Young Revelations (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  Between my contacts with the CIA and FBI, my witnesses of my innocence are beyond credible. These are people who have no reason to lie, no matter how much they like me, and if they believed me guilty of knowing the plane would crash, they wouldn’t hesitate to turn on me. That’s what they’re trained to do, act without emotion, and it’s probably something I should start implementing in my own life.

  Today we learned the panel in question had been located after the crash. The photos show it burned almost beyond recognition, but you can clearly see the difference in the screws. And there was a fingerprint in the lower left hand corner believed to belong to one of the persons who damaged the engine. It’s only a partial and will take a team of scientists to analyze, but it could give us our biggest clue as to who is behind this mess. I offer my own fingerprints at the urging of my legal team to rule me out as a suspect, and I think that alone did a lot to convince the opposing legal team of my innocence.

  At the end of the day, I’m stumbling back to my hotel room wanting nothing more than dinner, several drinks, and a conversation with Samantha. I wasn’t able to reach her last night before she went to bed; I assume she was exhausted and crashed early. This morning before I left for my questioning, I sent her an email that she hasn’t yet responded to. I’m trying not to think too much about this—normally she’ll answer my emails immediately—since I know we’re on our way back to where we need to be in our relationship. I can’t deny it’s making me a little uneasy, though; after today, the one thing I need is to hear her voice, even if she doesn’t really have much to say.

  Before I even take off my shoes, I order room service and a large bottle of bourbon for the evening, then sit at the table with my laptop to check emails. I read a few, delete several, and respond to a couple. My dinner arrives and I jump up to accept it. Halfway to the door, I hear my email program ding and I glance back, grinning when I see Samantha’s email address. I knew she wouldn’t leave me hanging; she’s probably just had a long day. With my dinner, I sit back down, pour myself a drink, take a couple bites of my steak dinner, and turn back to my email. The first thing I notice is that there is some sort of attachment in Sam’s email—that doesn’t make me blink an eye. There was a time when Samantha would send me photos while I was away on business. The first time I received one of these, I nearly choked on my beer and had the immediate desire to book the first flight home in order to take advantage of the barely dressed woman on my computer screen. A lot of the pictures were innocent, particularly after Tyler was born. Samantha never wanted me to miss a moment of his life.

  I don’t miss the irony of that, but I’m trying not to focus on it anymore. I’m getting a second chance with our daughter and I have no intention of making any of the same mistakes from before.

  The thing that throws up the red flag about Samantha’s email is the subject line. I read it several times before considering whether I’ve already had too much bourbon. After reading it once more, I pour another glass for good measure, wondering what this could possibly mean and whether I want to know at all. “Just friends, huh?”

  “Oh, this can’t be good,” I mutter to myself, draining my glass and pouring another before opening the message. There’s no text in the body of the email, just an attached video, and I very reluctantly open it. Within the first couple seconds I’ve spat out my bourbon, staring in horror at what I’m seeing on my screen. It’s unmistakably me and Natalie. I’m sitting behind my desk at my office and she’s in my lap, her fingers twisting in my hair as I kiss her neck while my hands roam to places that are incredibly inappropriate for the workplace. Nearly half an hour long, I skip ahead, knowing what I’ll see, and find myself pressing my body into hers, her dress somewhere around her midsection, my pants and boxers at my ankles.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper, quickly exiting the email program. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Samantha has seen this video and possibly believes it to be very recent, judging by her subject line. And that couldn’t be any further from the truth, despite what she thinks about my current relationship with Natalie; I haven’t touched her like that in nearly two years, as I told Samantha after the disaster that was our engagement party.

  Forgetting all about my dinner, I snatch my cell phone and dial my home number, begging for Samantha to pick up. On the fifth or sixth ring, just as I’m plotting a way to get home to convince Samantha of the truth, someone picks up, though not who I expected.

  “You stupid son of a bitch,” Claire growls.

