Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  I’m sure there’s something I should say to him, but everything that comes to the tip of my tongue seems like something that will just lengthen our argument, and I’m really tired of arguing with him. Instead of words, I push myself on my tiptoes, sliding my hands up his chest and around his neck. Barely registering the look of surprise on his face, I press my lips to his gently. Once his surprise wanes, he’s kissing me back like a man who’s been away from his love for far too long. Our tongues frantically exploring the other’s; our lips opening and closing like we’re trying to breathe each other in. We’re pressed so closely together that I can feel every single one of his muscles moving and the evidence of his arousal against my belly. And I know if we keep this up, we won’t be getting through with whatever it is he’s got planned this evening.

  Apparently the same thought goes through his mind. He pulls away from me with a reluctant groan, resting his forehead on mine. “Keep that up and all my plans will be for nothing,” he tells me, grinning.

  “Is that supposed to deter me?” I ask with my own grin as my hands slide from his neck down to his backside, slipping into his back pockets.

  Huffing a laugh, he gently removes my hands and leads me down the dock. “I promise there will be time enough for that later,” he says huskily. “But first, we need to eat.”

  On the boat, I sit behind Matthew at the wheel as he drives us into the middle of the lake until we have an unobstructed view of the moon. Very much to my surprise, he disappears below deck for a few minutes, then reappears with a large tray of silver-dome covered plates and places them on a table he’s set up, grinning proudly at me and my questioning raised eyebrow.

  “Next you’re going to tell me you learned how to become a gourmet chef while you were gone,” I say skeptically.

  Chuckling, he shakes his head. “No,” he admits. “This is all courtesy of Mrs. Bonnie Harris. I didn’t think it would help my case by attempting cooking myself and giving you food poisoning for three days.”

  I smirk as he pulls out my chair and sits across from me. Bonnie has outdone herself. She’s prepared us a grilled chicken dinner with baked potatoes and bread rolls that very nearly overshadow the entire meal. “I could live off these things,” Matthew groans as he has his fourth roll. “So good.”

  Throughout our meal, we fall back into our normal routine of flirtatious banter and I forget altogether that we’d been arguing or that I ever thought he might end our relationship for good. Not for the first time, I consider what it would be like to spend the rest of my life with this man. I want to see us grow old together and watch our children and grandchildren grow up. I want him to be the only man I’ll ever be with. I want to be the center of his world, as he is for mine. We haven’t really considered our future together seriously. There’ve been conversations when we’re lying together in bed late at night fantasizing, but apart from that, I don’t know whether that’s something he wants. I mean, I would hope I’m not just some fleeting fancy until he meets someone more suitable, and I really don’t think that’s how he sees me; I make a mental note to bring it up at a later time, when we aren’t in the middle of an incredibly sweet, romantic evening.

  As we start on our dessert, Bonnie’s infamous triple-chocolate cake, a boom in the distance catches my attention. I look up, startled, and grin as I see fireworks in the sky. “Am I to take it you had no idea there would be fireworks tonight when you planned this little date?” I tease.

  He grins back at me, but doesn’t respond as he stands and holds his hand out to me. “Do I really have to answer that?” he asks, pulling me up to him. “Want to watch?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” I mutter, my attention already fully captured by the fireworks. I don’t know what the occasion is, but that’s the last thing in the world I care about right now, especially when Matthew comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, holding me against him, and rests his chin on my shoulder. The fireworks shoot off in a vast array of color and shape, and it’s made better by the reflection in the water. Fully entranced, it takes me a few moments to realize they’ve stopped, though now I’m waiting for the grand finale.

  “Well, that’s a gyp,” I grumble when there’s no further light or sound.

  Matthew’s chuckle rumbles from his chest to my back. “Just wait,” he whispers against my ear.

