Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (35 page)

“Fantastic,” I mutter, returning to my breakfast. If this thing that I won’t react well to involves my two older sisters, it can’t be good. I know the two of them never liked Samantha—they never made it a secret—and they spent years spewing vile into my ear with the intent that, at the beginning, was meant for me to break up with Samantha, and later to make me forget about her altogether.

“Can you keep an eye on Ty?” I ask Claire once I’m done with breakfast. “I want to see if I can get an update on Sam.”

“Yeah, of course,” Claire agrees immediately.

I stand and walk around the table, dropping a kiss on my sister’s head. “Thanks.”

She winks as I tell Tyler I’ll be back shortly and to behave for his Aunt Claire, and head out into the hospital corridors. Luckily it doesn’t take me long to locate Samantha’s doctor, as he was just coming to find me as well. We shake hands and he gestures for me to follow him down the hall out of pediatrics.

“Samantha is doing better,” he tells me as we walk. “We’ve moved her to a private suite as you requested and she’s settled in. She’s still asleep, though we no longer have to worry about her falling into a coma. The swelling in her brain from the head injury is going down on its own and her other injuries will heal with time.”

“And what about...” I trail off, unable to even complete the sentence.

The doctor stops just outside a door and turns to me, smiling gently. “Samantha will make a
full
recovery, Mr. Young, We’re very pleased with her progress,” he says kindly.

I nod, relieved, and he pushes open the door, allowing me my first glimpse at Samantha since last night. She’s pale, there are bandages around her head, and one of her arms is in a plaster cast, but she looks peaceful and in no pain. I’m sure this is due to the medication pumping into her IV.

“She’ll be taken to have an MRI done in the next half hour,” the doctor informs me quietly. “In the meantime, I thought you might like a little privacy.”

Smiling gratefully, I nod. “I’d like that very much,” I say. “Thank you.”

The doctor winks and excuses himself. I sit down beside Samantha’s bed and take her uninjured hand in my own, wincing at the coldness of her skin. Having had five years with only time to think about what I want to say to her, right now I can’t seem to think of even one. I’m not even sure there’s much point talking to her; can she even hear me? The doctors said she’s only asleep now while her body recovers, so I almost don’t want to speak in case I wake her.

The longer I sit her, holding her hand, the words begin flowing from my mouth. “I saw you the day of my memorial service,” I tell her in a low tone. “After everyone left, I mean. I don’t know why you weren’t with the others, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I heard everything you said about not feeling like you were worthy of me. It’ll probably surprise you to hear I felt the same in regards to you. Such a sweet, innocent, beautiful girl shouldn’t mix herself up with the likes of me. But I couldn’t stay away from you, no matter how hard I tried.

“The last couple of months have been worse than the last five years; I left thinking that when I got back, I’d take you and Tyler home with me and we’d finally be a family again. I know I’ve hurt you and I know I’ve got a hell of a lot to make up to you, but I’m going to do whatever it takes. I want to take care of you, Samantha. I want you to take care of me. I’m going to keep you safe this time. My track record isn’t really the best, but I’m working on that. Meanwhile, you need to recover and wake up so we can all go home.” I sigh, looking around the room and thinking about what my life will be like with Samantha at my side again. With her, I felt like I could conquer the world. Hell, in a way I did; she encouraged me in a way no one else possibly could and I took on projects that would have overwhelmed me back then. Now those sorts of projects are as simple as breathing. She made me better. Simple as that.

“You know, this really is unfair,” I tell her, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb. “There aren’t a lot of people I would come back from the dead for. And it hasn’t been easy, so if you love me at all, I’d really appreciate it if you’d do me the courtesy of waking up.” I look at her face expectantly, though I don’t know what it is I’m expecting. “This is the point at which you wake up, give me a withering glare of doom, and tell me it’s really not funny. Any second now, Sam...”

Nothing. Damn.

