Chapter 5
Sam rolled to his side on the bed, his hands under his head, and stared at the gold ring with the emerald stone tucked behind the lamp on the nightstand. Years of dreams were trapped in the green sparkle of that ring, dreams he figured would never come true. Until now. Even with Quinn pushing him away and months of deception lying before him, Sam still felt like there was hope that the future he always wanted was finally within his grasp. He was going to give that ring to Quinn one day soon, and convince her that this time he was playing for keeps. No backing down, letting another man slide into his spot, this time Sam was going to hold his ground and stake his claim on her heart. Coming out of a coma had given him a renewed sense of confidence, an inner resolve, a deep seated knowledge that anything worth having in this life was worth fighting for, holding his ground, taking a stand for what he wanted. This time, like all the times that he could remember before, he wanted Quinn, and this time, it was going to happen. They were going to be together.
He didn't have a plan beyond the obvious, declare his heart, never let her go, but a plan didn't seem necessary at this point, he was just going to trust his gut. And his gut was telling him that Quinn might be holding back now, but that wouldn't last. She wanted him, just as she had wanted to have his child. He had to hold onto that and not let his insecurities or his past mistakes cloud what he knew to be true, inside, where it mattered. Quinn wanted to be with him, she'd said those very words the night before, he just had to remember that, and everything would fall into place. A level head and a full heart, and she would be his.
Sam sighed heavily as he got up from the bed, as much as he wanted to stay hidden away in his room for the rest of the night, he couldn't, he had to get back to his daughter. He opened the garment bag that hung from the back of the closet door, the one Kurt had brought to him, dry cleaning that Figgins had picked up earlier that day, black wool pants, and a black button down shirt. Sam slowly undressed, removing the rumbled clothes he was wearing, to put on the fresh ones in front of him. His closet was pretty bare, just a couple suits, and some shirts hung in the large space. The floor that used to be littered with shoes, now was empty except for two pairs. The upper shelves however, were still full, overflowing with random boxes.
Sam took one of the boxes from the shelf and carried it to his bed, lifting the tan lid carefully. Inside was as he expected, a collection of photographs, notes, and mementos from his youth, high school mainly. There were certificates from various activities, his letters from basketball and football, a yearbook from sophomore year. Sam opened the deep red volume and smiled, the inside cover was filled with messages from friends, wishing him a great summer, and hopes of seeing him in the fall. Most of the names he barely remembered lost in the fog that overtakes the mind as childhood fades away. He flipped to the section with photos of the sophomore class, there was Brittany all bubbly and blond, standing out on a page filled with wide grins and pimples. He flipped ahead a few pages to find himself, his hair lighter than it had been in years, a smirk on his face. He remembered his mom had complained about that photo, saying she paid good money for his perfectly straight smile and she expected to see it on display as much as possible. The irony was that he had perfected the closed mouth smile, because of those hideous, and as he was often reminded him, expensive, braces that she forced him to wear. He didn't start smiling wide again until later in the year, when Quinn moved to town.
Sam scanned down the page of the yearbook, to all the F last names, Quinn Fabray was three photos from the left, a gray outline filling the box above her name. Didn't seem an adequate representation of someone as lovely as Quinn, but she had transferred to McKinley late and had missed picture day, so her tenth grade photo didn't exist. She did sign his book though, legs crossed in the grass, her hair tucked behind her ears, as she labored over the page as if she were writing a dissertation instead of a message. He had sat down next to her, leaning his head on her shoulder, trying to either hurry her along or get a glimpse at what she had written, but she paid him no attention, continuing to scribble on the back page of his yearbook. Sam ran his hands over the page, her message the only one gracing the back page. He had saved that spot just for her. In purple ink and her curly handwriting, Quinn's note to him from the tenth grade remained.
Dear Sam,
It is hard to put into words what it has meant to have you in my life. We haven't known each other that long, months really, but it feels like longer. I know you will probably think I'm a dork for saying this but being with you makes me happy, happier than I've ever been. Being with you is like listening to a favorite song and I get all excited and my heart lifts waiting for the best part, or that one amazing high note and this rush overtakes me when I hear it. Being with you is like that. It is like you make the music feel real. I guess I just wanted to say thank you for that and I hope you have an amazing summer. ~ Quinn
At the time he thought what she wrote was a bit strange, he was still learning the wonderful ways her mind worked, but the part where she said he had made her happy, that was his favorite part, he must have read those lines a hundred times that summer.
