FIVE YEARS EARLIER

"Why on earth would I trust you Tristan? I know who you are, I've seen what you do!"

His eyes narrowed, but he wouldn't budge from his spot blocking her on the branch. "For someone who doesn't know me, Sam, you sure do know a lot."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't have to know you, I know all the people you've hurt."

"Like who?"

"Veronica Ward. Jenny Chavez. Sophie Miller, need I go on?"

"Do you always believe what people tell you, or only when it involves me. I'm curious."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, check your sources, sweetheart." He pushed back off the branch, causing the whole thing to rock backward and began doing a backstroke to the middle of the lake."

She held on for dear life, damning herself for coming out here with him tonight. "Are you just going to leave me here?" She screamed.

"I haven't decided," he said, stopping ten feet away. "What did they tell you?"

"Great. Now you're holding me hostage."

"Tell me."

She clenched her jaw. "Fine. If you you want to know, I'll tell you. But it's the same thing every time, you stringing them along, making them think they had a chance with you, then turning around to be a complete dick! And for your information,Tristan, I don't need to check my sources. I've seen it with my own eyes. It's not like it's a big secret, you display your dirty laundry for everyone else to see all the time!"

He swam toward her, taking only two strokes to cross the distance. His bare chest pressing against her legs, his eyes wide as though he needed her to see him. "You're wrong. You think just because someone gets hurt that's my fault? It may sound arrogant, but I can't prevent a girl from falling in love with me." He shook his head. "I can't prevent her from climbing in my bed either. They think they love me, Sam. They don't. Just like you, they hardly know me… they love the idea of me. The fairy tale version that'll never exist. They convince themself they love me, and that's not my fault."

His stance relaxed a little, but he stayed right there, looking into her eyes, never faltering. "If I'm nice, if I smile the wrong way, or God forbid give them my phone number, I'm suddenly leading them on and it's bull shit. "

He pushed off her her legs then, and turned to lean his back on the fallen branch. "Jenny and I kissed one time at a party. We were both drunk, and I kissed her." He looked over. "Does that mean I owe her my future?"

She swallowed, she'd never thought of it that way before. Not from his perspective. She didn't even know these girls but she'd believed everything they'd told her. Now, hearing all that he'd said, all that he'd told her that she had never considered, she couldn't blame him for being angry.

She thought about Steven, how he had declared his love for her after knowing her for two weeks. How he wanted more, even though she'd only ever been a friend to him. That wasn't her fault. Yes, you can't help the people you fall in love with, but you also can't help the people who fall in love with you. She looked down at her fingers, shaking her head both at the fact she'd judged him unfairly, but also because she agreed with him. "No," she finally whispered. "You don't owe her anything."

His brow lifted as though her admission surprised him, and turned to face her, studying her, as though wondering if what she said was the truth. When he finally spoke again his voice was low, rough, and almost a whisper. "Do you forgive me?"

She tilted her head to the side, the corner of her mouth lifting involuntary, because after all that, he brought it all the way back to the beginning. After all that, he was still worried about weather she forgave him or not.

"Yes."

PRESENT DAY

"Do you want to go first, or should I?"

Samantha's face was red with exertion, her back already aching under the weight of the sculpture. They'd only just made it into the living room, which meant they still needed to make it down the stairs, through the courtyard, and to the front of the building where his car was parked. "You," she said on a winded breath.

He nodded quickly, silently agreeing with her decision and turned around, carefully easing his way back into the stairwell. He adjusted his grip on the bubble wrap, lifting the sculpture around the sharp corner like a professional furniture mover, then took the first step down the stairs. "Okay, easy now."

She followed in after him, her jaw flexed with the weight pulling at her shoulders. But she wouldn't let him see her struggle. Not now, not ever. Even it if ripped her arms right off her body.

They shuffled down the steps, one at a time, then through the courtyard to the front of the building. He finally lowered the sculpture to the ground a few feet away, where Samantha set her end down, maybe with a little more umph than she'd intended.

She pulled in a few deep breaths before she stood up, replenishing the oxygen she'd lost on the trip down and letting the blood work its way back into her fingertips.

"You're stronger than you look." Tristan said, pulling his keys from his front pocket. "I wasn't sure you'd make it."

Samantha straightened, resisting the urge to massage her lower back that now throbbed. She looked down the row of cars, inwardly cringing at how much farther they still had go go. "Which one is yours?"

His eyebrows furrowed and he moved toward the back of the light blue '67 Ford Mustang convertible in front of them. One she vaguely remembered from many years ago- but then it was beat up, on lifts in the driveway of her best friends garage. Now it was fully restored, pristine, and beautiful. She stuffed her hands deep in the back pockets of her jeans. "You're kidding right?"

"About what?" he asked, unlocking the trunk and propping it open.

"That." She gestured her chin toward the car. "You don't plan to drive that all the way to New York, do you?"

He moved to lean his hip against the tail light, placing a pair of aviator glasses on his face at the same time. "That's the plan. Is that a problem?"

She pressed her lips together, determined to set off and the right foot and adjusted her stance. "We're driving over three thousand miles," she stated.

"And?"

"Don't you think it would be wise to take a more reliable form of transportation?"

"Greta," he tapped the back fender of the car. "hasn't let me down yet." The corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky grin. "I'll ignore the fact that you just insulted her."

She narrowed her eyes, her heart pounding with frustration. "You're just as sweet as I remember."

He huffed out a laugh, pulling the glasses from his face, and resting one of its arms on his bottom lip. "Oh yeah? And what do you remember, Sammie?"