“Come on, Sam. I already told you. I was drunk. Freaking blitzed. It happened in a second. One minute she’s standing next to me, the next she’s at the bottom of the steps.”
It all came down to trust.
Did Sam trust Richard or didn’t she?
* * *
THE NEXT DAY Sam stood in her conference room, which was filled to capacity with press. ESPN had sent a film crew, and it was clear they were disappointed only Sam would be speaking.
“Richard Stanson is innocent. I’m not saying that as his lawyer or his agent, but as his friend. He is the victim in this case. The victim of a picture taken out of context by a person who didn’t have all the facts.”
“Can you tell us the facts as you understand them?” one reporter called out.
Samantha laid out Richard’s perfectly reasonable explanation for the events of a few nights ago.
“Now, this doesn’t excuse him from overindulging—Juliette, either, for that matter—but it doesn’t make him the monster he is being portrayed as...”
Sam stopped talking, because she could feel an immediate change in the room. Phones were buzzing. Everyone was shifting to look at their messages.
No one was paying any attention to her.
That meant bigger news was breaking.
Good, she thought. The quicker they moved on to the next story, the sooner they would leave Richard alone.
“So if that’s all your questions...”
“Ms. Baker,” one reporter said, stopping her. “A last question. Have you seen the video?”
“I’m sorry?” Sam could feel the heat in her cheeks. “What video?”
“The video from the stairwell. Turns out there was a camera just over the door.”
A video shouldn’t matter. A video would just prove Richard’s innocence. Then, why was her gut turning over?
“Excellent,” Sam said. “I’m sure any video will corroborate my client’s story.”
No, she thought. She could see it in their faces. The glimmer of excitement as the story was about to get even worse. Which, of course, made the reporting of it better for all of them.
“Sam,” said another reporter, a woman Sam had given any number of interviews to in the past. “You’re going to want to see the video before you say anything else.”
So Sam did. She took out her phone, also buzzing like crazy with texts, and pulled up YouTube, which was showing a video of Richard Stanson clearly ripping the shirt off his girlfriend and then punching her in the face only to watch her unconscious body fall down four steps to the floor.
Six months later...
SAMANTHA STARED UP at the house and wondered maybe for the thousandth time why she had felt like this would be a good idea.
Talk about starting over.
Returning to Minotaur Falls seemed like as good a place as any to reboot her life. After all, this was where she’d been raised, and that had worked out pretty well...
Until it hadn’t.
If she was going to stay in the Falls, in her old hometown, then her old home seem appropriate, as well. It had been empty these last years since Duff had died, and Scout had followed her husband, Jayson, to Arizona. Scout was thrilled with the idea of someone actually living here. As if the empty house reminded her of the fact that their father was dead. Which of course would make Scout profoundly sad.
Wow. Had it been almost two years since Duff passed? Some days Samantha felt the grief as if she’d just lost him. Other times it seemed far away, as if those months of reconciling with him, only to then lose him, were a dream from another time.
Back then Sam hadn’t really allowed herself the chance to grieve. There had been Scout to deal with. Samantha had felt it necessary to put her emotions aside to focus on her youngest sister. Scout and Duff had been inseparable through life. There had been worry amongst the family that Scout might not mentally survive his loss.
They should have given Scout more credit. After all, she was pretty tough. Just like Duff raised her to be.
No, no one would have guessed that, of all the Baker girls to lose their grip on their mental faculties...that it would have been calm, cool—practically icy—Samantha Baker.
It was only a small meltdown.
But now you’re back.
Sam’s phone buzzed. It used to go off at all hours of the day in a constant stream of incoming calls and texts but had suddenly gone quiet. Now when it buzzed, it was actually a surprise to her.
“Hello?”
“Are you home yet?”
Scout. Only Scout would refer to this house as Sam’s home. Sam hitched her very expensive handbag over a shoulder and made her way up the porch steps.
“Yes, I’m here.”
She shook out her key ring and identified the one to the house. Pressing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she unlocked the door and let herself in.
Two years away, and yet nothing had changed. The only thing missing was Duff’s favorite chair. Scout had moved that out to Arizona with her.
“Sandy from down the street has been cleaning it for me once a month. I know it’s a ridiculous waste of money, but I just can’t let it go,” Scout was saying as Sam set her bag down.
“It looks like it’s in really great shape.” She took a moment and glanced around the place. No dust, no smell to suggest the air was musty. Just a fresh and clean house, much like it had been the last time she’d been here.
Much like it had been when Duff was alive.
Sam braced herself for the pang of sadness and let it roll over her. Despite her and Duff’s troubles, the love had always been there. She’d never considered what a hole his absence might mean in her life.
Duff was always supposed to be there.
He was supposed to be here now, telling her that she could do this. She could get back on the horse and get her career back. Her life back.
“Well, it’s a perfect hiding place to lick your wounds for a while. Just ask me.”
“I’m not hiding,” Sam said immediately. “I’m not licking wounds. I’m staging a comeback. That’s totally different.”
“Fine, but listen, if you need me to come home and hang with you...”
“I don’t need anyone,” Sam said, cutting her off. There was no
