Young Revelations (Young Series) (2 page)

And as always between us, when the sexual tension keeps building up, we take out our frustrations on each other. That led to a few arguments. And Saunders… The stupid fuck. I never liked him, not since the day I met him, partly due to how he looked at Samantha as though he wanted to drag her into the nearest enclosed space with a door and rip off her clothes; partly because he’s just a tool. But I trusted him because Samantha trusted him. I should have known better than to tell him a damn thing. The first thing he did was go into town and start running his mouth about everything I told him, effectively giving away the location of the two people he claimed to be determined to protect. After throwing his ass on the first flight back to Omaha, I packed up Samantha and Tyler, and sent them to my sister’s house.

The time between the last moment I saw her at Claire’s house to the day I was reunited with her in the hospital is one big blur. I faked my death, attended my own memorial service, searched for the people who intended to harm my family, learned of an unforgivable betrayal, had to hunt down my family after they were taken from my home, and nearly watched them both die.

It seems unbelievable that only a few short weeks later I’m here with them, and Samantha and I are expecting our second child in a few months. Only one last thing between us needs to be made right and I intend on taking care of that as soon as possible. In the meantime, I glance outside to confirm the weather is still cooperating—our remaining time here is supposed to be beautiful, which is lucky for me—then change into jeans and a t-shirt before heading out of the house in search of my family.

The quiet in the house is slightly disconcerting. Since the second we arrived, the four children we brought along have been shrieking and running and breaking things. It’s been utter chaos and I’ve loved every second. I missed out on five years of my son’s life; now that he’s back, I’m soaking up every little thing about him—his tantrums, his laugh, his picky eating, his loving nature. I might be slightly biased on the subject, but I’ve never met a little boy more perfect than Tyler. Everyone says he’s my carbon copy with my hair and nose, and apparently my inability to sit still for too long when there are more interesting things to be doing. I, however, think he is exactly like Samantha in every way. Her eyes. Her personality. Her stubbornness. And I cannot wait to find out which one of us our next child most resembles.

The politically correct part of me—which, incidentally, is a
very
small part of me—insists it doesn’t matter whether we have a boy or a girl, as long as it’s healthy when it arrives. To a point, this is true. The weeks following Tyler’s premature birth were absolute hell for both me and Samantha, and I desperately hope this child doesn’t have to go through what he did. He turned out fine, even if he’s on the small side for his age. There have been no medical issues, at least none that I’m aware of, and every time I set eyes on him, I realize how lucky we are to have him.

The rest of me, however, thinks it might be great to have a little girl running around the house. There is no doubt in my mind a daughter of mine would have me wrapped around her tiny finger within the first five minutes of being born; I’m surprisingly okay with that. But God help the first boy who decides to start hanging around her. I don’t own guns and I have a policy about keeping them out of my house, even the ones that belong to my security team, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t put some little punk sniffing around my daughter on his ass in five seconds flat.

Out on the back deck overlooking the beach, I finally locate some signs of life. My sister Claire is sitting at the table with a coffee cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other while she looks to be taking a nap.

“Morning, sunshine,” I mumble, dropping into a chair beside her.

She rolls her head to the side and glares at me. “I’m surprised to see you up and about after last night,” she grumbles.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “To what are we referring, exactly?” I reach over for the coffee pot in the middle of the table to pour myself a cup.

“You do realize that you and Sam are sleeping right across the hall from us, don’t you?” she asks me, flicking the ash from her cigarette over the deck railing. “And I’m pretty sure the vents in your room connect with ours.”

Grinning, I realize to what she’s referring. “Haven’t you ever heard of earplugs?” I shoot back at her. She glares. “What’s wrong, Claire? Jealous?”

She scoffs. “Please,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Though if memory serves, your stamina since high school has improved…”

And she’s won this round. “How the fuck would you possibly know that, you perverted little sneak?” I ask her conversationally. She only smirks in response. “Where is everyone?”

“Down at the beach,” Claire says, gesturing with a nod of her head. “The kids wanted to swim, so Sam and Danny were kind enough to take them.”

“Have they been gone a while?”

Claire looks at me suspiciously. “Why?”

I reach into my pocket, removing a small black box, placing it on the table in front of my sister. She stabs out her cigarette in the ashtray and turns her attention fully to the item, opening it. I watch her eyes widen in surprise and I think she might actually be impressed.

“Holy shit, Matt,” she whispers, looking between me and the ring. “It’s beautiful. And I’m flattered and all, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate, what with me being your sister and all…”

I shove her shoulder and snatch back the ring, ignoring her laughter. “Are you done?” I ask archly.