  A fleeting thought that Matthew has somehow arranged this flits through my mind, but is gone just as quickly when it looks like whoever is setting them off has lit every last firework in the state of New York—everything from Catherine Wheels to Roman candles. I know I’m grinning like an idiot, but I don’t care; this is without a doubt the best fireworks display I’ve ever seen in my life—

  My heart stops beating when I see my name lit up in the sky. Then there’s the message that follows:

  SAMANTHA

  MARRY ME?

  I move forward to the railing of the boat as I stare at the words and I’m so distracted that I don’t even realize Matthew isn’t behind me holding me anymore. Briefly I wonder whether I read those words correctly or if perhaps they were coincidental and some other woman named Samantha has just received the best marriage proposal ever. I glance over my shoulder to search for Matthew to ask his opinion, but he’s not there. He’s at my left, down on one knee, and holding a ring box. I gasp and my hands fly to my mouth and my eyes water.

  “I realize we both still have a lot to learn when it comes to relationships,” he says quietly, looking up at me with shining eyes. “But from the first second I laid eyes on you, I knew my life would never be the same and that I had to have you. The best decision I ever made was the day I sat in Chet’s Diner and waited for your shift to end so I could ask you to have coffee with me. I love you more than I ever thought I was capable of doing and there is nothing in this world I want more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me, Samantha?”

  A strangled sob escapes from my throat and I’m not sure I’m capable of coherent speech, so I nod jerkily. He gives me the most brilliant smile I’ve ever seen as he removes the ring from the box and slips it on the third finger of my left hand. Getting to his feet, he wastes no time crushing our lips together in a kiss that at once takes my breath away and breathes new life into me. I’m in absolute shock, but manage to return his fervent kisses until he pulls away and pulls me against him even tighter and buries his face in my neck.

  “I love you,” he mouths against my skin.

  “I love you too,” I choke out.

  The moment is suddenly broken by the unmistakable beeping of his phone. My shoulders slump as he pulls away to take the phone from his pocket.

  “Really?” I say, raising an eyebrow at him.

  He only grins as he taps out a reply to a text message. “Trust me, it’s worth it,” he assures me, gesturing for me to look out towards where the fireworks had been going off. We wait silently for several minutes, the only interruption being the occasional kiss pressed to my neck and ear.

  When the fireworks resume, I laugh out loud.

  SHE SAID YES!

  And it’s followed by an image of a smiley face. I turn around to face my fiancé—giddy at the thought that I can call him that—to find him grinning proudly. “And just how did you manage to pull this off?”

  He shrugs, walking forward to press me against the boat railing. “Made a few calls before coming home. Called in several favors. Most of the town is in on it.”

  “What would the message have been if I’d said no?” I ask curiously, tilting my head to the side.

  With a mock heavy sigh, he shakes his head sadly. “I believe it would have been along the lines of ‘Matt is back on the market,’ followed by ‘Sam needs help moving out.’”

  I giggle, hoping he knows the thought of saying no never even crossed my mind.

  “Incidentally, we have tonight alone, and tomorrow I fully expect a stream of visitors at the door to congratulate us,” he informs me.

  “Is tha
t so?” I ask. He nods, grinning again. “How shall we spend the remaining hours of the night, then?”

  A sexy smirk in place, he lowers his mouth until his lips are hovering just above mine. “I’m sure we can come up with something...”

  -------------o-------------

  There is no part of me that doesn’t hurt or feel as though it’s on fire. Even something as simple as breathing is incredibly painful. I can’t lift my arms or my legs, nor can I move my head. Though when I try, despite the pain it causes, my eyelids open. I’m not sure why my eyelids hurt, but I’ll figure all that out later. My brain and memory are fuzzy as I try to work out where I am and why I’m there. I have a vague recollection of being at home—or more specifically, Matthew’s home—and watching television before deciding it was bedtime. The uneasiness I remember feeling suddenly returns as I recall finding a folder full of photos and information in Frank’s office and all the panic I felt afterwards.

