Young Revelations (Young Series) (38 page)

“Last week.” I hesitate slightly. “Marcus recommended her to me the night we went after Tyler. He thought it couldn’t hurt for someone else to tell me I’m an inconsiderate dick and so far he’s been right.”

“You’re not an inconsiderate dick,” she tries to tell me, smiling.

I raise an eyebrow. “Dr. Morris begs to differ, though she hasn’t stated it in quite those terms.”

“What do you discuss?”

I shrug. “Everything. Me, my business, my family, my trust issues, you, Tyler… The list goes on.”

“And do you think it’s helping?”

“It’s starting to,” I say softly. “I’ve come to a lot of realizations I wouldn’t have come to without her prodding. She’s good. She has a way of discussing topics I’ve thought about a hundred times and makes me see them from different angles. You’d like her; she doesn’t put up with my bullshit and she’s not intimidated by my charm, good looks, or money.”

“I like her already,” she murmurs. I grin at her. “I assume you’ve discussed our relationship.” I nod. “Have you come to any conclusions?”
I smile sadly. “Only the ones about me being nothing without you and my need to fight for you and prove to you I trust you.”

“Do you, though?” she challenges. I open my mouth to speak, but she shakes her head. “Matt, the night after the engagement party, I heard you talking about Natalie while you thought I was asleep. I heard how you believe she brought you out of the depression of losing me and how she saved you and all of that. I heard you say how you’re terrified that the moment you turn your back, I’m going to run off with Tom again. How is that trusting me? I have dropped everything for you, several times, because I want to be with you, but I can’t seem to convince you I’m not going anywhere. And then you don’t believe me when I’m trying to tell you the woman you seem to trust above me is the one who kidnapped me and your son. So then I have to start wondering if I can trust you. And right now, I honestly don’t know if I can.”

I feel my eyes close and my head fall back against the couch. “I don’t know how to fix this, Samantha,” I whisper, unable to hold back my worst fears. “You are beyond right to not trust me. I’ve done way too much to hurt you and I can’t seem to stop. I want you. I don’t want to lose you. Ever. And I know you deserve better treatment than what you’ve been getting from me lately; if you give me the chance, I can rectify that.”

“How, Matt?” she asks wearily, rubbing her temples like she has a headache. “We’ve been through this how many times now? And every time, we end up right back here.”

“Not this time,” I promise her, scooting closer to her. The fact that she doesn’t immediately back away gives me a bit more confidence to reach out for one of her hands. “One more chance, Sam. That’s all I ask. If I somehow fuck this up, then that’s it. But until you can say four words to me and mean them, I’m not going to stop trying to get you back.”

She looks at me in confusion. “What words?” she asks suspiciously.

I smile, rubbing my thumb against her knuckles. “Very simple, very small words,” I say. With my free hand, I count them out as I say them. “I. Don’t. Love. You.”

Her entire body tenses and her eyes widen. I know what I’m asking her to confirm or deny, and I know there is a chance that this will backfire spectacularly on me, but I’m fairly confident of the outcome. “Matt…” she whispers.

“If you really feel you and I shouldn’t be together for the rest of our lives, that is your out. But I will tell you now, Samantha, I have never loved you more than I love you right now, all because you’re giving me a chance to be in the same room with you so we can have a conversation. Regardless of that, if you say those words to me, I will back off and let you live your life however you wish to live it. If you still want some sort of relationship with me, even if it’s just in terms of our children, fine. If you decide it would be better to cut me out altogether… Well, I can’t deny that will probably damn near destroy me, but that’s your choice. Four words, Sam. That’s it.”

I wait for her to speak. And wait. And wait. And wait some more. She’s staring at me with her mouth half open as though she’s trying to speak the words, but she can’t. And when she shakes her head, I know where I stand. “I can’t say that to you, Matt,” she whispers. “We’d both know it’s a damn lie.”

“Thought so,” I say, trying to keep the cockiness to a minimum. The way she rolls her eyes tells me I didn’t manage it as well as I’d hoped. “Go on a date with me.”
“What?” she asks after a moment, a grin on her lips.

“A date,” I repeat. “You, me, dinner, a movie, dancing… Whatever you want. Let me take you out. I’d love to suggest a coffee date, but given your pregnancy with our daughter, that’s probably not the best idea. We haven’t really had much time to ourselves with everything going on and Dr. Morris suggested we reconnect. What do you think?”

Her mouth opens and closes a couple times, and eventually she rolls her eyes at me. “A date?” I nod. She sighs, thinking over my suggestion and I don’t know how to place the expression in her eyes. “Okay,” she says softly. “A date. One date. And I’ll have my pepper spray, so you’d better be on your best behavior.”

I laugh out loud at her words and she giggles along with me. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I snicker. “Though I believe you threatened me with pepper spray before and never actually did it.”
“That was before I actually knew what sort of trouble you are,” she grumbles, smiling.