She considers the question for a moment. “For now, possibly,” she says. A moment later, she’s completely composed and has taken the ring from me again to further examine it. “Is this what I think it is?”

Nodding, I shift in my seat, my eyes darting out to the beach and the distant forms of my family splashing out in the ocean. “Yes,” I say, answering Claire’s question. “What do you think of it?”

“She’ll love it,” Claire tells me sincerely. “It’s different from the original.”

I shrug. I spent quite a long time choosing this ring, turning down a dozen different designs until I found the one that felt most right for Samantha. “It’s a new beginning for us,” I say quietly as Claire closes the box and hands it back to me. “New ring, new life.”

“Have you decided on how to ask her?”

I grin, but don’t answer.

“And you’re not going to even give me a hint, are you?” she asks.

“Actually, I might need your assistance, but I’ll let you know. I’m still making all the arrangements and I don’t want to jinx things…”

“Jinx things?” Claire asks in amusement. “What are we, twelve? You act like you think she’ll say no.” She laughs and I continue to stare out at the ocean, not sharing in her humor. “You can’t be serious, Matt! Why the hell would she say no?”

Again, I shrug, though this time I have no response. Of course I’m nervous. How can I not be after everything that’s happened between us since the day we met? Our relationship was the very definition of a whirlwind romance. Only a couple months passed from our first coffee date that I practically had to beg her for to the day she moved into my house in Upstate New York. From that moment on, I didn’t let her out of my sight longer than I needed to, because I was convinced she was a figment of my imagination and would disappear if I wasn’t very careful. There were a lot of adjustments to be made in both our lives. For her, it was being away from her family for the first time in her life and living with a man she barely knew who hadn’t answered to another person since his own high school graduation almost a decade before. We argued quite often in the beginning—nothing really major; usually when she was feeling particularly home sick.

Eventually we managed to figure out how to live with one another without resorting to murder, and it was then I needed to make things permanent. Samantha’s never had the greatest self-confidence, but even I, being the idiot man I am, realized she was starting to wonder where our relationship was going or if I was planning on leaving her for one of the many women who hit on me wherever I went, whether she was with me or not. I wanted to give her stability and happiness and security in the knowledge she’s the only one I needed. Throughout our marriage, I watched her transform from a beautiful, quiet, small town girl to a beautiful, outgoing woman who could take anything that was thrown at her.

Losing her after the bombing on my company building had been more painful than the months of physical therapy I had to suffer through to regain the use of my shoulder, as I recovered from nearly losing my arm altogether. I spent close to a year in a drunken haze, fighting through my depression to keep my company afloat, only to find out that after leaving me, Samantha and Tyler went to Tom Saunders. That only served to piss me off, which led to several encounters with women to whom I had merely a slight physical attraction. The only exception was Natalie, and she might have stuck around longer if I hadn’t realized I’d been with her because she so greatly resembled my ex-wife. After that, I went back to meaningless flings for another year, then got bored with that and focused on my work.

With all of that behind me again, I realize how empty my life has been without Samantha. I fooled myself into thinking I didn’t need her to be happy; it was necessary if I’d ever hoped to go on without her with any semblance of normalcy. But every time I walked into my house, which ceased to be a home the night she left, the loneliness returned and I knew it was all for nothing. I don’t ever want to go back to that. I want her with me every step of the way.

Aside from that, my biggest concern about tying her to me again is the threat that still looms over us. The fact remains that there is somebody in my most trusted circle of friends that has betrayed me, tried to kill me, and orchestrated the kidnapping of Samantha and Tyler. I’m no closer to discovering the identity of this person and there are moments when the danger is almost suffocating. If Samantha and I get married again, it’s not only her safety I have to worry about. Tyler is a target as well. And now we’re bringing another child into this world, one that will undoubtedly be targeted from its first breath. What kind of man would I be to knowingly put my family through that? How terrible a husband and father would I have to be to risk their health and safety for my own selfish needs? If I loved them at all, I’d walk away from them for good.

But I’ve experienced life without Samantha and selfish or not, there is no way I can put myself through that sort of hell again. I want to see my children grow up. I don’t want them being raised by anybody but me and Samantha. I want them to know me and I want to know them. I know I can keep them safe; the times they’ve been in the most danger, I was too far away to stop it. That won’t happen again. I don’t care what it takes. My family will be safe and whole.

