Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three

by Lawless, Alexi

  “Isn’t that what I’m doing now?”

  “Her cell phone, silly.”

  Wes looked up at the ceiling, the familiar frustration running through him. “She hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts in nearly three months.”

  “Well, Sam’s been busy yelling at the therapist and telling off poor Alejandro.”

  “Poor Alejandro?” he scoffed. “You’d be chasing that bastard around the kitchen with a wooden spoon if you knew how mean he was to Sammy during ROTC. Besides, I’m sure he tells her off right back.”

  “Yeah, well he does, but Sam’s meaner than a striped snake right now. Won’t take any of her painkillers and insists on trying to do everything by herself.”

  He smiled. “Sounds like her.”

  “Wes, give me a sec.” He heard the muffled sound of the phone being covered as Hannah spoke to someone. When she came back on the line, he knew what she’d say before she said it.

  “Tonight’s not good, Wes. I’m sorry,” Hannah told him, her voice tinged with regret. “Why don’t you try her again later? Better yet, let her call you…”

  It was just a variation of the same thing Hannah had said to him every day the past month he’d called, asking for Sam. Wes tried not to let it eat away at him. He knew what it meant. He knew what Sam was hoping that by avoiding him, he’d take the hint and leave her be.

  But he wouldn’t—not again. Even though it killed him to know she was just a few hours away from him at the ranch and struggling through recovery, Wes resolved to be patient. Forcing her to see him and talk to him when she wasn’t ready was the surest way to shut her down. Sam didn’t cotton to being backed into corners, and if she was ever going to forgive him for the past, she had to come to that realization on her own.

  “You’ll tell her I love her?” Wes asked, voice low.

  Hannah sighed, sympathetic. “She knows, Wes,” she told him gently. “Every time you call, she knows. She’s just not ready to do anything about it yet.”

  Wes rubbed his temple, knowing Hannah was right. “You get the series I sent over to auction for the Wyatt Foundation gala this year?” he asked, changing subjects.

  “You didn’t!” Hannah replied, pleasure in her voice.

  “I did,” he responded, glad to have made her happy.

  “You know you didn’t have to do that,” Hannah chided, but Wes knew better. There were a few choice things Hannah Nelson loved dearly in this world: her husband, her children, the ranch, her Master Gardner’s Club, and the Wyatt Foundation charity she started in Rob and Ryland’s honor. Proceeds were usually divided between the Texas Children’s Hospital and the Veterans’ Association. Every year, she held a gala event. This year, it’d be at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston where they’d be auctioning off works of art to raise money. He’d sent over a few of his favorite photos to help with the cause and to get an invitation to the event.

  “Are you kidding, Hannah?” Wes replied. “You kept me better fed than my own mama when I was in college. I’d go fold napkins into swans for that gala if you told me to.”

  “You’d probably be the first Pulitzer Prize winner to do that,” she teased, her voice warm.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to the auction,” he told her sincerely. “If you need me to do any interviews or shake any hands, you just tell me when and where, and I’m there.”

  “You’re a good man, Wes.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Tell Sammy that, would ya?”

  Hannah was silent a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was lowered, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Have you ever read The Odyssey, Wes?”

  What the heck did that have to do with price of tea in China? He didn’t say anything, waiting for her to elaborate.

  “Odysseus may have spent a decade at war, but the hardest test—his most difficult trial—was returning home,” Hannah continued. “Did you know that?”

  Hell, Wes knew that struggle all too well, the way he’d felt staying put in Austin recently, feeling like he was flying a holding pattern, just waiting to touchdown to safety, though the wind kept pulling at him. It’d be so much easier to fly away. Wes shook off the temptation.

  “You’re a wise woman, Hannah.”

  “I keep telling everyone that,” she responded. “You get some rest, Wes. Sounds like you could do with it.”

  “You know what they say, Hannah—no rest for the wicked.”

  “None, indeed.” She chuckled. “Talk to you later, Wes.”