I can’t resist the urge to lean in and place a lingering kiss on her cheek, and I certainly don’t miss the sharp intake of breath she makes at the contact. “It’s getting late,” I tell her, pulling away when all I want to do is drag her upstairs. “I should get home.”

The look of disappointment on her face makes my heart soar. “You’re leaving?”

I nod. “That was the plan,” I murmur, bringing her fingers to my lips for no other reason than they are in the vicinity anyway.

Reluctantly, it seems, she nods and we manage to stand. “Because I’m looking forward to it and don’t want to wait longer than I have to, what are you doing Saturday night?”

She smiles as we walk towards the front door. “I think Claire and I were planning on sitting around in our pajamas eating ice cream and watching chick flicks all night. If you have other suggestions, I’m willing to hear them out…”

“I’m sure I can come up with something to beat out ice cream and pajamas. Though,” I say, turning to her with a wicked grin, “if there is going to be a pillow fight, I might suggest we stay here; I wouldn’t want to take away from your fun.”

She pushes me with her shoulder and I laugh, throwing my arm around her shoulder as we walk to the front door. “Pig,” she comments teasingly. I chuckle and lean against the door. “The pillow fight was last week actually. Sorry you missed it.”

I roll my eyes. “I always miss the good stuff…” I complain without any real conviction to my tone, mostly because I love how she’s joking with me again. “So Saturday, then?”

She nods, biting at her lip and hugging her arms around herself. “Saturday,” she repeats in a whisper.

I step forward a little closer. “And tell Tyler that though I’ve been a horribly neglectful father to him these last few weeks, I intend to make that up to him as well.”

“In those exact words?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d sugarcoat it slightly, but whatever you feel is necessary…”

She smiles. “I’ll tell him,” she promises.

“Thank you. Now I really do need to go. I’m sure I could stand here with you all night and procrastinate, but we both need to sleep off the turkey and pie. Wonderful job on the pie, by the way,” I praise.

“I wish I could take the credit, but Claire and I totally forgot to by the pumpkin pie ingredients, so the one you ate today was store bought,” she admits.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” I say, grinning.

“If you’re trying to get brownie points with me, I think that’ll work.”

I laugh again, this time more quietly since we’ve somehow closed the distance between our bodies to within inches. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sam,” I whisper, bending just enough to press my lips to hers. She responds tentatively, moving her lips in tandem with mine and if we keep up like this, we’ll be sneaking up to the guestroom for a repeat performance of our last late night encounter in Claire’s house. Somehow I don’t think she would appreciate that too much… I pull away. “Goodnight.”

Her eyes closed, she steps aside so I can open the door. “Goodnight,” she whispers.

With utmost reluctance, I force myself off the front porch and keep walking to my car, even though I know she’s watching my every step.

I have no idea how long I lay awake in bed the night before thinking about everything that transpired yesterday. Right after Matthew left, I headed up to my room, thinking now that we’ve had that very long overdue conversation, I might actually get some decent rest. That wasn’t the case; I lay facing the bedroom window and watched the snow fall even harder than before. Eventually I could no longer resist the urge to send him a text to see if he got home all right. In hindsight, if I’d been thinking a little more clearly before he’d left, I probably should have demanded that he stay the night. Obviously in the end I didn’t and there were a couple reasons for that—if Matthew was staying in the same house, I’m not sure I would be able to resist anything further than the sweet kiss we had before he left; and today is my next pregnancy checkup. I debated mentioning it to him several times yesterday, and I expected him to mention it as well—throughout my pregnancy with Tyler, Matthew knew my doctor appointment schedule better than I did. I can’t imagine things would be any different this time around. But he didn’t mention it. And neither did I.

In all honesty, I’m not looking forward to going to this appointment alone. Matthew never missed a single one before and I hate that he’s going to miss this one. It won’t be much longer until I’ll be at the point of my pregnancy when I went into labor with Tyler and as much as I want to believe this time will be different, I’m terrified it will happen again and this time we won’t be as lucky.

Matthew responded to my text almost immediately to put me at ease that he got home safely. He also thanked me for our conversation, though I’m not entirely certain why. I wanted that talk as much as he did and to my slight surprise, I actually felt better afterwards than I thought I would. To say I was surprised when he told me he was seeing a therapist is an understatement. He always maintained therapy was for the weak and since he was anything but, he had no use for such things. Not that I ever thought he needed therapy, but given everything that’s happened, it’s probably a good idea for him. Though I can’t deny I’m a little disappointed that he’s talking to a stranger rather than me. I roll my eyes at myself, knowing at some point I need to let go of this whole selfish need for him to confide in me and only me. I understand why he’s talking to a therapist, and I’m beyond happy that he seems to be making some pretty decent progress.

And I’m really thrilled he’s not actually seeing another woman. I think I would have snapped if he had been.