So yes, I’m nervous about asking her to marry me again. I realize the chance of her saying no is probably very slight, but there is still a chance.

“Between the two of you,” Claire says quietly, “it’s a wonder you’re together at all.”

My brow furrows as I watch her. “What do you mean?” I ask.

She turns to me, looking as though her patience with me is running very thin. “By yourselves, you’re both confident and stubborn and know exactly what you want from life. But when it comes to your relationship, I have never met a more insecure couple in my life. Did you know Samantha is worried that the reason the two of you haven’t discussed your future together is because she believes you think she’s not good enough for you? Or that she’s waiting for the moment you walk through the front door and tell her having her and Tyler in your life is too much to handle? And that’s not even counting what Dad and our sisters think of her. She doesn’t think she’s good enough for you, Matt. And given the look on your face just now, I’m thinking you don’t believe you’re good enough for her. And that you’re too much trouble… There are times I hate both of you. And this is one of those times.”

I sink back into my chair, feeling as though I’d been slapped. Is this what’s been holding us back? Both of us believing the other is just waiting to end the relationship. I know I could never do it; and judging by what Claire just told me, neither could Samantha. But the fear is there. And I think I need to be the one to erase that fear for the both of us.

“Now you’re getting it,” Claire comments softly. “Look, I know a lot has happened in the last few months. I can’t imagine what that’s been like for either of you, but if you don’t get over this, it’s going to destroy you. She loves you. You love her. You have a son together and another baby on the way. It’s an easy decision for both of you, Matt.”

Hearing it like that, I have to agree with her. As always, I’m overcomplicating something that should be as simple as breathing. Claire and I look up to find the kids running up the beach towards us, with Danny and Samantha bringing up the rear. Seeing her walking along the sand, her long brown hair blowing out behind her while she laughs at whatever she and my brother-in-law are talking about, there is no doubt in my mind of what I should do. Smiling, I turn towards my sister.

“I’m definitely going to need your help with this,” I tell her.

Beaming, she agrees and we set the conversation on the backburner until we can scheme in private.

After a day spent on the beach sipping Piña Coladas with Claire—virgin, for me—and watching Matthew trying to teach our son how to swim only to give up halfway through the first lesson in favor of being attacked by four children, I enter our bedroom and smile at the sound of the shower running in the attached bathroom. Then I laugh when I hear Matthew singing so loudly and off-key that I can’t even place the song. I open the bathroom door and allow a bit of the steam to escape before entering, closing it again, and leaning against the wall to watch the show in front of me.

Six months ago I wouldn’t have imagined being here; even in my more extravagant daydreams. My life for the last five years has revolved around being a mother, an office manager at a small Omaha business, and the girlfriend to the owner of a chain of successful family restaurants. It wasn’t my dream life, not by a long shot, but it worked for me. The three years prior were positively incredible. I’d never been happier than when I was married to Matthew and before everything went sour, I thought it would only get better for us. Leaving him had nearly broken me. It had taken nearly two years for me to regain some semblance of a new normalcy. It took that long to go through a day without thinking about Matthew every five minutes and before he showed up on my front doorstep a few months ago, those thoughts still occurred a couple times a day.

Being back in his life, even under such frightening circumstances, only served to show me that I’d spent five years missing a very key part of myself. Despite the hurt we dealt one another before he sent Tyler and me to Claire’s, I felt alive again. Then the night he showed up at Claire’s after the break-in when we admitted how much we still wanted each other and made love with an unspoken promise to make our relationship work once he returned from his trip…

The day we got word that Matthew’s plane had gone down was the very worst in my life. Whereas before I had the chance to be with Matthew if one of us initiated it again, the choice was taken from us—Matthew was dead. We attended his memorial service. That hadn’t so much broken my heart as it shattered it completely. I still have to remind myself, nearly two months after his return, that he’s here and he won’t be going anywhere again. Now we’re in Cape Cod with his sister, her family, our son, and expecting our second child in a few short months. I remind myself often that from the day I met him, Matthew Young turned my world upside down, and in his world, anything is possible. I only hope the
anything is possible
means nothing but good.

“Enjoying the show out there?”

I snap out of my thoughtful daze and look up to find Matthew’s head poking out of the shower door, grinning at me. “Actually, I was going to tell you the state of Massachusetts has decided your singing is so horribly offensive that you’re being banned.”

He snorts a laugh. “My singing is positively angelic, thank you very much.”

I raise an eyebrow in amused disagreement, causing him to scowl at me. “Tell that to the ruptured eardrums of anybody within a ten mile radius of your angelic singing voice.”