  “ ’Night, Hannah.” Wes hung up, fingering Samantha’s dog tags absently as he listened to the sounds and chatter of people still working downstairs. The Elliott Perry Fields Agency occupied a historic brick print house in the middle of Austin’s tree-lined downtown. Because he was so rarely in town, Wes’d set up his office in the refurbished loft space amid the wooden rafters and exposed brick façade. High up and out of the way, Wes had plenty of natural light coming in from the skylights he’d had installed. He’d covered the polished wooden floors with Turkish and Himalayan rugs he’d collected on his travels, so he could wander around barefoot if he liked. For inspiration, a few of his favorite photos hung here and there—stark and stunning black-and-whites by the greats like Robert Capa, Henri Cartier-Bresson, and Margaret Bourke-White.

  When he felt like it, he could glimpse down the stairs at the bustling agency filled with writers and photojournalists capturing and disseminating the world’s most interesting stories, chasing the hottest leads, planning the biggest exposés. The agency he and his partner and best friend began half a dozen years ago represented the epitome of a dream fulfilled. The day he and Chris Fields put down the money to buy the building was one of the happiest of Wes’s life. To be able to travel the world, take pictures, tell stories, and impact the way generations viewed the world was a dream come to life. And to be able to help other journalists and photographers do the same while retaining the rights to their work was the cherry on top of the cake.

  A couple years later, Martin Perry joined the agency, completing their little trifecta. Wes had worked with the Aussie journalist in Kosovo, during his first assignment with Reuters, and found that Perry had a particular talent for managing irascible magazine and newspapers editors. While Chris managed the office and most of the sports-oriented stories, thanks to his history with the NFL and his connections to the sports world, Martin managed major accounts and worked closely with the editors-in-chief of the world’s greatest newspapers and magazines. That freed Wes up to stay in the field, chasing leads and following stories—his greatest passions.

  But ever since Sam had been hurt in Afghanistan, Wes’d stayed put in Texas, his singular focus on chasing down leads to the increasingly difficult and complicated investigation behind the murder of Robert and Ryland Wyatt. He took a small comfort in being near to her, even though the couple hours that separated them felt increasingly like the Mariana Trench.

  Wes had missed Sam for years. But now, the acuity of that old ache made it feel like a fresh wound. Every unanswered call, each unreturned text—it all felt like penance. He knew he deserved it, but that awareness didn’t make it hurt any less.

  He moved out from behind his desk, returning to the bulletin board where he’d pinned up photos along with excerpts from interviews and the information he’d collected on the investigation to date. The board looked like a haphazard collection of puzzle pieces from multiple jigsaws, each lead dead-ending into a new question. He wasn’t certain what he’d find in the beginning, but what he did know was that nothing with Robert Wyatt was as it seemed. Wes also strongly suspected that the man who’d confessed to hitting and killing Rob and Ry late that night in a hit and run was just a drunk patsy. The bigger, more looming question had become who had gotten that poor, stupid drunk to agree to a crime he didn’t commit in the first place.

  The deeper Wes dug, the more winding the path became. He looked at the photographs again, trying to see the answers hidden beneath the layers of questions he’d been a
sking for months, all in hopes of filling in the blanks to the Wyatt family tragedy. It was the least he could do, a sort of macabre peace offering. If he could help Sam find the answers, he hoped she’d find the healing he knew she so desperately needed, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it. It had been over a dozen years, but Wes knew Sam had never moved past the agony of that night, just as he’d never gotten over the anguish of letting her go.

  Wes thumbed the dog tags around his neck again, a small comfort as his mind edged the scar tissue around his memories…

  *

  May 1999

  Wes and Sam’s Apartment, Texas A&M University

  W E S L E Y

  “I’m not going.”