  I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “Let me talk to her, Claire. I’m not in the mood for this shit right now.”

  “Well, that’s too fucking bad, isn’t it?” she snaps.

  Fighting not to throw my cell across the room at the wall, I take a couple deep breaths. Obviously my sister has gone into overprotective mama bear mode with Samantha and will refuse to give into what I want until she’s been placated somehow. “Claire,” I say much more calmly, having no doubt that she’s well aware of the video and its contents, “that video isn’t what it looks like.”

  She scoffs loudly. “So it’s not you and Natalie fucking like rabbits in your office?” she whispers harshly. I wonder if she’s moved out of earshot of Samantha.

  I sigh. “Okay, that part is what it looks like,” I concede. “But that video is at least a year and a half old. Natalie and I haven’t had that kind of relationship since we broke up.”

  “Just save it, Matt,” Claire says exasperatedly. “We both saw the entire thing. The new baby’s sonogram is right there on your desk, staring at the two of you dry humping on your chair.”

  I fist my free hand in my hair and pull, then register what my sister is saying. Immediately I return to the laptop and rewind to confirm her statement. “How the fuck…” I whisper, locating the apparently incriminating evidence. “Claire, I swear on everything I never cheated on Samantha. I know it looks bad, but…”

  She sighs heavily. “Bad isn’t exactly the word I’d use…”

  “Please let me talk to Sam,” I beg into the phone. “Let me explain to her.”

  “She’s asleep, Matt,” she tells me tiredly. “Cried herself into unconsciousness not long after I got here.”

  “Tell me you believe I would never do this to her.”

  Swallowing heavily, I can almost hear the cogs in Claire’s head turning in thought. “I never believed you would do this to her,” she finally says. I don’t miss the rearrangement of my words and I know the video has her fooled as well. “She’s absolutely heart broken right now, Matt. And I don’t know what she’s going to do once she wakes.”

  Panic and terror fill my body. “What do you mean, what she’s going to do?” I breathe, my heart racing.

  “Well, if Danny and I were in this situation, I’d pack up my kids and leave in a second,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’m not going to encourage her either way, since it’s not my place to do that, but I’d start preparing yourself for that to happen.”

  I feel a dry sob push out of my throat. “Claire, please,” I beg. “Don’t let her leave. I’ll figure this out, but I’m not going to lose her in the process.”

  There’s silence on the other line for several seconds and I begin to wonder if Claire has hung up on me. “I’ll talk to her when she wakes up,” Claire says quietly. “But I’m not making any promises.”

  With that, she does hang up on me and I’m left staring at my computer screen feeling as though my entire life is shattering at my feet.

  ––––-o––––-

  I’ve been waking up every hour or so since Claire arrived. Whether it’s the nightmares or my overwhelming sadness or just that I’m not tired, I’m not certain. This time it’s because the phone rang somewhere in the house. I could hear Claire out in the hallway talking to somebody, occasionally very harshly, though I couldn’t make out the words. It doesn’t take much to surmise she’s talking to Matthew. When that thought flitted through my mind, I want
ed to get out of bed and take the phone from Claire to demand an explanation from him. I tried, but my head is pounding and I’m dizzy, and I’d really rather not fall from my attempt.

  It’s not long before she returns to the bedroom looking pissed. She sees I’m awake and her fury abates slightly, replaced by concern and sympathy. “How are you feeling?” she asks, sitting beside me on the bed.

  “I’m fine,” I murmur. “Was that Matt?”

  Her eyes widen in surprise. “Yes,” she says shortly. “He wanted to talk to you, but I convinced him to hold off.” She pauses, hesitating. “He’s claiming the video is old, at least a year and a half.”

  “Did you tell him we saw the sonogram?” I croak, my throat raw from crying.

  She nods. “He seemed surprised about that.”

  “So what, he’s trying to convince you it’s a fake or something?” I ask. “He can’t think I’d believe that?”