I glance at my watch, realizing I’ve been in here longer than I thought. Standing, I lean over to press a kiss to her pale lips, but freeze as something around her neck catches my eye. It’s the locket I bought for our third anniversary, the one I never got the chance to give her. I left it for her in my jacket with the hope that I would be able to come home and see the expression on her face when she opened it. It saddens me that I wasn’t, but I suppose I can’t fault her for opening it; she believed I was dead. At any rate, I love that she’s wearing it now.

“I’ll see you soon, Sammy,” I whisper, kissing her. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

By early afternoon, I’ve had so much coffee the hospital cafeteria has actually cut me off. I’ve been on the phone all day, meeting with the PR team for my company, with lawyers, and the senior management of my company. Apparently it’s not easy
bringing back the dead and the people on my payroll have their work cut out for them on this one. And much to my disgust, the hyenas that call themselves mass media have gotten wind that I’m alive and well, and have staked out the hospital. It’s gotten to the point that my parents can’t even walk out the front doors without being harassed. The local police have had to move in to help escort in the emergency vehicles. The hospital staff are very understanding about the whole thing, even granting my family and me access to private staff balconies when we need some fresh air.

The other aspects of my life have kept me incredibly busy
as well. Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed seeing the reactions of the people who work for me when they walked into a room and saw me sitting there. But between my concern for Samantha and my desperate need to get to the bottom of this whole mess, I’ve never enjoyed anything less. And then of course, there’s the interrogation my parents have put me through anytime we’re alone together. They want to know what happened with the plane, why I didn’t contact them, why Sam and Tyler were involved, what I plan on doing now I’m back. I didn’t give them any detailed answers, partly because I’m too distracted to think and partly because I haven’t decided on some things.

Now at dinnertime, I’ve got Tyler with me on one of the staff balconies overlooking the back of the hospital at sunset. We’ve had a pizza delivered and my son is playing on some portable videogame system my mom bought to keep him occupied. The look of concentration on his face reminds me of Samantha when her nose is buried in some book, like nothing in the world could distract him from his current task. The doctors are planning on releasing Tyler from the hospital tomorrow morning. He’s fully recovered and no longer needs to be constantly checked on by nurses. I briefly considered keeping him here anyway so I have the comfort of knowing where he is; Claire vetoed that pretty quickly, insisting a hospital is no place for a small boy when he’s not even ill. She’ll be taking Tyler home to her house so he can play with his cousins. Danny has taken time off work to stay home with the kids while Claire has spent most of her time here, and I have to admit, I feel bad for the poor guy. Maybe I’ll send Leo over to keep him company.

Speaking of Leo...

He’s
been my best friend for over twenty years; it’s difficult to admit I’m a little wary of him right now. It’s not that I don’t trust him or that I don’t believe his story, but so much just about what he’s said isn’t adding up. His alibi for last night is watertight, though I do have to question his tastes in women recently. Gina Barrett is what one would call a bimbo, if one were being kind about it. She’s nice enough, but she’s a complete airhead that gives the stereotypical blonde a bad name and spends too much time getting her nails and hair done, and has a tan so dark it’s a wonder the tanning beds haven’t melted off all the plastic she’s has inserted into her body over the years.

The fact that he sent Samantha to work for Frank Marone knowing how I feel about the bastard is odd in and of itself and he still hasn’t explained that to my satisfaction. Then there’s the fact that someone has been tapping into Frank’s surveillance cameras at East Coast Travel, something I know Leo could do without even thinking. I’ve told myself it was because Samantha came home in a panic that she discovered that file in Frank’s office and Leo wanted to see what the hell else was going on there. For now, I can take comfort in that. The second I get back to work, though, heads are going to start rolling and Leo better hope I don’t find reason for his to join them.

“You’re not thinking of jumping, are you?” asks a voice from behind me. “I mean, I get you probably think you’re all sorts of invincible after surviving a plane crash, but I’m not sure you should risk it.”

I work to wipe the grin off my face, exchanging it for a playful scowl, though I know Claire won’t be fooled. “Enough with the death jokes,” I tell her sternly. “Don’t we have enough trouble right now?”

