Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  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 quietly. “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.

  I don’t understand what happened. In the six months that I’ve lived here with him, we’ve had minor disagreements—mostly caused by two incredibly stubborn people who are the ones disagreeing—but nothing that’s even gotten close to this level. The worst part is that I have no idea how to go about fixing it. Aside from Matthew, I have no real experience in relationships and up until now, he’s been incredibly patient with me. Now he’s treating me as though I’m an inconvenience. Swiping my eyes, I crawl into bed with the hope sleep might make things seem better in a couple hours.

  -------------o-------------

  I wake to light tapping on my bedroom door and slowly open my eyes. It’s dark outside which means I slept much longer than I’d intended and realize someone has been in here with me to remove my socks and shoes, and to cover me with a blanket. For a few moments I’m confused since my memory tells me Matthew is still out of town. Then I remember he returned today and the way he completely ignored me. Suddenly the warm, fuzzy feelings I had at the thought that my sweet, loving boyfriend had tucked me into bed are long gone.

  “What?” I groan when the knocking on the door persists.

  The door cracks open fractionally and I see Leo poke his head inside. “Hey, sorry for waking you,” he says awkwardly.

  “It’s fine,” I tell him grudgingly, pushing the blankets away from my body and throw my legs over the side of the bed. “What’s up?”

  Leo opens the door further. “Matt sent me up. He wants me to ask if you’ll join him for dinner.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why the hell would he ask you to ask me?” I say incredulously. “He can’t do it himself?”

  Leo shrugs uncomfortably, clearly not pleased to be put in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel. “I know he’s being an asshole right now, Sam, but just give him a chance to make it up to you. He spent the last ten days doing nothing more than moping around and muttering about how much he missed you. And you can believe that or not, but for as long as I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him like this over a girl. He might have shit ways of showing it sometimes, but he’s crazy for you.”

  Listening to a man who I rarely hear more than a couple dozen words at a time from telling me Matthew does love me and wants to show me resonates a little louder than it would if Matthew was up here telling me the same things. “Okay,” I say resignedly. “Where is he?”

  Relief evident, Leo gives me a rare smile and wink, telling me Matthew is down at the dock before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Sighing and groaning, I throw myself back onto the bed, pulling the pillow over my face in order to let out a very therapeutic scream without having to worry about someone rushing in to see who’s attacking me. A few minutes later, I get up, changing from my yoga pants and tank top to t-shirt and jeans, since Leo didn’t give me any indication that I should dress in any specific way, grab one of Matthew’s sweatshirts that is about four sizes too big for me, and head outside through the backdoor. Since the sun’s gone down, the temperature has dropped significantly and I suddenly wonder whether Matthew has lost his mind for wanting to do whatever he wants to do out here as opposed to someplace warm. Like inside the house.

  As I approach the dock, my heart rate speeds and my breath catches in my chest. Matthew is standing beside his boat, hands clasped in front of him as he watches my every move. I’m glad I didn’t go for anything more formal clothing-wise as he himself is dressed simply in jeans, a t-shirt, and his trademark leather jacket. His hair is messy, his eyes are bright, and a smile is growing on his face the closer I get.

  “Did you enjoy your nap?” he asks quietly when I stop several feet from him.

  Hugging myself, I nod silently.

  He sighs, closing the distance between us. I stiffen as he reaches out to run his hands up and down my arms. “I owe you one hell of an apology,” he tells me softly, looking deeply into my eyes. “And even that probably isn’t enough. I haven’t treated you very well over the last few weeks and as I’ve told you over and over throughout the last year, you deserve the very best of everything. That includes me. I don’t want to give you excuses for my behavior, because they won’t do anything to make up for it. But I do love you, Samantha. I want you in my life and I never want to lose you.”

