Page 40 of Campus Fake

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll go find Dad.”

She turned and walked toward the back of the room, her head held high and her shoulders back. You’d never know her mom had just broken her heart. And only Sam knew how many times this woman had done that to her since Bryce’s death.

I understood that Sally was hurting after the loss of her son, but I still couldn’t fathom how she could treat Sam with such disdain when it was obvious that Sam was hurting too. Not only that, but Sam was punishing herself more than anyone else ever could. And this woman continued to add to her pain and suffering. And Sam took it like she deserved it.

Anger surged through me. How dare she jerk Sam around like that and give her a false sense of hope?

Sally was already talking to another volunteer, her expression pleasant and engaged, completely untroubled. And I wanted to walk over there and tell her that her daughter—the one she’d just dismissed like she was an inconvenience—had put herself through hell to show up for this family even though they’d given her every reason not to. That the woman Sally couldn’t even look at was the most selfless, loyal, extraordinary person I’d ever known, and she deserved a mother who saw that.

She deserved a mother who would forgive her and recognize her pain.

But this wasn’t my family. Sam hadn’t asked me to intervene, and knowing her as well as I did, I knew she wouldn’t want me to. So I did what I’d been trained to do since I was old enough to sit at a dinner table; I kept my face still and swallowed the words I wanted to say.

I set the toy I’d been holding into the nine-to-twelve bin and went to find Sam.

It didn’t take long. She was in the back hallway, leaning against the wall between the storage room and the emergency exit. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was staring at the floor, but when she heard my footsteps she looked up. The mask she’d been wearing all day was gone, replaced now with exhaustion and not just the kind from working hard, but the kind that came from spending so much energy holding yourself together that you didn’t have anything left to give.

“I’m fine,” she said, because of course she did. Even now with no one watching, her first instinct was to protect everyone else from having to worry about her.

I didn’t answer. I just walked up to her and stopped close enough that she’d have to actively move away to avoid me. She didn’t move.

“Harry, I’m⁠—”

“I know.”

Her eyes bounced between mine like she was trying to read my expression and see if I judged her as harshly as her mom did. She should know me better than that by now. Finally, her expression cracked and her eyes got glossy.

“She used to mean it,” Sam said quietly. “When she’d introduce me to people. She used to actually be proud.”

The hurt and resignation in her voice nearly undid me.

I reached for her, giving her enough time to pull away if she didn’t want my touch, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned a little closer, and I took that as permission to slide my arms around her and pull her against my chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressing flat against her spine.

Her arms wrapped around my waist, and she dropped her forehead against my chest as she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for the past few days, or maybe even longer.

I held her tighter and pressed my cheek against the top of her head, breathing her in. She didn’t cry, but she didn’t pretend, either, and that felt like more than she’d given anyone in a long time.

“I’m so tired, Harry,” she whispered against my chest.

I pressed my lips to the top of her head and kept them there. My arms tightened around her because I didn’t have the words for what I wanted to say. Or maybe I had too many of them—that she was the strongest person I’d ever met, that her mother was wrong, that I’d hold her in this hallway for as long as she needed. Tonight, tomorrow, for the rest of my life if she’d let me.

But Sam didn’t need my words right now. She needed someone to just be here without asking her to explain or perform or pretend she was okay when she wasn’t. She needed someone to hold her together while she was too tired to do it herself.

So that’s what I would do. I would keep holding her, for as long as she needed.

NINETEEN

The Sullivans’ house was the kind of place my parents would’ve approved of. It was a sprawling mansion set back from the road with a circular driveway that had been lined with cars. A live band played jazz versions of Christmas classics from the corner of the main room, and a temporary dance floor had been laid out in front of them. Wait staff circulated with champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres on silver trays. One of the Christmas trees that nearly touched the vaulted ceiling was on display in the main living room—because a house this size had more than one.

It reminded me so much of my parents’ events you could’ve told me I was in Connecticut or New York and I would’ve wholeheartedly believed it.

Sam had her hand hooked into the crook of my elbow, and every few seconds I’d catch myself glancing at her because I still hadn’t recovered from seeing her come down the stairs an hour ago. She’d appeared like a goddess at the top of the stairs in a fitted black dress that hugged her perfect curves. The bodice pushed up her breasts, giving me the most tantalizing view of her cleavage, but not in a way that was tawdry. Her long, blonde hair was styled in an updo, leaving a few tendrils loose. She was a vision and my mouth had gone dry as I’d stared at her in awe. I’d seen Sam dressed up for her sorority events, but for some reason it was this version of her, looking so strong and gorgeous even knowing the hell she’d been through, that had me more mesmerized than ever.

Even now, my mouth still felt a little dry, and I’d been stealing glances at her whenever I could.

“The Sullivans have been throwing this party since before I was born,” she murmured, leaning closer so I could hear her over the music. “Caroline Sullivan was my mom’s college roommate. It’s basically the social event of the season for this neighborhood.”

I covered her hand with mine and her fingers pressed into my arm as she met my gaze and added, “I’m glad you’re here.”