She rolls her eyes and comes to lean against the railing beside me. I glance over to find Tyler has switched his videogame for a portable DVD player and a set of headphones. I raise my eyebrow at her. “Let’s us talk more privately while still assuring he’s in your sights,” she tells me.

I nod gratefully.

“How’s Sam?”

“Doing better, according to the doctors,” I tell her with a sigh. “Her injuries are healing exactly how they hoped and she should start coming to soon.”

“Good,” Claire says firmly. “Ready to get your family home and be normal again?”

“Sure that’s possible?” I wonder aloud. “Besides, I don’t even know what it is Sam might want once she gets out of here. After everything that’s happened, she might decide she and Tyler are better off away from me.”

Claire glares at me. “Between the two of you, it’ll be a miracle if you can even have that fucking discussion,” she tells me quietly. “She’s convinced you’re better off without her; you’re convinced she’s better off without you. Maybe someone on the outside of things ought to make the decision.” She pauses, scrutinizing my mood. “And in the spirit of making informed decisions, I should probably mention I got a call from Tom on my way in this afternoon.”

I freeze, my hands wrapping around the railing until my knuckles turn white. That’s one name I’ve been trying not to think since last night. “And? What did he want?” The scowl on my face is now far from playful.

Sighing, Claire glances briefly over at Tyler. “He heard about what happened to Samantha and Tyler, and wanted to make sure they were all right.”

“What did you tell him?” I ask coolly.

She raises an eyebrow at my tone. “Much as I thought I could: Yes, she and Tyler got into some trouble last night, and yes, they’re in the hospital, but they’re both recovering. I didn’t mention you; I figured you had enough of a spotlight on you right now and I wasn’t sure who would be listening in.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, still inwardly seething that Saunders called my sister. After what that bastard pulled before I sent him packing, he’d better hope we never meet again. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have ever sent Samantha and Tyler to my sister’s.

Maybe not, but you still would have taken the trip overseas and instead of Samantha spending her free time with Claire, she would have spent it with Tom Saunders. In your home. With your girl. In the place your son was conceived.

“What’s going on with you?” Claire asks bluntly. “I know you don’t like Tom and I can’t blame you for that, but you have to realize he did more for her than most people. He took care of her and Tyler, nursed her broken heart, all that bullshit. And he loved her.”

“Do you think she loved him?” I hear myself ask.

Claire turns to face me. “Yes,” she says qui
etly. “But not the way she loves you. I think underneath it all, Tom’s more a brother to her than anything else.”

“Right, because they had a real sibling sort of relationship, didn’t they?” I ask, my tone dripping in sarcasm. Claire glares at me. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose. She’ll have to make the choice for herself.”

“What choice?” Claire asks sharply.

I meet her gaze evenly. “Whether to stay with me or to go back to him.”

“Him? Tom? You’re joking! Why would she—”

“Because she’s pregnant,” I interject quietly. It takes a moment for my words to register in her mind, but then I hear her suck in a gasping breath and watch her briefly lose her balance.

“I’m sorry, what?” she says. I can only nod, turning my gaze back over the balcony edge. “You’re sure?” I nod again. “How do you know?”

I sigh. “One of the doctors let it slip last night when they came to update me on her progress. I think he thought I already knew and wanted to assure me the baby was perfectly safe.”

“Holy shit,” Claire breathes, her eyes widening. I suppose that answers the question of whether or not anybody else was aware; there’s still a chance Samantha knew and just hasn’t had the chance to tell anyone yet.

“Holy shit indeed,” I mutter.

Claire recovers her composure. “Well, that’s a good thing!” she says brightly.

“Is it?” I counter softly, still not looking at her.

Her expression is uncertain now. “Isn’t it?” she responds.

I shrug. “For her maybe,” I murmur.

“But not for you?” she checks. “Why the hell not? I thought you’d be thrilled about something like this.”

“So did I.”