  Claire holds her hands up defensively. “I’m just telling you what the man said, Sam,” she says consolingly. “I can only hold him off for so long; at some point you’ll need to speak with him. And he’s probably going to say the same things to you.”

  “Why would he do this to me, Claire?” I ask despairingly. “What did I do wrong?”

  Claire slides towards me on the bed and pulls me into a hug. “Sweetie, you did nothing wrong,” she tells me. “This is all him.”

  “I just don’t get it,” I whisper. “I thought we were happy and about to start this whole new life. New marriage. New baby… And then this. Claire, I should have gouged her eyes out at that fucking party.” I wince at the sudden headache that erupts behind my eyes and my vision begins swimming.

  “Sam?” Claire says concernedly. Her voice suddenly seems very far off. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

  My heart is racing, my breathing is becoming labored, and I hear myself cry out at the sudden jolt of electricity that passes through my abdomen and chest. “I don’t know,” I say weakly. “I don’t feel well…”

  I suddenly feel myself slipping into unconsciousness and as I do, I can hear Claire speaking urgently, though I’m not sure to whom she’s speaking. Trying to keep my eyes open, I realize Claire is on the phone and I think she might be calling for an ambulance. I want to ask her who the ambulance is for, but I can’t find my voice.

  “You’re going to be fine, Sam,” Claire suddenly says to me, sitting beside me. “Try to stay awake.”

  Easier said than done, Claire… Just before I pass out, I hear thuds and voices outside the bedroom.

  ––––-o––––-

  I have no idea what time it is. To be honest, I couldn’t care less. All I need to know is that I’m nearly 4,000 miles away from Samantha and she believes I’ve cheated on her with Natalie and there is a chance she’ll leave me before I even get the opportunity to try and explain things to her. After Claire hung up on me, I ignored the glass of bourbon I’d poured myself and drank straight from the bottle until Marcus and Leo came to brief me about tomorrow’s meeting. I have a vague recollection of one of them trying to take the nearly empty bottle away from me and that I put up a fight. Of course in my condition there wasn’t much of a fight for them to wrestle me to my bed.

  Marcus was cursing me out about my drunkenness while Leo tried to help me into my pajamas. At some point one of them asked me what had happened to start this off and I think I might have broken into hysterical giggling as I explained that Samantha was going to leave me. I directed Leo to my laptop where the video of Natalie and me was still up and paused around the halfway point. The time between then and now is completely blacked out in my mind.

  My head is pounding in a way I haven’t experienced since the first time Samantha left me when I decided the best way to cope was to drink my way though my entire liquor cabinet. I manage to roll out of bed and stand up, wavering a bit as I try to figure out whether I need to make a mad dash to the bathroom. The world stops spinning and I head out to the main room where I think I see Leo crashed out on the couch, probably to keep an eye on me and occasionally turn me in case I choke on my own vomit. He really is a good friend and he puts up with so much of my shit. I’m sure he will have a few things to say about my behavior tonight, especially when I’m facing such a serious problem here in Germany.

  I grab a couple bottles of water from the mini fridge and my cell phone, and head back to my bedroom. As I lie down and open my first water, I check my phone messages, immediately noting I’ve got several missed calls, voicemails, and text messages from my sister. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten so sober so quickly in my life as I read the texts. None of them give details, but merely tell me in varying temperaments to call her immediately. The last one she sent was about an hour ago.

  Having no idea what to expect, I dial Claire’s number and take a big gulp of my water, suddenly wishing it was bourbon again—I doubt Marcus and Leo have left anything even remotely alcoholic in my room. It takes several rings, but my sister finally answers.

  “What the hell? Didn’t you get my messages?” She and I are really going to have to discuss her phone etiquette and also her talking volume as it’s only making my headache worse.

  “I was asleep,” I reply, aware that I’m slurring my words something terrible.

  Claire pauses. “Are you drunk?” she asks incredulously.