“Why don’t you come over here and say that again?” His grin has turned mischievous.

“Why would I do that?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and trying to control my twitching lips.

He pushes the door open a little further and my eyes drift down his body, widening just below his hips. “Because it’s been at least ten minutes since I last kissed you and I’m beginning to suffer from withdrawal.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s what you’re suffering from…”

Regardless, I begin shedding clothing, watching his eyes darkening, as I approach him. Once I’m within his grasp, he wastes no time reaching for my waist and pulling me inside the shower with him, kissing me deeply as the water rains down on us. I gasp when I feel the cold tiles behind my back, but he doesn’t give me time to think much about it before he’s lifting me into his arms, easily sliding into me. Rocking his hips into mine, he continues to kiss trails across my neck, one hand supporting my bottom, another kneading my breast until I shudder all around him. Increasing his pace, it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s muffling his own groans in my shoulder.

I have no idea how long we remain entwined together before he finally releases me and lets me slide down his body. Pushing my wet hair out of my face, he kisses me deeply, lazily, then pulls me to his chest, just holding me.

“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair.

Reluctantly, I pull away from him so I can look into his eyes. “I love you too,” I tell him quietly.

Grinning slightly, he proceeds to wash my body and my hair before we step out of the shower. We haven’t uttered a word to one another since our whispered utterances of love, but we exchange shy, happy smiles as we get dressed. And as we walk downstairs to meet the others, he holds onto my hand as though it’s his lifeline.

Tonight we’re being treated to dinner by Matthew at what seems to be a very expensive steakhouse. Apparently he’s arranged for us to have a private table on the deck overlooking the ocean and I have to admit he chose well. Everyone is in great spirits as we laugh and talk. Matthew has never been shy about public displays of affection and it took me quite awhile to accommodate this part of his personality when we first became an item. Placing little kisses on my cheek or hands seems to come as naturally as breathing for him and I learned to look at it as being incredibly sweet rather than feeling self-conscious about it. Every time he kisses me, my eyes dart across the table to find Claire rolling her eyes at us, and I smirk. She’s been the number one champion for us to rekindle our romance and she can pretend to be disgusted by our lovey-dovey behavior all she wants; when it comes down to it, I know she’s happy for us.

After dinner, Claire and Danny offer to take the kids back to the beach house so Matthew and I can have an evening out together. They had theirs the other night and I spent most of it silently laughing at Matthew’s attempts to wrangle his nephews, niece, and son when bedtime arrived. We take a cab to a nearby club and I raise an eyebrow at his choice of venues. It’s one thing to go to a place like this when you can drink alcohol, but now it’s just torture.

He shrugs when I vocalize my thoughts. “We don’t have to drink,” he tells me. “Maybe I just want to take you out dancing. Is that so wrong?”

Put like that, I’m placated and I slip my arm into his as he leads me into the building. It’s an upscale club and I’m suddenly glad I chose to wear a dress that allows me to fit in with the other women. Darting my eyes around, I notice several appreciative stares from the men we pass. I look up at Matthew. Either he’s clueless to the attention—not likely—or he is smug enough to know they can stare all they want, but I’ll only have eyes for him.

We choose a private booth overlooking the dance floor, but before we can head in that direction, I hear Matthew sigh heavily. Looking at him questioningly, I sigh as well, finding his phone in his hand. “I have to take this,” he tells me apologetically. “I’ll try not to be long. Why don’t you grab us something to drink, and when I get back, we’ll dance?”

I plaster a smile on my face and accept his kiss, then watch his retreating back and try not to let my good mood deflate. Despite everything Matthew has done since we started our vacation to keep my mind off our recent troubles, he’s gotten phone calls at least twice a day, usually from Leo or Marcus, that leave him frustrated and short-tempered for hours afterwards. I know this won’t be an exception and I’m debating on whether I should even waste my time getting us something to drink or just call a cab to take us back to the house, since the evening will undoubtedly be ruined when he returns. The worst part about is that he won’t even share what the phone conversations are about with me. I know his priority is to make me feel like nothing is wrong and to keep my stress levels down while I’m pregnant, but he doesn’t realize his behavior is more stressful than actually telling me what’s going on.

