what was going on.

So as he found Ryan and gave him the Cliff Notes version of what he knew, Sam had no qualms or misgivings. It was the right thing to do; Ryan deserved at least a fighting chance.

Which made him wonder . . . why couldn't he shake the feeling that this was something he was going to regret?

{{**}}

As she watched Ryan finally step up and be the man she knew he could be, refusing to let Mark beat him down again, Cassie thought her heart would burst with pride.

When he forgave his former friend, she had to fight back tears.

This was a man she could be with.

And if she carefully kept her eyes and thoughts away from Sam, well . . . it was because her boyfriend deserved her attention. Plus, watching Mark slink away, surrounded by a crowd of people who formed a path to let him through and mocked him as he made his way to Annie via the walls of the room, was one of the most satisfying sights she'd seen in a long time.

So when Annie decided that Mark hadn't embarrassed them enough, Cassie was almost amused, because Ryan had yet to get through the crush of people, which meant she was alone. And Annie had always, always underestimated her.

Also, Annie Markowitz was many things, most of them unpleasant, but she was tenacious. And her narrow, self-centered worldview simply couldn't process the thought that Ryan had actually moved on from her.

So when she kept trying — with an increasing and slightly alarming insistence (no, seriously; it was bordering on unhinged) — to get Cassie to admit that she was lying about dating Ryan, she couldn't help but see the humor in the situation. The only person she'd told tonight was Sam, but . . . well, Annie wasn't going to believe anything she or Ryan said. She simply wasn't. That would require her to be reasonable and that was, quite frankly, beyond her abilities.

But—

Ryan's appearance at her side distracted her and she glanced up at her boyfriend, silently marveling at his composure and rejoicing just a little at the sympathetic pity in his eyes as he finally saw Annie for what she was: a pitiful, shallow creature whose self-worth was tied directly to what she perceived as 'winning.'

But when she became hysterical in her denial of reality, Cassie reached her near-endless limit.

"I know I'm right. Just admit it!" she insisted once too often.

"No, Annie, you're wrong," Cassie snapped, and kissed Ryan in front of God and everyone.

It took him a second to respond, but when he did, it was enthusiastically (though she kept it chaste, which Ryan made a lot more difficult than it should have been), and left no doubt in anyone's mind that they were together.

Well, that's what should have happened.

{{**}}

Forget being sucker-punched by a brass knuckle-wearing mugger; could Sam be married to Linda again?

It would be less painful than watching this.

Because — the thing was, he understood perfectly why Cassie had done it. She (and the entire town, according to Stephanie) had been itching to bitch-slap Annie since she'd so publicly and viciously humiliated Ryan.

Well, okay. It was unlikely that Cassie had actually wanted to slap her; that wasn't her style.

But if Cassie had been pushed past her limits to the point of French-kissing a man in public, he couldn't begin to imagine what the people who had been there for the entire train wreck were feeling.

So watching her make her point so decisively that even the portraits on the wall were taken aback was understandable.

Only . . .

Sam knew it wasn't a ploy, or a joke, or a stunt.

This was real.

And as he spun Stephanie around and then dipped her before pulling her back to his chest, he realized that he was a masochist after all.

Because despite the pain this was causing him — pain that he had no right to feel because she wasn't his and he didn't want her like that, dammit — he knew that even now, he couldn't walk away.

Somehow, without him knowing it or getting any say in the matter, Cassie Nightingale had burrowed her way into his heart.

And he didn't resent her for it.

He couldn't.

But he wished he wanted to.

{{**}}

Things were calming down.

Ryan, after the dance where they had shared a somewhat wicked glee in finally getting Annie to shut up, had eventually come down from the victory high of dealing with Annie and Mark once and for all, and was now back on the phone with the same client Mark had tried to steal from him (and yes, Cassie was determinedly ignoring the fact that she was grateful for his absence rather than annoyed; Ryan was a real estate agent, not a cop or a doctor, so what could possibly be so important he was on a business call at 10:00pm?).

Most of the party-goers had left, she had come face-to-face with the end results of her earlier faux pas with Grace, Nick, and Anthony (and was working very hard to fend off the guilt; yes, she had made a poor decision, but none of them were children anymore and it was long past time they all learned to talk to each other so they could work things out), and she was gathering up the remaining food, trying — and miserably failing — not to think about anything, when Sam slowly made his way to her.

She very carefully didn't notice his open shirt collar or the tie hanging on either side of his strong throat.

"Hey," he greeted her on the end of an exhausted sigh.

She paused in picking up a macaroon and looked at him with concern; what could have happened in the last hour to cause such a dramatic (for Sam) reaction?

He grimaced in response and said, "It seems I won a race but lost an argument."

What?

Oh, right, Nick.

"Yeah?" she teased, giving him a smile, because at least that had gone okay for him. And she was glad; he deserved to have something good come out of this situation with Nick.

