38. Greg

Sam sits up sharply, her eyes wide with hope. "Really?"

I nod, my hands finding the small of her back, making sure she sees the sincerity in my gaze. Seeing the joy light up her face at my decision sends a rush of warmth through me. "Yes, really. Now get cleaned up so we can eat without scarring your family for life."

She jumps off the bed, a bundle of energy, and dashes into the attached bathroom. I let myself fall back onto the bed, my hand coming to rest on my forehead as I gaze up at the ceiling. Even the intricate crown molding of Penny's luxurious home, which might have caught my interest under any other circumstance, now just serves as a backdrop to my swirling thoughts.

Am I doing the right thing? The question almost makes me laugh. Of course I am. There's no hiding my feelings, not even for a second, especially with a trial that promises to stretch out before us.

Rising, I slip into my discarded briefs and head over to my laptop. My phone, lying beside it, seems to call out to me. I pick it up, dialing my boss's number with a sense of inevitability. I sit on an antique wooden chair that, with its lack of comfort, somehow adds to the weight of the moment.

My boss answers immediately, "Hello Sanderson, checking in already?"

I take a deep breath, bracing myself. "Sir, I need to admit something, and I need you to remain calm."

"Admit something? Like what?" His voice carries a note of caution, which I can't fault him for. Running a hand through my hair, I let out a sigh. I've enjoyed being in his good graces, and the commendations for finding Sam had been a high point, but now I'm about to jeopardize all of it.

With my heart pounding, I muster the resolve to speak, even as part of me screams to just hang up. But a glance towards the bathroom, steam billowing out from under the door where Sam is, anchors me. "I'm sleeping with Elaine Williams." Even though I use her married name, I hate it. Sam is Sam. The sooner I can rid her of the disgusting last name, the better. But that won't ever happen if I don't own up to the mistakes I've made.

The line goes deathly silent. After a moment too long, I prompt, "Hello? Did you hear me sir?"

"Yes. But I wish I hadn't. How long?" His voice is heavy, resigned.

"Months," I confess, the word heavy on my tongue.

His sigh is audible, and I can almost see the disappointment in his posture. We've worked together for a long time, and he's a man I respect. If I'm being honest, I might even call him a friend. Hearing him upset over something I've done is making my chest feel oddly tight. "Greg, this isn't good," he says.

"I know." The admission is bitter, tinged with regret—not for what I have with Sam, but for the position I've put a man I respect in. Yet, when I weigh my career against what I feel for Sam, the choice is clear. She's the one I'd choose, time and again, without hesitation.

"So, what do you expect from me?" my boss asks, his patience thinning into a weary sigh at the end.

I take a deep breath before responding, "I was hoping you could delay the investigation into my behavior until after her trial as a favor." The silence that follows feels heavy as if I've asked for the moon.

Another sigh breaks the silence, this one laden with resignation. "I'll try. It's not the first time this has happened, but I'm usually able to convince my agents to keep it in their pants."

"Sorry, sir. It's not really a problem with resisting her physically. I want to support her through this. I need to. I can't do that if I'm trying to hide how I feel."

"Right." His response is clipped. "Well, I can tell you that the best bet would be for you to resign…"

The suggestion of resignation hits me hard. "Resign, but—"

"Look, Greg, I'm just being honest. Even if you resign, you'll probably be charged with interfering with an investigation. You're okay with getting three months in jail, and losing your job? All for this girl that's probably going to prison for murder?"

Without a moment's hesitation, my answer is firm. "Yes."

"Okay then. Write it up. I'll get the letter to HR. Get yourself a lawyer, but I'll do my best to delay the inevitable."

"Thank you, sir." The call ends without any niceties, leaving me with a heavy heart and a clear path forward.

I quickly type out the email with my resignation letter and close my laptop for what feels like the last time. I'll need to return it to the FBI office soon, but right now, all I want is to be with Sam.

Entering the bathroom, the cold, damp tiles contrast with the warm, humid air—a fitting metaphor for my current state. The foundation of my career feels as if it's been ripped out from under me, leaving a chilling void, but being with Sam wraps me in warmth.

Her voice, playful and inviting from behind the shower curtain, draws me in. "I was starting to think you weren't joining me. Come here and let me wash that beautiful ass," she teases, her laughter echoing off the tiles.

A swell of pride fills me; choosing her, choosing us feels unequivocally right. I shed my briefs and step into the shower, the water enveloping us both as I pull her close, my lips finding her neck. Her laughter is music to my ears.

Turning her to face me, I gaze into her eyes, wanting to declare my love, to shout it over the sound of the falling water. But I hold back, knowing she's carrying enough weight. We need to keep things light to find moments of levity amidst the trials that lie ahead.

She hoists her leg slightly, eyeing the trash bag she's ingeniously secured over her ankle monitor. "You think this is okay?"

I survey the makeshift waterproofing and shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "Probably." Inside, though, I'm anything but relaxed. The sight tightens something in my chest, a reminder of the challenging weeks ahead. Yet, seeing her managing to find a bit of humor in our situation, I'm buoyed by her spirit.

My commitment to her is unwavering, but there's a nagging voice inside me, wrestling with how to confess that I'm now unemployed and possibly facing jail time.

"Hey. You okay? Ready to run away yet?" Sam's voice carries a playful lilt, but I detect genuine concern underneath.

"Not a chance, Sam. You're stuck with me," I assure her, forcing a lightheartedness I'm not entirely feeling. She laughs, brushing the wet hair from my forehead, a gesture so tender it makes everything else momentarily fade away. The shower is comforting, but her presence is what truly soothes me.

"You sure?" She's looking at me, her eyes searching for reassurance in mine, wondering if my promises hold depth.

I smile like a goofball at her adorable vulnerability. "I'm 100% positive I don't want to be anywhere else, my love." To lighten the mood further, I turn and playfully jut out my behind, adopting a mock-model pose. "Now scrub."

Her laughter fills the bathroom. It's the perfect blend of sexy and adorable, and knowing I'm the cause brings indescribable joy. My smile widens as she takes up the loofa and begins to wash me. For now, nothing can separate us, and I'm determined to cherish every moment we have together.