13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Samuel

That was some scary shit, and I really thought Rory was going to break down and spill the beans.

He surprised me today, and I couldn't have been prouder of him. I know for sure that I couldn't have done the same thing. Not in a million years.

I'm actually running away from what I've done and the pain I've created.

Now I'm pacing the room we have to share while I wait for him to be done with his shower. We both know he's in there dealing with the emotions that were stirred up today.

I still can't believe the guy walked up to us and invited us for breakfast. It was more of a brunch or lunch, but it was nice of him. Then his story . . . it moved something inside me. I'm not sure how I acted all composed when I wanted to run away as much as Rory did. I could read him so easily, and I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I stayed because he needed me, and I made small talk because Rory needed me to take the situation into my own hands and leave him be until he was able to face the man who had his dead boyfriend's kidney in him.

I glance at my watch and notice Rory's been in the bathroom for a good half an hour. Something is wrong, but I don't want to intrude. I keep pacing, and I wish I could rush out of here and forget everything. This situation really hits close to home. How would I react if it was me in the same situation he's in now?

I don't want to think about it, because I'm a coward. I could never come face to face with Lucy and Daniel, because I'm guilty of what happened to her husband and his father. It was all my fucking fault and I'll have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life.

Rory did nothing wrong, so he can face John and all these people—and he's doing it in such a beautiful way. I would never have been able to face them and ask for nothing. He did. He sat there and listened to how his dead lover saved the lives of people he never knew.

Another glance at my clock has me moving to the bathroom door.

"R . . . Hey man. Are you okay?" I can't call him by his name, because it's moving something inside me, and I can't deal with it right now.

When nothing comes from inside the other room, I knock and call again. "Man?" That's when I hear the shower shutting off. I move away from the door, so it doesn't seem like I'm waiting for him to come out.

After another fifteen minutes, I hear the door open and try to act casual, but I can't stop myself from turning and looking at him. The expanse of his chest is right in front of my eyes, and while I'm a bastard for looking and reacting to his beauty while he's grieving, I still can't stop ogling him. Even my cock takes notice, and that's when I turn around and pick up my towel so I can rush inside the bathroom and not make a fool of myself. I don't glance at him again, even when I sense his eyes on me.

Once I'm inside the small room, I rest my back on the door and take a few deep breaths to calm down. I drop my head into my hands, trying to get some clarity, and forcing myself to not rush back outside and follow what my small head wants to do to the man on the other side of the door.

I can't get involved. You are involved already.

I can't allow anything to happen, because I don't deserve it, because he's so much better than me, and because he's still in love with his dead boyfriend.

I nearly tear my clothes off in my attempt to get into a cold shower. I walk in and stay under the cold water until my cock is back on its best behaviour. Only then do I wash myself and push away any thought of Rory and me in bed together.

I take a good half hour to get to a place where I'm happy with myself, and then I walk out of the bathroom to find Rory just sitting on the bed, his head between his legs, his body shaking, and soft sobs filling the space inside the room.

I rush to him because I can't stop myself from wanting to help. I wrap my arms around him, and I whisper reassuring words that won't do anything to solve this situation, but that I hope will make him feel less alone.

I go rigid when his arms come around my waist, and that's when I realise I'm still only wearing a towel. I don't want him to think I want something from him, but at the same time, I don't want to leave him alone and have him think I don't care about him.

"Rory, I'm here." His name on my lips is like an aphrodisiac, but I'm better than my lust and I force my dick to stay down, and I'm glad when it follows orders.

"Sam . . ." But he doesn't say more, and I pull him even closer before I let him go.

"Let me get dressed," I say to him, so I can really take him in my arms without starting anything sexual.

I try to pull away, but Rory's arms tighten around me, and he hugs me closer, unbalancing me, and making me fall onto him. I grunt in pain when all my weight ends up on my injured hip, and Rory lets me go.

He pulls back, and I read guilt on his face. I'm ready to reassure him, but his hand moves to my injured side and his light touch entices another grunt, but this time of pleasure.

I pull away and walk—limp—to the other part of the room, rummage around inside my bag, and pull out a pair of boxers. I quickly try to put them on without taking the towel away, but I have some difficulties as my cock is at attention. I bite my lips so as not to let out a moan when the fabric touches my over-sensitive dick. Then, with a calmness I don't really feel, I rummage some more until I find my tracksuit bottoms, and I put them on, hoping they'll be enough to hide my erection. But mostly to keep me on the right track of having my hands to myself.

"Sam."

What the nickname does to me should be illegal. No one has called me Sam in a long time. Not since I was a newbie and my training officer was making fun of me. Not in a nasty way, but after losing him—or after causing his death—I haven't allowed anyone to call me Sam. Too painful.

So why am I not saying anything to Rory?

"Yeah, give me a minute to get dressed," I say to him. And I don't correct him, because I love how my name sounds on his lips, and how it seems to act as a balm to my wounds.