"People can change," he admitted, his voice full of bemused wonder, before adding, "especially my son," with a look so akin to those old Bitter Beer Face commercials that Cassie had to fight down a spate of giggles.

He really was adorable sometimes.

No, he — actually, yes, he was. And it was okay for her to think that. He was a friend and friends could be adorable.

"Just have to give them a chance," she agreed, feeling happy for him on general principle and pleased with her new resolution about their friendship.

He said nothing for several seconds, chewing his lip and looking contemplative, before finally whispering, "Wow."

Okay. That was new.

"What?" she asked curiously, amused in spite of herself.

"So this is what it feels like to be wrong," he confessed, his voice still hushed and his eyes full of self-deprecating humor.

Oh, wow. He was so adorable.

"Hmm, you better get used to it," she assured him, smiling at the thought.

He nodded sagely, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Well, living next door to you," he murmured, "I think I'd better."

And she was in so much trouble.

She couldn't think of a single thing to say to that, so with another smile, she apologetically gestured to the food and started cleaning up again. Without a word, he stepped up to help and Cassie had to forcefully shove away the thought that it should be Ryan doing this instead of Sam.

He was on an important phone call, one that took precedence over helping clean up a party.

But it irked her, just a little, and it seemed she didn't hide it as well as she'd thought, because when they got the last of the food gathered up, Sam gave her a huge smile, ridiculously pleased with himself (she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing; the man did not need any encouragement), and escorted her back to the main room, a silent, steady presence at her side.

Ryan was waiting at a table, sprawled in a chair without a care in the world, and the sight irritated her yet again.

But the smile that lit up his face when he saw her was warm and genuine, so she let her annoyance fade away and smiled back at him, turning to include Stephanie as she walked up, and making the mini-announcement that, "Well, that was a Heritage Ball to remember."

Ryan hummed in agreement. "I can honestly say that I can't wait for next year," he replied, meeting her gaze before looking at Sam, who nodded back.

Well, that was curious. She'd have to ask Ryan later what had happened.

Then the song changed and Ryan glanced up, listening, before turning back to her and asking her to dance.

Why not? It would be a nice end to an . . . interesting . . . evening.

So she settled in her boyfriend's arms, only to find herself unable to relax, a situation that was made worse by Ryan's not-really-joking-at-all suggestion of becoming an openly-public couple.

And yeah, their little display earlier should have been the catalyst for that, but throughout the remainder of the evening, Cassie had come to a startling insight: not one single guest had figured out that she and Ryan were dating. They all thought it was just the two of them finally giving Annie and Mark some richly deserved and long overdue comeuppance.

Had Cassie been anyone else, she might have cried at that realization (and if she felt a confused combination of relief and frustration, well . . . she still had mixed feelings about publicly announcing their relationship, so that made sense).

But his hopeful insinuation put her on edge, for reasons she couldn't quite identify, even to herself. This in turn rendered her unable to articulate her thoughts to Ryan, but, thankfully, he took her silence as a request to back off (which, okay, it was) and they swayed wordlessly for a minute, with Cassie trying to relax and just enjoy dancing with her boyfriend.

And then she accidentally met Sam's eyes and the intensity she saw there took her breath away, though she couldn't begin to guess why.

But it didn't make her twitchy the way Ryan's earlier look had and beneath her confusion at that was a strong sense of relief and . . . a feeling of security she hadn't had since . . . since Jake was killed.

Only her senses had tied it to Sam, not Ryan.

Oh. Well. Wasn't that special?

Sam was safe, especially now, because he would respect her relationship with Ryan . . . her boyfriend . . . so their friendship could truly begin to blossom. And because of that, but also because of who — and what — Sam was, he would be whatever she needed; all she had to do was ask.

She just . . . needed to figure out what that was.

And soon.

{{**}}

As Sam watched Cassie sway in Ryan's arms, he once again found himself battling the urge to knock the other man's teeth down his throat.

Okay, what was wrong with him? He was not a violent person, but this was the third (well, fourth, if he counted his brief thought of losing his temper at Martha) time he'd actively had the desire to hurt someone. Tonight!

Except he knew perfectly well what was wrong with him.

Cassie had roused his protective instincts again, even though he truly didn't (want to) know why.

But he was her friend, so he said and did nothing and merely stood behind Stephanie, unable to look away from a sight that was tearing at his heart in ways it shouldn't be and he didn't want. He had to trust that she would decide for herself what — and who — she needed.

"They make a nice couple, don't they?" Stephanie mused.

Sam wasn't really sure how to — well, see, he had one other solid, unwavering character trait that had driven Linda and more than a few of his med students (and a lot of his girlfriends, actually) Up The Wall. It would become noteworthy in the not-too-distant future, though it was not yet a quality of his that Stephanie was familiar with.

He never agreed with anything he didn't 100% believe.

So when she posed her innocent question, he gave her the only answer he could.

Silence.