Time passes. No matter what's happening, that is a constant. Time will pass, whether you like it or not.

Thanksgiving comes and goes. Sam doesn't come to dinner. Why would he? What place does he even have here anymore? I'm not even sure.

I work long hours at the Spoon. I work over time (though when you own the place, there's no real thing as over time. Just time). I avoid the old house at all costs.

He stops coming in for coffee. He stops coming to Rock's for Sunday dinner, though Rock says they're still playing pool together, a town over, once or twice a week. I know he's eating at the diner most nights, and Bianca said he's stopped in the store a handful of times.

I don't feel that bad about it. About what happened. It's not like I'm happy about it, relishing the terrible feeling it brought, but it had to end somehow. I had been hoping for a sweet kiss 'goodbye' and then watching him drive off into the sunset, but I guess we don't always get what we want. Or what we expect. That's always the worst part. You don't get a say in how it ends.

I sort of just feel nothing.

Sometimes I feel like crying. Out of nowhere. For no real reason. But then it passes, and everything is okay. I blink away the tears. Hide them from Libby and Rock. Put on a smile and go about my day. Forget that I crashed and burned so brilliantly.

Everything is gray.

It's almost six in the evening, and it's already dark out as I get out of my car and make my way toward my apartment. The lights are on in the old house, but I don't bother to look that way. I don't bother trying to make out motion, or a form. Sam's in there. Somewhere. Where else would he be?

"Max?"

His voice startles me, and I gasp as I stumble backwards.

"Oh!" I turn, and see him walk up the path. He's wearing a knit hat, pulled down over his ears. A heavy flannel shirt underneath a dark, heavy looking quilted vest. I've known him now for four months, and sometimes I still feel surprised to see him. As if he's not supposed to be here. Never was supposed to be here.

"Sorry." He offers. I swallow. We've barely spoken.

"It's okay."

"I'm finished. Everything's done." He says, his voice low and careful.

"You're finished?" I blink a few times, surprised. I didn't think this day would ever come. I somehow thought that he'd always be there, working on the house. And now. It's here.

"Finished painting this afternoon. Need you to okay everything, and I'm done." He tilts his head down and looks up at me, his stance wide.

How can one person make me feel so confused? Like I'd kill to see him smile one more time. To see the crinkles that form at the corners of his serious dark eyes. But I also wish I'd just never, ever met him?

Sam fiddles with the black paracord at his wrist and then looks at me, waiting.

"I'm sure it's all perfect. I'm sure it's great. I can check it out tomorrow morning before work." I nod.

"Great." He moves to leave.

"Sam." I say, wanting to say so much. I'm sorry. I'm a mess. Don't leave. Stay. Stay. Stay. He stops, turns slightly but not completely toward me. One foot in, one foot out. His eyes are unfocused, staring out into the darkness.

"I..." I stammer.

A shrill sound rings through the quiet, cold night. My phone. Sam's eyes narrow, and he brushes a hand quickly over his chin and mouth. I curse under my breath and apologize, pulling the glowing rectangle from my pocket. An unknown number.

"Hello?" I answer softly.

"Hi, I'm trying to reach Maxine Trink?" The voice is professional, serious.

"This is Max." I swallow.

"Hi, this is nurse Houston from TriState Hospital." I feel my stomach clench, and I grab onto the railing to steady myself. Sam turns toward me, his attention piqued.

"Your Uncle, Robert Trink, was admitted to the hospital an hour ago. He's in stable condition, but you were listed as next of kin."

I can hear her speaking, but the words are barely making sense.

" What? Is he okay?" I blurt out.

"He's stable. He was having chest pains. If you can come in, we can explain more thoroughly to you."

I murmur a few hurried words, and then hang up. Sam is waiting, watching me without speaking. His expression is unreadable, and I feel as if I can barely breathe.

"Max?" He asks, stepping forward.

"I have to go to the hospital. It's Uncle Rock." I manage.

****

Rock is laughing when we get there, and although I feel like I may have lost a few years off my own life after hearing the news, Rock doesn't seem all that worried.

"I'll outlive all of you. I didn't call you because it wasn't a big deal. I just had some chest pains, and then Dr. Harrington went and called an ambulance on me. I was hootin' and hollerin' at him the whole time, that it was probably just indigestion." Rock chuckles. He's lying in a hospital bed, IV and monitors hooked up to him.

"If I get charged for that fancy ride, there will be hell to pay." Rock coughs and then shakes his head. I take a deep breath, taking in the sight of my Uncle. A fighter. My Rock. My rock.

In here, he seems smaller than usual. Paler and though he's being his normal loud, raucous self, he does seem different. Hospitals always make a person seem smaller. More fragile. They're not wearing their normal clothes, like a shield. The pallid rooms. The beeping machines. The bright lights. The smell of antiseptic and worry.

"You scared me to death, Rock. They're still running tests?" I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. He groans and nods.

"Sam, can you believe this? Wasting all this on me." He laughs. Sam is standing to the side, and I can tell Rock is happy he's here. That makes one of us. The ride over was uncomfortable, but I'd been so worried about Rock that it hadn't bothered me much. It was actually a good thing that Sam refused to stay behind. I'm not sure I could have driven here and made it in one piece.