  “Oh, yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not,” Wes insisted stubbornly, picking up his duffel bag and up-ending the half-packed contents onto their bed. “This is crazy. No way am I leaving you for God knows how long,” he argued, thrusting his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’ll just take the job at the Statesman in Austin and wait until you graduate, and then—”

  “And then what, Wes?” Sam interrupted gently, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door jamb of their bedroom. “You know I’m going straight into deployment when I graduate next year, and I don’t even know where the Navy will have me stationed.” She cocked her head, dark eyes solemn. “Wes, why on earth would you put your future on hold like that when we have no way of knowing if I’ll even be in the U.S.?”

  “The editor at the Statesman wants me,” Wes pointed out. “He said it’s a standing offer. I could work at the paper in Austin during the week and see you on the weekends—”

  Sam shook her head, her smile bemused. “Baby, in the two years we’ve been together, how many free weekends have I had with ROTC training?” She pushed off the jamb and came to him. Wes opened his arms automatically, acutely aware of the few hours they had left together. “You have an offer from the Associated Press for chrissakes. You know how hard that is to come by?” she asked, looking up at him, her hands on his chest.

  Not when your daddy engineered it, Wes thought darkly, though he didn’t say it aloud.

  Sammy’s fingertips drifted up to his face, and Wes closed his eyes, pressing his mouth to the soft skin of her hand.

  “We’ve talked about this for months, Wes,” she reminded him, her voice soft and coaxing. “We both knew this day was coming—”

  “I don’t want to leave you,” he confessed, his heart already aching at the impending loss. “I know what we said. I know what we agreed to when I graduated—”

  “Then what’s with the last-minute drama, huh?” she asked gently. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been apart. I doubt it’ll be the last.”

  Wes looked down at her grimly. “That may be true, but this is the first time I feel like I’m looking at the wrong end of the barrel,” he told her. “And I don’t think I can do it, Sammy. I can’t leave you for a year. We’ve never been apart this long—”

  Sam stood on her toes and cut off his protest with a kiss, her mouth warm and soft and sweet all at once. Wes closed his eyes, taking his fill of the taste and feel of her as he gathered her close, anchoring her to his body.

  “I love you, darlin’,” he whispered against her mouth, deepening the kiss, reveling in the hot, glassy stroke of her tongue against his. The kiss went on, and Wes rejoiced in the distraction, his fingers kneading her closer. But Sam was too smart and too damnably intuitive to be distracted by their chemistry. And even though Wes knew he could wheedle and coax her back into bed for a few beautifully blissful hours—maybe even long enough to miss his flight—Sam wasn’t having it. He knew it the second she slipped back with a knowing look.

  “Wes, you’ve got the whole world waiting for you right now,” she told him, determined. “All your dreams are just about to happen for you. Everything you’ve been working so hard for—”

  “You’re the dream, Sammy. You’re the only thing I want.”

  Sam shook her head. “Baby, I say this with love, but you’re full of crap if you think I’m buying that I’m the be-all and end-all—because we both know that’s just not true.” She ran her fingers down his jaw. “You’ve been taking pictures since you could walk, Wes. And now you’ve got a real opportunity to cover one of the most important stories going on in the world right now. Way before you and I ever met—being a photojournalist has been your dream. You’re not passing this up just because it’s going be hard for a bit, just like I’m not reneging on my commitment to the Navy just because it’ll keep us apart for a few years.”

  “You telling me to buck up?”

  Sam smiled. “Damn straight, I am.”

  Wes sighed, catching her up again so he could rest his forehead against hers. She was right, though he wasn’t ready to admit it. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d get an opportunity like this. And even though the offer had been attached to the end of her father’s tether, he’d be a damn fool to turn it down. Sam had one more year before she graduated, and as soon as she knew where she’d be stationed, they’d be able to make some real decisions about their future together. And Wes could ask her the question he’d been thinking about asking her nearly every day over the past few months…

  “Sammy, will you—” his breath caught. They were too young, and it was too soon. He didn’t want to ask her like this, under the gun, getting ready to leave, and with nothing real to offer. Wes squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing.

