19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Samuel

Seeing him broken once again while we were talking to Joseph has done a number on me.

I wanted to stand up and go to him, take him into my arms and keep him close, so I could tell him everything was going to be fine, even if it wasn't.

How can it all be so messed up? I can't be allowed to love someone after what I've done.

I leave my apartment and walk to the car. Like I usually do when the pain becomes too much, I drive to Adrian's place to check if they're okay. It kills me every time I come here, but I need the reminder that what I'm doing, I'm doing for them.

Yet, you don't talk to them.

I don't. How could I face them after what I've done?

I can help them by staying away, by sending money through other colleagues, so they don't know it's me sending it.

Now is the time when they're coming home from school, so I wait until Daniel's face comes around the corner. I don't have to worry about him recognising me because he was so small when his dad died. He's hand in hand with someone and I follow up expecting to find Lucy, and instead find another man—a man I know—smiling down at him.

What's Eric doing with Daniel?

Maybe they got close after I asked him to be there when I couldn't be. He works at the same station, and we were close, and he was the only one I could ask to take care of them. To pass them the money I couldn't give them.

I keep watching until they're at the door, and then it opens, and Lucy is there. I'm shocked when Eric leans in and kisses her. It's just a peck on the lips, but it's more than I expected.

How can she do that? Has she forgotten Adrian?

What about you and Rory, then?

Yes, he's moving on. So why can't Lucy do the same?

Because . . . I don't have a reply to that. How can they forget about Adrian so fast?

Am I a hypocrite?

I'm hoping for Rory to move on, but I don't want the same thing for Lucy?

What the fuck is wrong with me? Just because I can't move on doesn't mean others have to be stuck in the past with me. She did nothing wrong. I was the one who took the man she loved away from her and her child.

I keep watching until they go in. I stay there for a while, trying to come to terms with these ugly feelings I have inside.

One question, though, is driving me crazy.

Can I move on?

Can I really forgive myself for what I've done? Can I live a normal life? Can I be in a relationship? And most of all, can I face the people I left without the person they loved?

My phone rings, and I take it out of my pocket. Aidan's name is there. He seems to have perfect timing, finding me when I'm the most broken. I wish I could avoid answering, but I need the information to help Rory. Yes, helping others should be my focus.

"Hey," Aidan says, as soon as the call engages. "I have what you need."

"Okay. Where are we meeting?"

"Where are you?"

"Around."

"You should finally grow a pair and knock on the door."

"None of your business. Where do you want to meet?"

"Office." And then the call goes dead.

It doesn't take me much time to reach the office, probably because the school rush is already finished.

Aidan is waiting for me at the reception, and as soon as he spots me, he walks over.

"This is the info. This is the last time." He then turns around and walks away.

"Thank you," I say to his back. He doesn't turn around but stops.

"Make good use of it, and please do something better with your life."

Fucker.

"I'm helping people."

"If you ever need a job, let me know."

I'm stunned by his offer, because I was expecting him to talk shit again. Instead, he was able to surprise me with his kindness—again. It's a word I never would have associated with Aidan. Maybe he isn't that bad.

I leave as soon as he's gone, and drive home, ready for today to be done.

But once at home, I'm restless. The need to focus on something else that's not my life is too pressing to ignore. I sit on the sofa and look through the info. It's like the last file Aidan provided. Lots of work to do, so I'll have the chance to call Rory.

We've been dancing around each other since the last time he was here, and we had sex.

Fuck, I still can't believe how hot it was, being with him, and how hard I came. I throw the documents on the table, as visions of us together on the same sofa I'm now sitting on appear in front of my eyes.

My cock gets hard, so I put a hand inside my trousers and palm it, trying to make it behave, but it only has the effect of arousing myself more. I take my hand out and then work on my buttons, so I can free my erection and maybe do something to make it go away.

I grip my dick as soon as my clothes are out of the way, and close my eyes so the images of Rory and me together seem more real. I use my finger to spread my precum around and then I bring my palm to my mouth, licking until it's wet. Then I grip my shaft lightly so that I can spread my saliva around to make my up-and-down motions easier.

I start from the bottom and go up to the tip, rub my palm there, take away any juice coming out of my slit, and then spread it around on the way down. I never increase the tempo because I want to take my time. I want to relive everything we did together and then come as hard as I did that day.

My mouth salivates at the thought of Rory's taste, and my grip on the hardest part of my body increases, making me hiss with the upper movement. The more my thoughts run wild, the tighter my grip gets on my dick, arousing me even more. It's an endless cycle—or a cycle that will end once I come. On the next slide up, I dip my nail in the tip, making myself arch in pleasure, and nearly come like a kid at his first solo session.

I increase my tempo, and I'm ready to go to town and come all over my hand, when my phone rings again. I stop, breathing hard, and pull it out of my pocket so I can check and curse whoever is disturbing my session. I'd love to ignore them, but if it's something urgent, I don't want to miss it. I nearly come when I spot Rory's name on the screen.

I peel my hand away, take a few deep breaths so I don't sound like an angry bull, and answer the call.

"Hey," I say, trying to keep my voice even.

"Hey. Are you okay to talk?"

"Sure," I say, but then I look down at myself and the last thing I want to do is talk to him. I let out an involuntary heavy sigh when I look down at my hard-as-a-rock cock.

"Are you doing something? Do you need help?"

And fuck if my mind doesn't love showing me the image of him under me, while I pound his ass until he comes. And then me, jerking off until I come all over him, like last time.

"It's okay," I say, trying to keep my moans to myself.

"Did I catch you in a solo session?"