  His words affect me immediately, though I try to hide it, not wanting him to know how close I am to giving in and throwing myself at him. “Why didn’t you call me at all while you were gone?” I ask quietly. “I spent the entire time wondering whether you were going to come home at all or if you did, whether you were going to ask me to leave...”

  A troubled expression appears in his eyes. “Oh, Sam...” Without hesitating to see if I’d be receptive, he pulls me into his arms, holding me closely and tightly. “Please don’t ever think that,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I should have. When it comes down to it, I think we’re both way too stubborn when we argue. I suppose I was waiting on you to call and apologize while you were here doing the same thing here.” He grins briefly. “We’ll get this right at some point. But in the meantime, I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

  Resting my head against his chest, I find my shoulders lightening in relief. Despite all my thoughts over the last ten days, I didn’t realize how concerned I’d been that this argument might be the end of us altogether. That would have undoubtedly broken my heart into a million pieces and I don’t think I’d ever recover. Melodramatic? Possibly. True? Absolutely.

  Still, we need to address the cause of the argument or it will just keep coming back at us. “I still want to see my family for Christmas,” I whisper nervously into his shirt. “And I have every intention of seeing Tom while I’m there. I know you don’t like him and I know you won’t understand, but he’s been my friend since we were babies and I’m not just going to write him off because you and I are together.”

  He nods, sighing as he presses a kiss to my head. “I know,” he replies. “And I do understand. Apparently when it comes to you, I’m a little insecure.”

  I pull away from him, expecting to see him grinning or his eyes shining to giveaway that he’s teasing me. In the time that I’ve known Matthew Young, he has never given me any indication that he even knows the meaning of insecure, let alone that he actually experiences it. I thought I was the insecure one in this relationship. The only one who couldn’t possibly understand why someone like him would want to be involved with someone like me.

  When I first arrived here nearly a year ago, my knowledge of how the world operates consisted of what I learned on the farm. I didn’t know how to interact with anybody from high society. The most formal event I ever attended in my town was the annual barn hoedown where the best dressed person in attendance was wearing jean overalls, a flannel shirt, and a cowboy hat. I was so far out of my league and terrified that I would embarrass Matthew if he ever took me to one of the part
ies he described to me during our repeated phone conversations. The one time I voiced my concerns out loud, that I could never measure up to the women he came into contact with on a daily basis, he laughed. He then told me the main differences between me and those women were that I actually had a real personality, that I’m smart, and funny. And unlike those women, I don’t need to spend hours in front of a mirror applying makeup to my face and fixing my hair. I could wear his sweatshirts and sweatpants and never brush my hair, and I would still be more beautiful than those women. I still think he’s full of shit—I’ve seen those women—but because he believed that about me, true or not, I feel better about getting dressed up and primped before he took me somewhere. Especially the first time I walked down the stairs in a dress that cost more than my brother’s new car and high heels in which I could see myself falling and breaking my neck, and I saw Matthew’s jaw drop and his eyes widen to the point I thought they might actually fall out. We very nearly skipped the party we were preparing to leave for that night...

  Looking at him now, though, his face is dead serious and that more than anything makes me more certain than ever in our relationship. “So I guess that means you know how I felt when I heard you talking to your ex?” I whisper.

  His arms stiffen around me, and he rests his chin on my head. “That’s not what you think it was,” he whispered back. “I haven’t spoken to her but once since we broke up and the phone call you overheard was her informing me that she accepted a job at my father’s company. She wanted to tell me herself to keep me from having a meltdown if we ever crossed paths. Once she was done telling me that, she tried engaging me in general conversation and I shut her down. I want nothing to do with her, Sam. Not after what she did to me. And though logically I know you’d never do to me what she did, deep down the thought of you spending time with your childhood boyfriend who, chances are, you would have married if you hadn’t met me makes me anxious beyond definition. I trust you, Samantha, with my life and my heart. And I want you to trust me in the same way. You can’t do that if I’m hiding things from you. So from here on out, I swear I won’t keep things from you. Okay?”