As I get ready for my appointment and realize the weather isn’t clearing up the way I’d hoped it would before my drive to the doctor’s office, I feel like this is somehow yet another new start for us and this time, it might actually work out. He and I both know without doubt that I could never tell him I don’t love him, and while I realize he’s using that fact for manipulation in getting his way, I realize this is his way of reminding me that he knows I love him and that will never change. I just have to wonder what it took for him to get to the point that he actually truly believed that…

And of course I’m wondering what he might have in mind for this date he proposed tomorrow night. Knowing him, we could be flying to Italy for dinner, Times Square to catch a show on Broadway, then somewhere on the west coast to see the sunset—or a different country altogether to see the sunrise, depending on his mood. He wants us to reconnect, which is what I’ve been trying to get us to do since we got back together, and apparently it’s taken a complete stranger to convince him. It’s a win, and one that I’m trying not to question much. This is what I wanted from him, after all, and complaining about his methods would be counterproductive and just plain ridiculous.

I head downstairs in search of living beings, locating Danny and his kids in the living room, all four of them sitting on the floor with bowls of cereal and engrossed in some cartoon program. I’m surprised Tyler isn’t with them, but amused to see my lawyer brother-in-law on the floor in his pajamas and messy hair. I hear voices in the kitchen and head that way, stopping dead in my tracks. I feel like I’ve been thrown back in time several months to the morning following Matthew’s late night visit to my bedroom when we had a long overdue conversation about our feelings for each other, then made love. It was the night our daughter was conceived. Just like that morning, Claire and Matthew are leaning opposite one another against the kitchen counters, each of them holding a cup of coffee in their hand as though this had been planned for weeks. And Tyler has joined them, sitting on the counter beside his father nursing a glass of orange juice as though he’s trying to mimic Matthew in every way. I have to say, he’s doing a damn good job.

“Matt,” I hear myself say.

He spins around, a huge smile on his face. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says. “How’d you sleep?”

I’m not sure I can formulate a response as I’m too busy thinking that the one thing I wanted this morning was for Matthew to be here and go with me to my doctor’s appointment. And here he is. But then again, neither of us mentioned the appointment yesterday—probably an oversight on my part, since I’m the one who so badly wants him there—so he could be here for any reason. He could be foraging for Thanksgiving leftovers or hoping to spend some time with Tyler or do something around the house that would only manage to injure Danny if attempted. “What are you doing here?” I ask in a whisper.

His smile falters slightly and he shoots a glance to Claire who quickly excuses herself to join everyone in the living room. When she passes me, after helping Tyler off the counter and leading him out, I swear I hear her murmur something along the lines of “be nice” before she disappears. I ignore her and look back to Matthew, his expression suddenly uncertain. “I thought I’d come have breakfast with you and Tyler, and since I’m already here and the weather is only supposed to get worse,” he says softly, walking around the island counter and leaning against it right in front of me. “I thought, if it was okay with you of course, that I might drive you to your doctor’s appointment today…”

“Oh,” I respond, trying to hide my complete shock at his words. “I wasn’t sure you’d remembered.”

He smiles a little. “Of course I did,” he says softly. “Even if Claire hadn’t reminded me yesterday, I’ve got it on my calendar.”

“Oh.”

One of his eyebrows rises. “Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?” he asks tentatively.

It’s this moment that makes me realize he believed his drive out here would be for nothing, that I would turn down his offer when I intend to do the exact opposite. I smile. “It’s definitely a good ‘oh,” I tell him. “I wasn’t really looking forward to the drive or going to the appointment on my own.”

He looks relieved. “So if you were dreading it, why didn’t you mention it last night?”

I don’t have an answer to that. Maybe I wanted to see if he said something about it first. Maybe I didn’t want to impose on him. I really don’t know. “I probably should have,” I say quietly. “We ended up talking about other things.”

Nodding as though this makes absolute sense to him, while it seems ridiculously weak even to my ears, he accepts my excuse. “Besides,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “I will take any reason to see my children or spend time with you. Well, that and I’m not particularly comfortable with you driving in this storm.”

My mouth drops open with indignation. “You do remember I grew up in the Midwest and navigated my way through blizzards every winter, right?” I shoot back at him.

He grins at me. “I do remember that,” he says, reaching out a finger to tap the bottom of my jaw so I close my mouth. I glare at him, mostly playfully. “But whereas Iowa consisted of straight flatlands, the real world consists of steep hills, icy curves, and winding roads.”

I’m really glaring at him now. “The real world, Matt? Really?”

Chuckling, he raises his hands in defense. “Hey, we didn’t all grow up driving tractors through the snow,” he says, laughing as he backs away right before I take a swipe at him with the back of my hand.