"How did you know?"

"I recognised your breathing. It sounds just like the night we spent together."

I want to laugh, but my cock jerks at the thought of us together. Then his silly joke about him riding me comes to mind and my mouth runs away from me before I can stop it.

"I'll have to stop, unless you want to help me out by riding me."

There is a long silence, and I'm nearly ready to call it a joke when he answers.

"Give me time for a shower and I'll be there."

"I have a better idea. Have a shower here. I'll lend you a hand." I'm proud of myself when his breath hitches, telling me he's getting aroused.

"Bye." And the phone goes silent.

I wheeze at the thought of him coming here and us showering together. I replay our conversation to distract myself, laughing at how quickly he ended the call.

With some difficulty, I push my dick back into my boxers. I leave my trousers open, and try to avoid playing with myself before he gets here.

I look around and the place is a mess, so I quickly wash my hands and begin cleaning the places he'll be seeing on the way to my room. Once I'm done, I walk to my room and tidy up there as well. This time, we're having sex on the bed. I move to the ensuite bathroom, ensuring clean towels are on the hook.

Once everything is how it should be, I return to my spot on the sofa and pick the folder back up. I'm so engrossed in reading the information that the bell ringing makes me jump.

I stand up and rush to the intercom, pressing the button to open the building door, and then I wait by the door, eager to see him. I'm a bit embarrassed about my need to see him, and that's when I notice my trousers are still open. I quickly do them up, so I don't seem too eager to move from the door to the bed.

He doesn't even need to knock because I open the door as soon as I hear his steps getting closer. I love the way he stands at the entrance and leans against the frame, looking me up and down, as if already savouring me. I do the same, and I love seeing him blush under my perusal.

"Come in," I say, inviting him in with a smile.

"Hi," he says, while moving away from the frame and taking a few steps in until I'm able to close the door.

Then he turns, and takes a few more steps towards me until my back is pressed against the door I just closed.

"How are you?" he asks, his tone sinful and charming.

"I'm okay," I say, pulling him closer and leaning in to kiss him.

"How's your leg?" he asks once I let him go.

"Better," I reply, moving away from the door and over to the sofa. "Would you like a coffee?"

"No, I'm good," he says, sitting down.

His eyes fall on the papers on the table, and the goofy atmosphere disappears in a blink. I want to put them away, but I understand his need to go through them.

"Let me make you a coffee and then we can have a look at them," I say, standing up.

"Do you mind?" he asks, guilt playing on his face.

But that's not what I want. I want him to be open, and demanding, and funny, like he was over the phone and when he entered the apartment.

"It's all good. I understand your need to know."

"Thank you," he says, and I want to lean in and kiss him, but I don't.

"Have a look," I say, taking the folders and placing them on his lap.

I take my time preparing our drinks, and when I return, he's immersed in the papers. His eyes are full of tears. It must be hard for him to read about the love of his life, and how his organs were scattered around the country to save the lives of people who'd probably lost all hope.

Nothing is going to bring John back to him, but maybe knowing how much good he did will help him with the pain he's going through now—and when he woke up and realised John wasn't there.

I'm aware of the pain of being a survivor. To be the only one left. The guilt that eats you from the inside, and ruins everything, until you are an empty shell.

I stand there, looking at him, until he wipes his tears and sniffles a little. Only then do I make my presence known, and he turns his head to finish cleaning his face.

"Here's your coffee," I say, pretending not to notice how affected he is.

"Thank you." Even his voice gives away the turmoil he's going through.

I can't resist, and once he places the folders on the table, I set my coffee next to them and take him into my arms.

"You don't have to stop yourself."

"I'm okay," Rory says, while letting his weight fall on me a bit more.

"He'll always be a part of you. He'll always be with you."

He nods against my chest, and I pull him closer.

"I've been so lonely since I lost him. I've been lost," he says, his voice is full of tears, as if he didn't finish doing just that.

I tighten my grip around him, but I don't want him to stop sharing, so I keep my thoughts inside.

"It's like I lost my way. Like I've been stuck in the past, filled with guilt and unable to break the chains keeping me anchored in my pain. In the past. I've only been seeing what I failed to give him, instead of what we'd achieved together. Instead of the love we shared."

What can I say to this when I'm in the same position? How can I offer comfort when I'm in the same situation? Stuck in the past and unable to step into the present.

"What you went through was a lot. You lost your lover and carry the guilt of surviving while he died. Then his family cut you off and took away your chance to say goodbye. It's human to feel what you are feeling." Again, who am I to say these things to him when I can't even take a step forward? When I'm unable to ask for forgiveness for what I did? However, he needs me right now, and I'm ready to do everything it takes to make him feel better.

"Thanks to you, I'm getting there. Understanding that parts of John are still here in other people is an amazing feeling. It's painful when I think about how he's no longer here with me. But then seeing all these people getting better and having the lives they thought weren't for them anymore? It fills me with joy."

He stays silent for a bit, and I tighten my grip around him.

"Do you think I'm a horrible person because I'm happy he saved all those people?"

I let go of him, pushing him back until I can look him in the eye. I don't want him to miss or misinterpret what I'm going to say to him because he's too focused on his own grief. "I think you are a beautiful person. You never stopped trying to find him. Anyone would love having someone like you on their side."

"Yeah?" His tone is so full of his need to be reassured.

"Yes, they should be so lucky."

He looks up at me and I can't resist. It's like I'm pulled in by his eyes and I have to let go. I lean in and kiss him, trying to convey how highly I think of him with my lips.

He deserves happiness, deserves someone better than me.