  As my vision begins to clear, I’m no closer to knowing where I am or what brought me here, but I take in my surroundings slowly. Bright white walls and ceilings. Very comfortable bed. A sterile scent that one only finds within a hospital. I’m in a hospital. Makes sense. Using what little strength I can gather, I look down at myself to see a white blanket pulled up over my chest, my hands resting on top of it. I’ve got an IV in my right wrist that’s connected to what I desperately hope is a pain medication drip. Just as I think it, I feel my body beginning to float with the unmistakable high of painkillers and it’s now easier for me to look around and move what few muscles can move at this point.

  I’m not alone in the room. A blurry figure is standing in front of a very large window overlooking the night sky. I’d guess the figure is male and that he’s not a doctor, given he’s dressed in t-shirt and jeans, and his phone is pressed to his ear. He’s speaking in a low voice so I can’t make out the words, but something about the voice sparks a memory, one that makes me feel floatier than any medication could ever manage. Being on the boat with Matthew the night he proposed. How incredible he made me feel. I close my eyes and let myself linger in those good feelings for a few minutes.

  As the residual feelings from the memory begin to fade, I know if I let myself I could fall asleep again immediately. I’m not quite ready for sleep yet, though; my eyes open and are still locked on the man at the window who is still on the phone. With my brain telling me not to be stupid, that I would know the identity of this man anywhere, I try to work out the clues.

  He turns away from the window and our eyes meet, and my happy haze is fading. No. Fucking. Way. I’m hallucinating. It’s the drugs and the memory. Not real. No possible way. I gasp as my memory finally returns fully. The power outage. Intruders. My desperation to get to Tyler before something happened to him. The man in the hallway carrying my son. The boat, a woman, gunfire, pain... and Matthew. Matthew coming to our rescue. Matthew standing just off the boat looking positively livid to find Tyler and me the way he had found us. I remember thinking then that it was my brain playing tricks on me, trying to comfort me when I need comfort most. Is that what this is now?

  “What...” Matthew says into the phone, staring directly at me, his eyes wide as he swallows hard. “Yeah, I’m still here... Listen, I’m going to have to call you back.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before ending the call and slipping the phone into his pocket, never once breaking our gaze. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hurt,” I croak, unable to come up with anything else.

  He flinches at either my word or my voice. Perhaps both. “I’m sure the doctors can increase your pain meds if you need it,” he tells me softly, approaching the bed.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” I inform him, my voice barely above a whisper.

  His eyebrows shoot up and if I was more in tune with the world, I’d notice the amusement that crosses his expression. “True enough,” he agrees. “It’s way past visiting hours. But I’ve put enough money in this place in the last day that they’ll pretty much let me do whatever I want.”

  I shake my head, wincing at the pain the slight movement has caused. “You can’t be,” I say. “You’re dead.”

  The light in his eyes dulls considerably. “I assure you I am very much alive,” he says. “And there is a lot I need to tell you, but I’d prefer to do it when you’re a little less...” He searches around for a polite word to describe my current state.

  “Drugged?” I suggest.

  He chuckles, nodding. “Yes, exactly.” His brow furrows slightly, his eyes on my right hand and I watch as though in slow motion as he tentatively reaches out to touch me. In that moment, I know despite my drugged state and blurry memory that he is real, that he’s not a figment of my imagination, that he’s not dead. And in the next, I remember the thing I should be most concerned about right now.

  “Tyler!” I try to sit up, crying out in pain as a sharp pain rips through my chest.

  Matthew is on his feet, shushing me, calming me, murmuring comforting words to me, and trying to get me to lie back again. “He’s fine, Sam,” he assures me. “Perfectly fine. He’s down the hall in a pediatric room with Claire. Everything’s fine.”

  “He’s okay?” I ask, settling back against the pillows. “He wasn’t hurt?”

  Even now I sense his hesitation. “He fell into the water,” he says cautiously. “But I got to him in time.”

  “He can’t swim!”