Sam placed the yearbook aside and continued to rifle through the box. There were a number of things he didn't recognize, photos of events he didn't recall. Like one picture with him, Mike, Quinn, and Rachel. He could tell it was at BreadStix, and they were pretty dressed up so it must have been some sort of party, but Sam had no clue when it took place. Rachel Berry certainly was beautiful though, the way he had his arm around her waist, he could tell this must have been while they had been a couple. There were other pictures with Rachel in the box, always smiling and looking happy.
He put the photos back in the box and closed the lid, before putting it back on the shelf in his closet. There were other boxes up there, but he didn't have the time to go through them all, Kurt was probably wondering what was holding him up. He'd left his cousin with the baby, while he came to his room to change. Truthfully he just wanted a few minutes away from Kurt and all his accusations and questions. Kurt was not making it a secret that he disapproved of all his choices of late. He got pretty ticked when he found out he had spent the night with Quinn. Sam could only imagine his reaction if he found out the rest, that Quinn was back in Lima. Although the decision to have Quinn released was primarily about his daughter, Sam was sure that Kurt would think it was something darker, some calculated way for him to hurt Mercedes. When in actuality Mercedes had nothing to do with it, he had only been thinking of Quinn and Beth at the time.
They had been back in Lima for hours and he hadn't even spoken to Quinn since dropping her off earlier in the afternoon. He had let his wounded feelings keep him at bay, when all he really wanted to do was spend every moment he could with her. Hours had passed there really was nothing stopping him from going to see Quinn now, it was his suite after all, he could just drop by and make sure she had settled in. She probably was hungry, maybe they could order in dinner, watch a movie, anything. Sam just needed to see her. So she just wanted to be his friend, that was fine, friends visited each other, they could hang out. Maybe he would take Beth with him. He knew about the supposed rules that Quinn couldn't be around Beth, but that didn't seem fair. Quinn shouldn't be kept from her child just because she tried to hurt herself. He could bring Beth to the hotel where they could spend a few hours together, it wouldn't hurt anyone. No one would have to know.
It was all decided. He would send Kurt off to that party he was supposed to be going to, the one that Mercedes was already at, with Finn Hudson, and he'd go to the Beacon with Beth to see Quinn. All he needed was Kurt's promise that he wouldn't mention anything about hotels and Quinn to Mercedes. Sam leaned his head against the closet door. That would be easier said than done. Kurt seemed pretty loyal to Mercedes, he couldn't see his cousin keeping something like that to himself for long, not without more coaxing. Time was the one thing Sam didn't have. He wanted to go see Quinn immediately now that the idea was firmly planted in his head. He would just have to risk it, usher Kurt off to the party, and then sneak away to the Beacon. Hopefully Kurt would be too drunk once he got into that college party to remember to spill his guts.
Sam hadn't gone to college, not officially as a student, but he had attended his fair share of campus parties. College girls liked him even before he was legal. By the time he was 18 he probably had spent more time in the dorms at Lima U than most freshman that were enrolled there. Even though he dated Quinn for much of his high school years, he still maintained an active social life, he didn't give up the party scene just because his girlfriend would rather hang out at Julian's house and listen to music or study. Sam learned balance when he was with Quinn, finding ways to spend time with her and still hang out with his teammates at various parties around town. Somehow he had managed to find a way to have it all, and he had been happy juggling the two worlds, until Puck had come in and turned everything upside down. While Sam had been busy with his dual life, apparently so had Quinn with her own. Her understanding about his time out with his friends, might have been less about her good natured personality, and more about the fact that she was spending time with Puck.
Although Quinn technically never cheated on him, in fact he had been the one to have a few slip ups in the area of commitment, usually with the always touchy Kitty Wilde, or sometimes with a random drunk co-ed, girls tended to throw themselves at him back in high school and sometimes a girl rubbing on his crotch got too hard to ignore, but he never messed around with any of those girls outside of being guilty of letting them touch a little too long. Those occurrences had been completely meaningless, he didn't care anything about any other girl but Quinn. However, in the end Quinn was the one that couldn't say the same, her friendship with Puck had been way less platonic than either had let on and it all happened right under Sam's nose. In hindsight, he knew that Quinn wasn't cheating or deliberately sneaking around with Puck, it all had just developed. And now he truly believed that neither of them was fully aware of the transformation in their relationship at the time. That was what hurt the most. Sam could see what Puck and Quinn couldn't. He could see that there were real feelings there, despite their denial. What could be worse than having a front row seat to watch his girlfriend fall in love with someone else?