Determined to make the most of this evening and to make him follow through on his promise of dancing, I head towards the bar ordering a beer for Matthew and a virgin strawberry daiquiri for myself. Even if I can’t drink, I can pretend and not feel out of place. While I’m waiting for our drinks, a man walks up and leans beside me at the bar. I dart my eyes towards him, briefly registering that he’s very handsome with his blond hair, blue eyes, dimples, and bright white smile that’s directed at me. With a friendly smile of my own, I turn back to watch the bartender’s progress, admiring how she moves around the bar and prepares drinks with an ease and comfort I could never manage without breaking several glasses and dumping half the alcohol onto the floor.

“Having a good evening?” the blond man beside me asks smoothly.

“Yes, thank you,” I tell him, inwardly rolling my eyes as he ignores my curtness and slides a little closer. I try to subtly move away from him.

“A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be out here all alone,” he says, reaching beside my hand for a bar napkin and allowing a finger to lightly trace the back of my hand before retracting his touch. “Anything could happen.”

“I think I can handle myself,” I retort, trying to remain polite while letting him know his advances are unwanted. He doesn’t seem to be getting the hint, though.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he insists, raising his hand to signal the bartender.

I sigh. “Not necessary, but thank you.” I consider telling him I’m here with someone and that I’m pregnant, but I don’t really think it’s any of his business.

His smile turns wider, more insistent. “Come on, sweetheart, we could have some fun.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not interested,” says a voice behind us.

Shit.
I glance over my shoulder to find Matthew standing there looking pissed.

“Who the hell are you?” the blond man scoffs.

“Her boyfriend,” Matthew says firmly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. “And the father of the child she’s carrying.”

The stranger’s eyes widen, looking between us, smirking. “Boyfriend, huh?” he says. “What, she’s good enough to fuck but not to—”

Before he can even finish his sentence, Matthew’s fist is in his face and he’s grunting in pain. I’m shouting at Matthew to stop while the other people at the bar scuttle away from the scene as Matthew’s foot connects with the man’s ribs. The stranger is screaming obscenities and I think Matthew has forgotten I’m here; apparently all his frustrations have come to a head and he’s taking it all out on the asshole cowering on the floor. After a few more kicks, a bulky bouncer intervenes, pulling Matthew away. I follow them in shock and quite a bit of anger. Understandably, Matthew is banned from the club. He replies with his own opinion of the place and stalks off down the sidewalk, leaving me behind.

“What the fuck was that?” I yell at him once I catch up to him.

“Did you not hear what he said?” Matthew asks, turning on his heel to face me. I instinctively take a few steps back when I see his normally loving, sweet eyes radiating nothing short of rage. “Do you really think I was going to let that bastard talk to you like that?”

“So you’re just going to beat the shit out of him in a bar,” I shout back at him. “Matt, I was handling it just fine before you showed up. I didn’t need you going all caveman on him!”

“Really?” he asks me harshly, crossing his arms and glaring at me. “So you’re just going to let some bastard hit on you in a bar while I’m in the same fucking room on a phone call? Is that what you want, Samantha? To be picked up and taken home and fucked by somebody else?”

I stare in shock at his words, uncertain whether my dominant emotion is anger or hurt right now. Whichever it is, it leads to me slapping him hard in the face. “Fuck you,” I snarl at him. He stares at me expressionlessly, hardly flinching as my hand hit his cheek. Anything else I say right now will only make things worse, so I turn around and stomp back towards the club, hailing a taxi that’s passing by. It stops immediately, and I glance over my shoulder to find Matthew has joined me, but isn’t meeting my gaze. I think he’s expecting me to tell him to find his own ride back. Tempting, but I’m not in the mood to deal with the repercussions. I scoot over to the far end of the taxi, give the driver our address, and wait for Matthew to slide in and close the door.

During the ride, we don’t speak, don’t look at one another, and the tension between us grows. I’ve always known Matthew has a jealous side, but I thought he was confident enough in me and our relationship to not act like a total jackass. The fact that he actually had the balls to ask me if I wanted to be with the man who hit on me in a bar sent me right over the edge. I’ve never given him reason to think so lowly of me. I can try and defend his actions by saying he’s stressed out and protective after everything that has happened, but I realize there is no defense for him. His actions say more about his lack of trust for me than they do anything else. Does he really think that after the last few months I’d just throw everything away?

By the time we get back to the house, I’m fighting tears and I don’t even argue when Matthew stuffs a wad of bills in the driver’s hand as I rush to get away from him. I ignore his begging voice calling for me to wait, burst into the house, and barely blink to find Claire and Danny on the couch in what could only politely be called a compromising position. They stare at me with their jaws dropped, Danny’s hand under his wife’s shirt, as I pass them to get up the stairs and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.