I rummage inside the bag to find a T-shirt, but I don't have one to wear to bed. The only one is the one I'll have to wear tomorrow to travel home. I decide to go without it, and I turn around to face Rory.

I'm not ready for how he looks. His dishevelled hair, his wet, reddened eyes, his heavy breathing making his chest rise and fall quicker than ever, and his trembling hands resting on his bent knees. Nothing, not even a danger to my life, could have stopped me from reaching out to him.

I walk towards him without looking away because I don't want him thinking I'm rejecting him. There is nothing I want more than having him in my arms right now. It may be wrong, but something in him calms this guilt I have inside me. The guilt that's eating me from the inside.

When I reach the bed, he turns his head around to follow, until I'm next to him. He doesn't move and I don't move either, as if this is the moment everything between us changes. Then, uncaring of my injuries, I crouch down and place one arm under his bent legs and one around his middle, and pull him up and away from the headboard. The look of surprise would have made me laugh if it wasn't for the tears running down his cheeks and stealing my breath away. I lean in and, with my lips, wipe it away, and I love the way he leans towards me as if looking for more. But this is not the right moment, and maybe we'll never have one. Today is for comfort and not for meaningless sex.

My hip complains, reminding me I shouldn't have picked him up, but he looked so fragile. I place him back on the bed with his head on the pillow, then I climb onto the bed and place myself behind him, caging him with my legs and arms, pulling him backwards until his back is plastered to my front. I'd love to look at him to make sure he's okay, but his facing me could break my willpower and I would kiss him without even intending to.

"Are you comfortable?"

When Rory nods, his hair brushes over my lips and I lean in to place a kiss on the back of his head, trying to convey how proud I am of him, and how in awe I am for the strength he's shown since I met him. How he's not alone, how he can rely on me to be here for him.

A shiver passes through his body at my touch, making me wish we weren't in this situation. Wish we were two different people. People without problems. And wish we could build something together.

Rory pushes more against me, so I pull him even closer. I grit my teeth to avoid letting out a grunt of pain because I don't want him to move away from me.

"I miss him so much."

He doesn't have to say his name because I know, and can see it whenever he talks or thinks about him. His face is a mix of love, longing, and remorse. I understand the first two emotions, but why remorse?

What is he hiding?

"I know, Ro." What the fuck? Ro? Where is that even coming from? And why is it making my insides melt with the need to squeeze him close?

"Why did I have to lose him?"

What can I say to that? How can I help him when I'm not able to help myself?

What words can take away the pain and the guilt you feel when the person you care about is taken away from you, and even worse, when it's your fault?

I push those thoughts away because there's nothing I can do, not for him and not for me. What I can do is be here, so I tighten my arms around him, glad when he lets out a long breath and then relaxes against me.

His head comes to rest on my shoulder, and I lean towards him and place my cheek against his temple. He turns towards me, and his wet eyelashes brush against me, and I want nothing more than to kiss them, but I resist the impulse. Nothing good would come from bedding him. Not here, and not now.

"You know the name of that place?"

"Yeah." I hope he's talking about Ian's café.

"That's what John used to call me when it was just the two of us."

Fuck! My heart breaks for him.

"I used to lie on his legs, and he used to caress my hair until I was calmer, or until I could stop crying. And in between caresses, he used to whisper that name. ‘My heart.'"

Now, I understand the reason behind his behaviour when we got there.

How was it, being loved by someone like John? Someone ready to support and make you feel important.

"That's a beautiful name."

"I didn't deserve that. Because I was never fully in. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop." He's sobbing now as what I think is guilt takes over, and I'm tempted to turn him around and hug him close. Instead, he turns around and hides his face in my neck. His breath is fanning me, but his tears running down my skin keep me grounded in the moment.

"I'm sorry I nearly broke my promise, and I'm sorry for staring at Ian and nearly breaking the rules. I just wanted to get a glimpse of the man that still lives because of John. I wanted to talk to him for a second. I needed to see if John was there, inside him, somewhere. I needed a chance to touch him again, knowing he was there for me. Knowing I wasn't alone."

"You did nothing wrong."

"Yes, I did. Because I was close to telling Ian everything. Only my promise to you kept me from spilling everything."

I turn a bit more and place my lips on his skin, and trying to make this moment a little less heavy, I give him what he needs.

"If you don't tell anyone, I won't tell either. That we broke the rule today, I mean," I say to Rory, while pulling back to see his face. My heart bangs inside my chest when the smallest of smiles blossoms under teary eyes. Something inside me breaks and pushes me forward to protect this man and to give him what he needs most: peace.

"I'm sorry," I say, and I plant another light kiss. I don't seem able to stop myself.

"I feel guilty most of the time because I survived, and he didn't. Because I'm not doing whatever it was that always made him proud of me. Because I can't move forward without him." A sob shakes his frame, and hot tears fall on my naked arms. I pull him closer, and he relaxes a bit more against me.