Sam untangled himself from the dark high school memories, all that was behind him. Now he and Quinn had a real shot at future together. They had Beth and he gave them a reason to try, to hold onto each other this time. Quinn might be pushing him away now, but Sam was confident that wouldn't last. Everything felt too right to just end like this. He would find a way to convince her to take a chance with him, they could survive the nine months, as long as they had each other. It was going to be a challenge deceiving Mercedes for months, acting like he wanted to be in her life, especially after tonight. Seeing the house where they lived, seeing that nursery filled with his photos, it had thrown him. Knowing that Mercedes truly loved him made this deal even worse. It felt wrong to be playing with her emotions in this way, but he had no choice. He'd do anything for Quinn, even lie to the face of a woman that seemed to care a great deal for him. He was scum, and he knew it, but his father had left him no other acceptable options.
And it wasn't like he felt anything for Mercedes, nothing that deep. He liked her and was grateful for all the care she had given him, but it didn't stretch much further than that. Finding her attractive wasn't enough to make him let Quinn rot in a mental hospital upstate. Besides he didn't even remember how he felt about Mercedes, all he had to go on was hearsay, stories of his supposed love from family and friends. That wasn't proof, that was opinion. Maybe he had been keeping his real emotions bottled up, maybe he was secretly still in love with Quinn, or even Rachel Berry, there was no way his family could have known what was really going on in his heart. Sam couldn't allow himself to get bogged down by guilt because he didn't remember loving his wife. Nothing good would come from it.
Grunting as he got down on his knees to reach for his black shoes on the floor of his very empty closet, he pulled out one black Italian leather shoe, then strained to reach its mate at the back of the closet. Something fell as he pulled it out. It was a small blue box, lightweight and dusty, about the size of a paperback novel. Sam wiped off the lid with his hand, before opening it to reveal its contents. Inside there was a stacks of envelopes, all neatly standing up in a single row. Maybe about twenty in all, some crushed, others pristine, all opened. He picked one of the envelopes up and examined it closer. It was addressed in small evenly spaced blue letters to 'Mercedes Evans', the address was Shannon Beiste's house, the postmark was May 2013. Sam pulled out the folded single sheet of paper from the envelope, instantly recognizing it as his own stationary, his monogram SSE in gold at the top. Taking a deep breath, suddenly feeling hesitant to read the letter, feeling as if it were a violation of something private, like reading someone else's diary. He was being stupid of course, the letters were his own, even if he didn't remember writing them. He began to read his small dark blue block print unable to control his curiosity any longer.
Dear Mercedes,
It has been six nights without you, alone in my old bedroom at the house, staring at the ceiling, missing the feel of your head on my chest. I am finding it hard to sleep without you. I can't settle down, I can't still my mind. Listening to you breathe used to help on nights when I couldn't sleep, when I closed my eyes and saw the red dust of the desert, heard mortar fire in my ears. I would focus on you, your warm body half across mine, the gentle movement of your chest as you breathed in and out. You would settle my mind, stop the horrible film replaying in my head. Six nights, and I miss you so much, it feels like more. How am I going to survive the rest of my life without you by my side? How are you going to make it without me?
I know you are probably rolling your eyes as you read this, but it's true. You need me just as much as I need you. You never sleep well without me. You toss and turn, fight invisible demons in the dark. You used to say that the nightmares stayed away when I was with you because they knew better than to mess with Sam Evans, that I would kick their asses. And I would always keep you safe in the dark. I'd do anything for you. I promised you that. Let me come home, let me keep my promise. ~ With Love, Sam
Sam settled himself more comfortably on the floor, leaning his back against the wall next to his closet. He shoved the letter and envelope back into the box before lifting out another one to read.
Mercedes,
Sorry doesn't seem like a big enough word to describe how I feel. The way you looked at me, like you hated me, like I was a monster, like I was someone you didn't even know. I've never felt so invisible and small, and I have felt that way many times in my life growing up with Dwight Evans, but with you that night, it was so much worse. Just knowing that I was the one that put that blank look in your eyes, that made your light dim, I don't know how to make that up to you. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to fix us. So I am starting with a simple apology. It's all I know to do at this point. You won't answer my calls. Your father and Beiste won't let me near you. I know I hurt you, but please don't shut me out. We need to find a way to work on this. Maybe if you would talk to me, even for a little while, we could get somewhere.
I don't even know if you are getting these letters, your father is probably burning them, or maybe you are. I'm just going to take it on faith that you are seeing this, and even though you don't want to know it right now, I'm so sorry for breaking us, but I love you and I miss you, and I am going to do whatever it takes to bring us back from this. We have too much love to just let it end this way. I'm fighting for our forever, because you are the last woman I ever want to love. ~ Love, Sam
A force was controlling him and he couldn't stop himself as he read letter after letter from the box. It felt like he was looking at himself through someone else's eyes. It didn't seem real, he had no memory of every feeling this way, writing these words, but he knew he had. The phrasing and the handwriting were very much his own. Closing his eyes as he ran his hand through his hair, feeling completely overwhelmed by what he was reading, Sam tried to talk himself into closing the box, to stop reading these sad little notes, but he couldn't. He had to see it through to the end. He had to know if things got better with the last note.
