Read Online Living With Regret by Lisa de Jong - Free Book Online

honestly, tears brimming. Sam doesn’t pour sugar on anything. It’s his best and worst quality.
    “There’s a reason you’re here. You may not be able to see it now, but you weren’t left to live a pathetic life. And I’m not going to let you.”
    I nod, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
    “And just as a side note, I wasn’t really going to walk out the door a minute ago.” He smiles sadly, gently brushing his thumb across my cheekbone to clear away fresh tears. It’s hard to not feel at least a little better, especially when he’s being normal Sam.
    “I knew you were lying.” I sniffle.
    “No, you didn’t. You should have seen your face.”
    “Whatever.”
    He laughs. It’s deep, and his eyes sparkle at the same time. Nothing more genuine than that. There aren’t very many people who’ve heard it; he shows the masses his darker, mysterious side—the one that hides who he really is.
    “Hey, Sam?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I’m glad you cried after your dad died. I was really worried about you, especially when you wouldn’t return my calls.” I called three times a day for over a week before he texted me a simple I’m fine. I got the point—he didn’t want anything to do with me. Or that’s what I thought.
    I learned a long time ago he doesn’t like to get close to people. In a way, he prefers the solitude, because it was what he grew up with. His dad was busy in his shop or drinking, and he never knew his mom. I think I’m the only one he’s ever connected with on a deeper level, and I have no idea why he picked me. But in a way, I left him too.
    The sound that’s all so familiar to me rings through the air, and my parents walk in, each with a cup of coffee in their hands. “Are you okay?” Mom asks, quickening her steps to the bed.
    “Yeah, we were just talking.”
    Dad scowls, focusing his chronic negativity in Sam’s direction. “Maybe, now’s a good time for him to leave.”
    I open my mouth to argue, but Sam beats me to it. “I have to get back to work anyway.” Looking up, a burst of panic shoots through me. He’s the one thing that’s keeping me some version of sane. His sympathetic eyes connect with mine, and some of my anxiety fades when he winks. Him leaving will be better for both of us.
    I nod, keeping my attention on him as long as I can. When his hand is pressed against the door, he turns and signals to me that he’ll call later. It’s something to look forward to. That’s going to be the key to getting through this.

I HAVEN’T SEEN MY house in weeks, but as we pull into the driveway, everything looks the same as I remember. I only wish I could see the last day I spent with Cory as clearly. I’d tried so hard every day I laid in that hospital room, but I haven’t been able to come up with anything. It’s the most frustrating feeling in the whole world.
    When the car comes to a stop in front of the porch, Dad quickly jumps out and opens my door. When we walked out of the police station, I expected him to say he had to return to work, but he surprised me by offering to drive me home in his car.
    “Grab onto my arm,” he says, bending so he’s within my reach. I’ve gotten better on my feet, but I still need assistance because my balance isn’t where it needs to be. The doctor says with a few more weeks of physical therapy appointments, I should be good to go.
    We take a few small steps together until my toes touch the stairs that lead to the front door. “Do you think you can handle these, or should I carry you?”
    “I can walk,” I reply, lifting my right foot to the top of the first step. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be, but I’m stubborn. Besides, there’s only three.
    The whole process takes forever, and by the time we finally reach the door, my body is exhausted. It’s definitely going to take some time before I can get back to normal activities.
    As Dad closes the door behind us, I take in the two-story entryway and expansive living room.