"I'm sure he's proud of you right now."

"Why should he be?" It's a real question. I can hear it in his voice.

"Because you are doing everything to follow what your heart desires. Everyone would be proud of being with someone like you."

"We used to fight a lot because I couldn't trust anyone. Because the only one I was comfortable with was him."

"I'm sure it never lasted long."

"You're right. We never went to bed upset with each other. However, nothing ever changed, because the next time I reacted the same way."

"We are the sums of our past. I'm sure he understood."

"He was everything to me. I loved our small world."

He cries until his breathing gets heavy, and then his body completely relaxes against mine.

The phone in my pocket vibrates, but I don't move because I don't want to disturb Rory. From his pallid skin and the circles under his eyes, he must not be sleeping well. I hope I can give him a night of rest because I'm not good at taking care of people unless it's saving them from danger. And sometimes I fail with that as well.

My fear of having my own guilt surface above the water keeps me away from people. I love my friends, but only Jason knows what I went through, and not the full story, but he won't share my secret with anyone.

Tomorrow we're travelling to London, and I won't see Rory until the next name. I'll have to contact Aidan again, and hopefully, he won't be his usual bastard self.

I need a break. I need a break to rebuild the walls I created when I killed Adrian, when my little bubble of confidence and recklessness shattered into a million pieces. When my life stopped being mine and became a way to ask for forgiveness.

When am I going to find the courage to face what I did, and ask for absolution from the people I failed?

I relax against the pillow, while pulling Rory even closer listening to the sound of his breathing, until I follow him into the land of dreams.

* * *

A phone ringing pulls me back to the land of the living. My body protests as soon as I try to get up from bed.

I glance around, looking for Rory, until my brain catches up with reality and I remember me having him in my arms happened a couple of days ago. Since then, I've avoided him, because I'm still trying to build that wall back up. Unsuccessfully.

My arms feel empty, and my body feels cold without Rory's weight and warmth. I shouldn't be thinking about him this way, not when he's trying to say goodbye to his lost love. And when I'm not in any way, shape, or form ready for anything to happen between us.

I stagger to my feet when my phone begins ringing again, slowly making my way to the chest of drawers to pick it up, and a smile spreads across my face when I read the name.

"Jason."

"Hey, mate. How are you?"

"I'm good." But I hiss when I turn around to walk back to bed, so I can sit down.

"Don't lie to me, or I'll be forced to come over and take care of you." His voice has a light tone, but he's dead serious. He's like a mama bear when any of his friends need help. It's probably the reason we're friends.

"How are you?" I ask, because I want to know, but also so I can get him off my back. I don't expect a long silence so I'm surprised when I get one. "Jason?" Now I'm getting worried.

"I'm good, I'm good. I'm always good."

I hear the tension in his voice, and I don't like it one bit, because it's so out of character.

"Are you working today?"

A laugh fills my ears, his usual laugh, and that gets me to relax a bit.

"I'm always fucking working."

I have to laugh as well, because that's the truth; he's a fucking workaholic. And no matter how much nagging we all do, he can't stop.

"I want to see you soon." Another long pause, and now I'm ready to go there and demand answers.

"I'm out of town," Jason replies, before I can say ‘I'm coming over.'

"I want to see you as soon as you're back." It's not a request, it's an order.

"Sure, sure. I'll call you again."

"If you want to talk, I'm here."

"Yes, I know. I wish sometimes you could use the same kindness on yourself and fix what's broken."

That leaves me without a comeback, and when I'm ready to tell him to fuck off, the line is already dead.

What the fuck was that?

I don't have time to dwell on the question because my phone rings again. This time the name showing on the screen is someone I prefer not to talk to, but I have to.

"Aidan."

"Come and see me. Now."

"Can we have this conversation over the phone?"

"I don't do business over the phone. You have one hour." And the line goes dead before I can say anything once again.

What the fuck is wrong with people today?

I let out a bear sound when my phone rings again, because I have received too much bad news already. When I pick it up, Rory's name is there, on top of a message. I would have preferred talking to him on the phone, and hearing his voice, to settle down some of my frustration. However, I can't think of him that way, so maybe his texting me is better than calling.

I am all fucked up.

So, I ignore the message because if I engage, I won't text him, I'll call him, and I don't want that now that I have to see Aidan. He's too good at what he does, and he would read me like a book.

I get ready as fast as my leg allows, and when I open the door to follow Aidan's order, I take a deep breath and push every feeling I have growing inside me for Rory deep inside of me. I put on a poker face, and I keep it until I'm at Aidan's place.

When he opens the door, I'm ready.

"You called, your majesty?" I say to him, because I can't resist punching him in the gut—with my words.

"I didn't know you were that funny," he says, while moving away from the door to let me in.

"You bring out the best in me."

"I thought Rory could do that." And the fucking mask I had all the way here is stripped away from my face. This fucking bastard won—again.

"Sit down."

And once again, I follow his orders.