"You look alright to me, boss." Sam says with a quick smile.

"You've got to stay for however long they say. You're not leaving just because you can." I rub Rock's arm and he covers my hand with his.

"I will, Max. I will." He nods and I realize that he'd been worried. That he had been scared. Jacob's death had put a bit of fear in all of us. The fear of not know when. Of not being able to say goodbye. I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, and pull my old Uncle Rock into a hug.

"You're not going anywhere. You hear me?" I whisper loudly into his ear, and Rock chuckles as he hugs me back.

"I know. Just like to keep you kids on your toes." He says. I let him go, and catch eyes with Sam. He looks worried, his brow furrowed. He's leaning against the wall, his focus entirely on me and my Uncle.

"It's late. They're going to kick you out soon anyway. Go home, get some sleep, and I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Rock says, and then gestures to Sam. I haven't told Rock about our big blow up, but I also hadn't exactly told him we'd been seeing each other. I'm sure he had an idea about it though.

"Take care of my girl, alright?" He says, and Sam simply nods.

"Sam's done at the house, Unk." I blurt out, trying to change the subject away from me. Rock beams at Sam, who shifts, uncomfortable under the praise of my Uncle's smile.

"Well done, son. I can't wait to see it when I get back."

"Absolutely." Sam says. They shake hands briefly, and then Sam turns and leaves the room quickly. I watch him leave, feeling my heart in my throat.

"He's a good one, Max. You see that, right? Despite all the bickering you knuckleheads do?" Rock asks, and I press my teeth into my lower lip. I swallow hard and shake my head before taking a deep breath.

"Yup! I know." My voice is fake and cheery. I hug my Uncle again, kiss his cheek and wish him a good night. I'll be back in the morning, and I'll most likely be without Sam.

I follow Sam out into the night air, with Sam a few steps in front of me. I watch the broad expanse of his back. His unyielding gate. His face giving away nothing. I can't leave it like this, I don't want to. I just don't know what to say.

"Sam." I say his name, but he doesn't respond. If he hears me, he gives no notice that he does. I pick up my pace, to try and catch up. He keeps moving, his big body making strides faster than I can catch up.

"Sam!" I shout his name, and as we reach the truck, Sam turns.

His eyes are like dark, molten metal. Harsh. Cold and yet somehow so full of emotion, it's impossible to make out what's what. His mouth is set, his shoulders bunched against the cold. I stop, and halt where I am, taken aback.

"You got what you wanted, Max." He says, and his hands bunch at his sides.

"W-what?! What do you mean?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"Some fun. A distraction. Someone that you could push around so you could feel better about yourself. About letting Evan push you around for so long." He turns and walks over to the truck, shoving the keys angrily into the lock. My blood runs cold.

"How could you...That's not what I was doing!" I walk over, and grab at his arm to turn him around, but Sam pulls away. He's strong, and the force of it makes me stumble back.

"That's not what I was doing!" I say again, my voice louder, angrier.

"Oh?" Sam turns around then, and he is looming over me. Big, and just as angry, but I'm not scared of him. I've felt his touch when it is just the two of us. I've felt his smile against my breast, and kissed my way over his entire body. Felt him shake as he gave himself over to me. He may be bigger than me, but I know I'm not in any danger while with him.

I'm not scared of him. I'm scared of myself.

"I can't do it again, Sam! I can't live in someone else's dream. I won't do it. I won't." I shake my head. "I won't do that. I won't play along until I can't breathe, I can't see, I can't even find myself anymore. I won't do it. I won't be part of a plan that no one wants anymore!" And without thinking, I push him hard. I shove my hands into the wall of his chest and I push. He moves back, bumping up against the truck.

"Do you hear yourself? Do you?!" He puts his hands up, his fingers grabbing at nothing.

"I tell you that I love you, and you kick me out of your house. And it's just done. Nothing else. Who's living in a dream world, Max? You won't even step foot into your mother's house. Who is living in a nightmare of their own creation?!" He shouts at me, his eyes looking elsewhere for a moment before they focus in on me. Through me.

His words are like knives. I feel like I'm suffocating under his truth.

"You're living your little sister's life for her! How is that not a dream?! That's her Bucket List, not yours! What's yours?! Do you even know, Sam? Her Bucket List isn't real anymore, Sam! It won't bring her back! It won't make it okay that's she's gone!" I say, my words bleeding, breaking, crumbling as I say them.

Sam looks away then. He bends over, his face hidden from me. I hear the sob, but I don't see his face.

And then he's gone. Walking away. As if he was never there to begin with.

My vision is blurry and I don't even know where he goes. All I know is that it is far away from me.

****

I wake the next morning to a gray sky. When I go to the window, and gaze out over the expanse of lawn, I suddenly know.

He's gone.

The old house stands cold. Silent. No lights on. No life inside.

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel the panic rise as I sprint from my bedroom out toward the front door.

"No. No. Please." I whimper, as I yank open the front door.

I pause there. His key is lying on the mat, along with a few borrowed work tools. And a note.

I'm sorry. I was looking for home and thought I'd found it here. I'm off to search for it, once more. -Sam