  “Hung over, actually,” I correct her.

  She sighs heavily. “Dammit, Matt, I don’t need this shit right now.” It sounds as though she might be approaching tears.

  “Claire, what’s going on?” I manage to ask. “Is Sam okay?”

  I hear a shuddering breath on the other end of the line. “Samantha is in the hospital, Matt,” she says exhaustedly. “High blood pressure. They’re saying it’s stress-induced.”

  This is not happening. Not right now. Not when I’m this far away and there is no possibility that I can get to her right now. I still don’t know how long we’re going to be here… And judging by the accusatory edge in my sister’s voice, it’s my fault. “The baby?” I choke out.

  She sighs and for the first time, her tone softens slightly. “I don’t know yet,” she says. “I’m still waiting to hear anything.”

  “Claire, nothing happened with Natalie and me,” I say, my tone on the very edge of begging her to believe me.

  “I don’t care about that right now, Matt,” she says sharply. “You can deny it all you want, but we both saw the video. What do you think set off her blood pressure? And if something happens to either of them, it’s on you.”

  I have no response for that. And even if I did manage to convince Claire that I haven’t cheated on Samantha, Samantha still saw the video and it still landed her in the hospital. I could lose her and my baby all at once. “Look, I’m going to try and get home, but—”

  “No.”

  The word is spoken so firmly it actually stops me. “What?”

  “No, Matt. Don’t show up here. Not right now. You are the last person Samantha needs to see right now and I can’t guarantee I’m not going to beat the shit out of you if you do show up. Just stay where you are.”

  “Claire, you don’t get to dictate what I do,” I snap heatedly. “This is my family. You can’t keep me away from them.”

  “You should have thought of that before,” Claire shoots back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check in with Samantha’s doctors. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “FUCK!” Before I could even open my mouth, she’d hung up on me. Dropping the phone beside me on the bed, I look up to find Leo standing in my doorway looking concerned. “Samantha’s in the hospital.”

  Surprise registers on Leo’s face briefly. “Do you want me to go back? Keep an eye on things?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No. I doubt Claire would let you within a mile of Samantha right now. I’m not even welcome,” I add bitterly. “What the fuck is going on, Leo? Who hates me so much that they’re trying to ruin my life?”

  He doesn’t seem t
o have an answer to that, not that I expected one. “We’ll figure it out, Matt,” he assures me.

  I nod desolately. “I need to make some phone calls,” I murmur to him, reaching for my phone. “If I can’t be there, she’s going to have the best doctors in the fucking state.” Without waiting for him to respond, I start dialing numbers and when the first contact picks up, I notice Leo is gone.

  ––––-o––––-

  When I come to, I feel horrible. My head is pounding. The world is spinning. I feel lightheaded. Managing to open my eyes, I inwardly groan as I recognize my surroundings to be those of a hospital room. Again. One would think I’ve had enough hospital visits in the last couple months to last me the rest of my life. I hadn’t planned on returning to a hospital until March at the earliest when I went into labor.

  So why the hell am I here now?

  My vision clears slightly and I see a man in a white doctor’s coat at the foot of my bed looking at a chart. In my hazy state, all I register is his short, slightly curly brown hair, very blue eyes, and that he’s incredibly attractive. He’s tall. Taller than Matthew. And from what I can tell, he’s broad chested and broad shouldered. I wonder if he works out…

  Suddenly, the man’s blue eyes snap up to mine and I think I can make out a small smile on his face. I flush deeply, wondering if I said that last sentence out loud. “Well, hello, Samantha,” he says, his voice friendly and comforting. “It’s good to see you awake finally.”

  “Where am I?” I ask, wincing at the croakiness of my voice.

  “You’re in the hospital,” he informs me. “Your blood pressure skyrocketed and your sister-in-law got you here.”

  “Oh,” I respond. “Am I okay?” It seems like a lame question and it only takes a second to find a more important one. “Is my baby okay?”