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Frozen
I had just finished eating my dinner when I heard Sam’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. I braced myself for more of the ridiculousness I’d just gone through, but when I tossed the plastic container in the bin and turned to look at him, I could tell he was upset, not angry.
“Sam?” I took a few steps closer to him. He slouched against the door jamb, half in the kitchen, half in the hallway. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.” I’ve never seen him so despondent. “I don’t know what to do, Harlow.”
I couldn’t help but feel sympathetic to his situation, even though the last thing I wanted was to talk to him about Starla. “I’m sorry, Sam.” I meant it. I hated seeing him like this. When Sam is happy, his laugh
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