  “Wes, come here.” She stepped back and pulled him gently toward their bed. It was neatly made, the soft blue sheets a haven, one of his favorite places in the world at this point. This bed had been their haven—the only place he’d ever felt completely and utterly happy.

  “You gonna let me sex you up before I leave?” he asked, only half-joking.

  “Not if you’re trying to use it as a distraction from what’s really going on,” she answered, scooting his discarded clothes and duffel bag over as she lay down on her side, drawing him down next to her so they were lying face-to-face. Sam was wearing her favorite cutoffs and one of his old t-shirts—a look he’d always loved on her. She pushed her dark hair back, so that it spread across the pillow; then, she drew her leg over his hip, drawing him in.

  “Close your eyes,” she told him gently, and Wes complied, feeling her fingertips ghosting over his face before she slid her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. Gradually, he relaxed into the soft, voltaic heat, surrounded by her warm jasmine scent. He pressed his face into her neck, breathing deep.

  “It’s usually me leaving you to report into duty, isn’t it?” Sam murmured. “That’s part of why this feels so weird and difficult.”

  Wes thought about it, realizing she was probably right. Sam had been the one doing the leaving the past couple years for training exercises with the Navy. But those had always been short trips. Six weeks at most. And he knew without a doubt she’d come back to him. He knew he could count on her to return.

  Now, looking at a year apart, it was himself he wasn’t so sure about… but he couldn’t admit that to her. Hell, he could barely admit the fear to himself.

  “So this is what it’ll be like tonight,” Sam continued, her husky voice rough-sweet, like his favorite whisky flowing over chipped ice. “I’m going to drive you to the airport, and you won’t want to let me go when we get you to the gate. But you’re going to get on that plane, and it’s going to feel like a gangplank at first. You’ll spend the first part of the flight worrying and fretting—”

  “Hate to break it to you, darlin’, but you’re really not selling this,” he muttered.

  “Hush—let me finish,” she replied, tugging his ear lobe gently. “You’re going to look out that airplane window and see nothing but clouds and darkness as you fly away from everything you know, and you’ll swear to God that even though you’re on a 777 with three hundred other people, you’ve never felt lonelier in your life.”

  “More reason to stay here with
you then.”

  “But I haven’t gotten to the best part of night flights across the Atlantic yet,” she said with a smile.

  “Does it involve free drinks?” he murmured against her neck. “Because I think I’m going to need to get good and hammered if I’m going to be feeling suicidal thirty-thousand feet up.”

  “Okay, you get free drinks,” she conceded. “But the best part will be waking up close to landing. Because when you get off the plane and set foot on another continent, I promise you, you’ll not only be okay, you’ll be so damn excited, you’ll feel overwhelmed with it.”

  “And how do you know that?” he asked, looking up at her uncertainly. “I’ve never even left the United States.”

  “Because you’ll know immediately that a whole other world is right there in front of you,” she told him, her voice confident. “You’ll be dropped smack into the middle of it, and I bet you’ll be so busy figuring it all out and so excited to get rolling, you won’t even remember to email me to let me know you got there okay.”

  He frowned at her. “You know I wouldn’t do that—”

  Sam smiled back. “I’ll hold you to that if you miss checking in with me.”

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m walking into over there—” he hedged, unwilling to admit his insidious fears. What if he more than liked it? What if he never wanted to come home?

  “No, you don’t know what you’re walking into,” Sam agreed. “But that’s half the wild exhilaration of it, Wes. You’re there to go figure it out and report on it for one of the biggest news agencies in the world.”

  Wes pulled back. “You know, I appreciate your being all upbeat about this, but you’re on the verge of hurting my feelings,” he chided. “Why aren’t you as broken up over this as I am?”

  Sam met his eyes. “Wes, if I lost my shit on you now, you’d never go. And I won’t be the reason you didn’t follow your dreams—just because I wasn’t able to keep it together long enough to get you on the plane. What I do afterward, well…” She shrugged lightly but he saw through the bravado. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’ll be hitting the bottle tonight.”