Mercedes,
This will be the last letter I write you. I get it. You don't want me in your life anymore. Julian threatened me with a restraining order today. Was that his idea or yours? Does he know how many times you have called me over to the house? Does he know you leave me angry messages? I think your father doesn't know any of that and you're keeping it from him. You need to ask yourself why you're doing this Mercedes. Why is it that you feel the need to tell me you hate me to my face, almost daily now? Maybe it is therapeutic for you, getting it all off your chest. I don't know. If it is, I'm glad I could help you with something. But I think the reason you call me over so much is because you miss me as much as I miss you, and you want to see me. Maybe the only way you can deal with those feelings is to curse and scream at me in person.
Tonight you told me to forget you ever existed. I know you meant it. I know you won't be calling again. And I will be respecting that. I'm done pushing and pleading. Beiste says I need to love you enough to let you go, so I am going to try. No more visits or messages, no more letters, all of that is done, but in my heart, nothing is finished. I will be hoping until the day I die that we find a way back to each other. I can't pretend you don't exist. I'm not going to forget the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm a better man thanks to you. I like the man I am when I'm loving you. I don't want to lose him. I can't. If I can't be with you, I've got to at least hold onto this improved version of me. So I'll leave you alone, but know I'm still out here in love with you and thinking about you. Time's not going to cure me of this condition. There's nothing in this world that could make me stop loving you. ~ Always, Sam
Sam looked up from the crumbled page in his hand, absolutely disgusted. What the hell was this? He had only been married to Mercedes for a few months, hadn't known her all that long from what he was told. What was with the intensity in these letters? Why was he acting as if losing her was killing him? He'd fought for love before, first against Puck for Quinn. He'd pulled out every romantic move he could think of and when that failed he resorted to schemes and trickery to try to oust Puck from Quinn's heart. Years later with Brittany, he had done the same, more intense that time, the military had honed his discipline, sharpened his plotting skills. Even still with all the ways he set Brittany up to force her to face her feelings for him, never did he do anything like this.
He was on his knees in these letters. He could sense the desperation all over them. Was his guilt so bad over cheating with Quinn that he was willing to beg this woman to take him back? Sam was disgusted with himself. He would have much rather have learned he tied Mercedes to the bed and forced her to listen to him, or that he spent a mint buying her apology presents, but the man in these letters didn't seem to have done any of that. He seemed to have begged for her forgiveness and when that didn't work he allowed her to use him as her whipping boy, taking all of her pain out on him. He must have gone completely soft somewhere along the way. There was no other explanation for his lovesick alter ego in the letters.
He tossed the box back into the closet, ready to close the door on them and forget them for good, when he noticed one letter that must have fallen from the rest. He was almost afraid to open it, fearing what he might find.
Mercedes,
I had a dream last night about us, at our wedding, we were happy and in love. Things didn't turn bad for us this time, no rushing to the ER, no tears, no voicemails. Just us, dancing together, the lights turned low, all of our guests faded into the background. You looked so pretty, with your hair up, a few curls falling on your neck, your lips so red, and your gorgeous smile just for me. It felt so real. I was disappointed when I woke up. I would have given anything to be able to fall back into that dream with you.
We never got to have that dance on our wedding night, or on any night for that matter. How could I have never danced with my beautiful wife? I guess I figured we would get the chance one day, on a romantic night out or when we finally got to take that honeymoon. I never would have believed that things would end like this. You and me apart, barely speaking, and stuck only with a memory of a dance that never happened. We deserve a better ending than this. ~ Sam
Scrawled below his meticulously printed words was a single line.
Okay one last dance and then we're done. ~ Mercedes.
She had responded to this one. This letter was his. Looking back at the box, he could see now that those had been her letters, probably stashed away, maybe finally given back to him when she decided to end things for good, to divorce him. But this letter was one she had sent him back that he had kept, probably cherishing that one line promise. Now Sam couldn't help but wonder if they ever did have that last dance.
Stuffing the letter into his pants pocket as he rose to his feet, he pulled his thoughts back to the here and now. He had to check on Kurt and Beth, get on with his plans to see Quinn, but he couldn't quite shake himself free of one question. What kind of love story didn't include at least one dance?