In a practiced move, he grabs my outstretched hand and pulls me towards him. My automatic response is to put my free hand up on his shoulder and tilt my head up, waiting for his kiss. We freeze, though, realizing how quickly and easily we’ve fallen into old habits. This is probably another reason why we could never really be happy with anybody else; even with so much keeping us apart, our personalities pull us together like magnets.

I let my hand slide off his shoulder and down his chest before letting it fall to my side, and I block out the disappointment that crosses his expression. And I swallow back my own disappointment, wishing this entire situation was resolved so I don’t have to see the hurt in his eyes. “We should probably go,” I say quietly.

He nods, sliding his hands into his pockets and following me towards the living room where I tell Claire we’re leaving. She looks between us and frowns as though she knows with only a glance that something isn’t right. I give her a tight smile, then quickly tell Tyler to behave—I might as well have not said anything for all the attention he pays me—and head into the front hall where Matthew is waiting with my coat which he slips over my shoulders without even waiting for my permission. The moment the front door is open, I’m very glad he showed up this morning. I can barely see a couple feet in front of me as we walk to his car—and I’ve abandoned all pride by reaching for his hand and holding it in a death grip as I hit a small ice patch on the pathway. He only chuckles and wraps an arm around my waist to keep me stable. Belatedly, once I’m in his car, I wonder how much of that was actually us just wanting to be near each other. Then I realize it doesn’t matter.

Last night, during my fitful sleep, I decided I’m done with this situation. Neither Matthew nor I am happy right now and I know Tyler is getting anxious to be back home with his father, where he knows he belongs. I’m not even sure what the point of all this is anymore. What am I accomplishing? Every morning, Tyler and I are up at the crack of dawn to eat breakfast and drive an hour and a half so I can get him to school, then myself to the bookstore. It seemed like a small sacrifice at first, but with the weather getting worse and my pregnancy getting further along, the risks seem worse than whatever point I’ve been trying to make. As we drive in silence, I glance over at Matthew, finding a frown on his face when before the entire ride to the doctor’s office was filled with laughs and conversation and he was all smiles.

Once we’re on a road that’s actually been cleared and salted and Matthew is a little more relaxed in his confidence we’re not going to slide off into a ditch, I make a split-second decision to reach over for the hand that rests on his thigh. His gaze shoots over to me immediately and he’s shocked at the contact, but gives me a slow smile I haven’t seen since our coffee shop date almost nine years ago. He squeezes my hand and sighs in contentment.

“Have you
thought about names at all?” he asks quietly a few minutes later.

I rest my head back on my seat, turning it to look at him. His eyes are focused on the road, but his head is tilted in my direction, telling me I’ve got his full attention. “Not really,” I admit. “You?”

“A little,” he tells me almost reluctantly.

I smile. Of course he has. With Tyler, I think Matthew bought every baby naming book on the market and spent an entire weekend going through every single one with four colors of highlighters to rank his favorites and the ones that were absolutely not an option. We didn’t actually settle on Tyler Matthew until a week or so before I went into labor. Part of me has wondered if giving our son a name was what prompted such an early birth and I’ve been a bit superstitious about choosing a name for our daughter, no matter how ridiculous I know my theory to be. “And what have you come up with?” I ask him.

He shoots me a sidelong, hesitant glance. “What do you think about Olivia?” he asks, his brow furrowing as he watches the road.

I tense slightly. “Olivia?” I repeat softly. He nods fractionally, his eyes darting between me and the road. It doesn’t take a genius to know why he’s nervous about his name suggestion. Olivia was my mother’s name and one I don’t think I’ve ever considered using as a name for my child. Matthew knows what he’s suggesting and what it means to me that he’s thought of it for me. It’s like scheduling our wedding at Christmastime when Christmas was something I haven’t really looked forward to since before my mother died because it was always her favorite holiday. It’s a tribute to her, making sure her memory survives. My heart swells with love for the man sitting beside me and tears well in my eyes that he’s so considerate and thoughtful and wonderful.

He curses softly and I look over to find his eyes watching me with concern. “Sam, it was just a suggestion,” he says quickly. “If you’d rather not, it’s fine.”

I shake my head, wiping the tears from my eyes. “No, it’s fine,” I choke out. “Stupid hormones.” His expression clears slightly, though he still looks worried that he’s upset me. “Olivia is a perfect choice. I’m glad you thought of it.”

Smiling in relief, he squeezes my fingers in his. “You are?” I nod and he beams. “So have we settled on a name?”

I smile back and nod. “I think we have,” I reply softly.

His response is to lift my hand to his lips and press them to my knuckles.

The rest of the drive to the doctor’s office is relatively uneventful and the initial tension between us has dissipated. Matthew pulls his car into a parking spot, gets out, and before I’ve even taken off my seatbelt, he’s opening the door and holding out a hand to help me out. “Always the gentleman,” I murmur as he continues to hold my hand on our way inside. He just smiles.