Her eyes narrow on me as she tries to work out what’s going on in my head. “Oh,” she says, her eyes widening again, her breath coming out in a hiss. “Oh.”

I nod, knowing she’s worked out my concerns.

“Would it matter to you if the baby is Tom’s?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “On some level, maybe, but when it comes down to it, I still want her in my life and I’ll take her however I can get her. Problem being if it is Tom’s, I don’t see him ignoring that responsibility. He might be a lot of things, but he seems like the type of man who would want to be involved in his child’s life no matter what. And what’s stopping Samantha from feeling guilty about leaving him and staying away?”

“You’re not giving her enough credit,” Claire says. “She spent five years with Tom, unhappy because he wasn’t you; she wouldn’t put herself in that position. She knows how unfair it would be to remain in a loveless relationship even for the sake of a child.”

I want to believe my sister. I want to believe this doesn’t mean I’m losing Samantha all over again. But I’m terrified that’s exactly what this means. Whatever Samantha wants, whatever she needs, I’ll give it to her, even if that means watching her board yet another plane that takes her to Tom Saunders.

“And anyway, it’s not necessarily out of the question that it’s your baby, is it?” Claire asks.

“What, you think Tom’s sterile?” I ask, my voice lilting with hope.

Claire chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid,” she chides. “Is your memory so horrible that you’ve forgotten the night at my house?”

“No,” I tell her indignantly. “Of course no—”

“And did the two of you use protection? Because I know damn well I don’t keep that room stocked with prophylactics.”

And there, for the first time since I found out about this, I consider another possibility. “No, we didn’t,” I say softly. “Not like I’d planned on showing up at your house with the intention of—”

Claire holds out a hand to stop me. “Okay, I get it. I don’t need details.” I smirk slightly. “Look, don’t jump to conclusions about anything. The fact that a fetus could survive what Sam went through last night is a miracle in its own right; she’s not out of the woods, though. And I’m also guessing she doesn’t know yet or she would have said something to me at least. Hell, I just saw her over the weekend when—” She stops suddenly, averting her gaze and I know suddenly I’ve missed something significant.

“When what?” I ask cautiously.

“Nothing,” Claire says too quickly. “We should probably get Tyler back to his room and I’m sure you’re going to want to check on Samantha...”

Before I can protest or demand further information, she’s already packing my son’s things away and getting rid of the trash from dinner, knowing I won’t pursue any conversational topic that might upset Tyler. Once he’s settled and watching a movie, I take Claire up on the suggestion to go visit Samantha.

-------------o-------------

Seven Years Ago
...

Growling to myself, I enter the bedroom and slam the door shut behind me. I swear I have never met a more maddening, frustrating man in my life, and right now I hope he follows me so I can throw something at him.

Matthew has been out of town on business for a week and a half. Before he left we had one of the worst arguments yet in our relationship and I spent most of my nights wondering if he was going to come home at all. I think it started out over something small—I’d made plans to spend Christmas back home in Iowa only to find out Matthew made other plans for us. That turned into him complaining about me still being in touch with Tom, something that regardless of what he believes is a new development. Tom and I hadn’t spoken in nearly a year since I left home to be with Matthew. During a recent bout of homesickness, I pushed aside my stubbornness and called to see how he was doing. We talked for a couple hours and in the weeks following we spoke often. It was never a secret from Matthew; I told him freely who I’d been talking to on the phone. Unlike when I found out he was talking to his ex college girlfriend Lucy without my knowledge. I hadn’t confronted him about it until our recent fight and before I knew it, everything was being blown out of proportion. We might have talked twice the entire time he was away and I’ve been waiting for him to come back so w could sort all this out before it got any worse.

Well, he’s home now. And he hasn’t said half a dozen words to me since he walked in the door. I tried to ask him how his trip was—I got a grunt in response. I tried to ask him if he was hungry—I got a grunt in response. I tried stripping down into the one piece of lingerie I own to get his attention. He barely gave me a glance. Angry and hurt, I stormed off and there’s no indication that he plans on checking on me.