  “I noticed,” Matthew says dryly. “That will be remedied.”

  “I want to see him.”

  I know you do. But it’d probably be better if you waited until a doctor has looked you over. Besides,” he says, glancing at his watch, “he’s probably fast asleep by now.”

  A door opens and a doctor walks in. I’m not sure how they were alerted that I’m awake without Matthew informing them, but I also don’t know why that seems to be among my concerns at the moment. Reluctantly, Matthew releases my hand and steps away from the bed as a couple nurses enter behind the doctor and assist in giving me an examination. Throughout the entire exam, even with lights pointed into my eyes and answering questions and feeling pokes and prods from the doctor testing my reflexes, Matthew’s concerned gaze never leaves me.

  Once they finish, Matthew sits back down again and scoots up closer to the bed. “They’re going to bring you something to eat soon,” he murmurs to me. “I’ll make sure there’s something better here for you in the morning.”

  My brow furrows at the words. “You won’t be here?” I ask drowsily. The merciful doctor increased the strength of my medication and it’s already taking effect.

  He smiles softly at me. “I will be,” he says. “I’m just not certain whether I’ll be around for breakfast. Apparently coming back from the dead causes a whole hell of a lot of red tape...”

  “Thought you weren’t dead,” I murmur, my eyes closing despite my attempt to keep them open. I want to keep looking at him.

  I hear his soft chuckle. “I’m not,” he insists. “Sleep now, Sam. There will be plenty of time for talking later. As much time as you want.”

  I hum again in contentment as I feel his lips press gently against mine, and then I’m completely unconscious again. I don’t know whether it was a dream, but if it was, I don’t think I want it to end.

  23

  I sat at Samantha’s bedside for most of the night until my back ached. After making a mental note to donate additional funds to the hospital to provide more comfortable chairs for visitors of patients, I reluctantly left her room. The doctors promised to keep me updated on her progress; so far her progress has been sleeping off the effects of the pain medication. Claire sent me a text an hour or so ago to let me know she’s awake and she and Tyler are keeping her company. I hesitated with my response; it may seem selfish, but I wanted to ensure Claire didn’t slip up and mention the pregnancy to Samantha. I don’t know how she’ll react to the news and I want to be at her side when she finds out. Though now that I’m thinking about it it’
s more likely that a doctor or nurse will bring it up while they’re checking her over.

  Maybe it’s best that way. She can have time to adjust to the idea before seeing me again. And I need time to think about how I’m going to react to whatever decision she makes, whether it is to stay with me and allow me to take care of her, her child, and our son or if it involves leaving me again to be with Tom fucking Saunders. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her from making the latter decision, but in the end it is her choice and I will support that choice.

  In an attempt to distract myself, I’ve gotten involved in the investigation of what happened the other night and who the culprits may be. Leo has been cooperating fully with the investigation. Between him and Marcus, I’ve been as brought up to speed on the developments. The men who were captured have refused to cooperate with authorities. They’re being tightlipped to the point we can’t even get them to tell us their names. The current theory is that they’re merely hired thugs who were kept in the dark about the entire situation.

  In other words, they’re completely fucking useless.

  Our only hope is the surveillance footage taken from my home. With all the cameras, certainly there would be some glimpse as to how these people got through my security, killed three of my guards, and kidnapped Samantha and Tyler. Again, though, we’ve reached a dead end. Someone has hacked into the heavily encrypted CCTV feeds and erased the footage. All we have to go on is a van pulling just out of sight of the main road and four men dressed in black from head to toe making their way silently towards the front gates of my home. We’re not even certain they’re the men captured.

  “What the fuck is going on around here?” I growl, staring at the black computer screens.

  Marcus sighs and leans back in his chair. “No security is 100% full proof, Matt,” he tells me quietly. “With enough chipping, an experienced hacker can get into whatever takes his interest. As I recall, you managed to hack your high school computer systems when you were fifteen.”