Young Revelations (Young Series) (17 page)

In the morning, I wake rather suddenly, uncertain why. It’s still very early; the sun has barely begun to rise in the sky. I look over and find Mark still in the exact position he’d been in when I’d fallen asleep, his head facing me as it rests on the arm that’s still touching my belly. I smile. He’s incredibly attractive awake, but asleep, ten years have been taken off his face. In another life, I could see us together and it’s a nice fantasy, even if that’s all it will ever be.

I glance to my other side and blink a few times. It seems a bouquet of flowers has been delivered to my room this morning—I wonder if that’s what woke me—and I look a little lower to an envelope resting against the vase with my name written in very familiar script. My blood freezes in my veins. That’s Matthew’s handwriting. I could try and convince myself he had these flowers, and whatever is in this envelope delivered somehow, but I know that’s not true. He’s home. And he was here. And he undoubtedly saw the compromising position in which Mark and I had fallen asleep.

Oh no…

I’m going home.

I’ve never been so eager, so excited, and so nervous about that concept in my life. Knowing I’ll be seeing Samantha soon has done more to improve my outlook and my mood than anything, even
surpassing being told all charges against me for negligible homicide and the plane crash have been dropped. Apparently, extenuating circumstances came into play, and I have no idea whether it was my affidavit, or Marcus’ influence. All I know is that it played out in my favor and how that happened doesn’t really matter. What does matter is I’m going back to my family and everything will be fine.

Though
I haven’t talked to Claire in a couple days, not since she told me she believed I would never cheat on Samantha, I assume no news is good news. Admittedly, I had expected to hear from Samantha after they talked, but perhaps she’s still processing everything and waiting to talk to me in person. No one knows I’m coming home today. I want to surprise Samantha in the hospital. In my pocket, I’ve got an envelope for her that contains my own letter written while I was away from her. I poured my heart out to her every night I was in Germany in an attempt to prove to her that she is my life, and that I don’t ever want to be without her again. All I want is for us is to be happy together, because I know all too well that if she’s not in my life, I have no chance at true happiness.

My first order of business once I get home, after seeing Samantha, is to find out what the hell Natalie was doing visiting her. I’m starting to suspect who’s behind the video, and though Natalie isn’t particularly known for her skills with technology, anyone could have assisted her in editing the video. What I don’t understand is why she would do something like that. When she and I split up nearly three years ago, it was with the understanding, at least on my part, that while I wished circumstances were different, I couldn’t be what she wanted if I was constantly comparing her to Samantha. She was more than willing to ignore all the comparisons or the moments she would find me lost in thought, knowing I was thinking about Samantha. I didn’t think it was fair to her. We remained friends, and I watched as she dated, just as she watched as I floundered from woman to woman searching for something we both knew I’d never find again. The day I told her about Samantha being back, she’d been surprised to say the least, but said she was happy for me. I don’t think
she was lying or faking.

The only time I can think of that seemed suspicious was the day I told her about my engagement, and Samantha being pregnant. Natalie’s normally pleasant expression slipped for the very briefest of seconds and if I’d have blinked in that second, I’d have missed it. I’m still trying to figure out what that expression might have been—shock is most likely; jealousy, perhaps anger. While in years past, I’ve been ignorant of much of the goings on around me in terms of who is truly on my side, I still consider myself a decent judge of character. A lot of factors have made me question that recently: the plane crash
, of course, being chief among them; knowing someone close to me has been passing along information not only about me, but my family as well; the fact that my father apparently sponsored a travel visa for one of the men responsible for kidnapping Samantha and Tyler, something I’ve yet to confront him about; and now this apparent desire for somebody to see everything I value in my life destroyed. Somebody sent that video to Samantha knowing it would affect our relationship negatively. I don’t know whether that person is aware of her pregnancy, or even if they took into account the fact that they were putting our child at risk. That alone will make me see to it that the person or persons behind this suffers.

At long last, my plane lands in New York. I waste no time getting into the
car waiting to take me to the hospital. It’s still early, so I expect Samantha will be fast asleep when I arrive, but that is perfectly fine with me. It will give me the opportunity to stand back, and just look at her for a bit before we have some very serious discussions. I’m under no delusions that walking into that hospital room will grant me complete forgiveness. Even though I didn’t actually do anything wrong, Samantha still had to watch me having sex with another woman, something she should never have to see, just as I’d never want to see video of her and Saunders together. I try to ignore the memory of them going at it in my guestroom a few months back. Still pisses me off…

The one stop I make before arriving at the hospital is to buy Samantha some flowers. She’s never been the type to expect flowers, though experience reminds me that when I do get them for her, particularly when it’s for no specific reason, her smile could light up the entire town. Still, I know simplicity goes a long way with her, so when I find a place that’s open this early, the clerk helps me select a bouquet of various purple flowers that I think she’ll love, and
I try to put myself out of my misery by finally heading to the hospital.

It only takes a simple question to find out which room is hers, and as I head through the hospital, I feel strangely like a teenager going on my first date. My heart is pounding, my palms a little sweaty, and as I reach her room, I bring a hand up to my hair to smooth it into some semblance of neatness, though I know it’s pointless. I push open the door and enter silently…

And very nearly drop the flowers onto the floor at the sight that meets me. For several seconds, I wonder if I was given the wrong room number. Then, I realize that’s not the case. Samantha is fast asleep as I expected. But she’s not alone. A man I’ve never seen before is in a chair beside her bed, also fast asleep. One of his hands is wrapped around hers, the other resting on her belly, right above where my baby is growing. Samantha’s free hand is resting atop his, and as another slap in the face, I see her engagement ring sparkling in the dim light above her bed.

My first instinct should be to shout, and find out what the
fuck
is going on, and who the
fuck
this asshole thinks he is that he can touch my fiancée at all, let alone like he is. My second instinct is to silently, but efficiently, drag the asshole away, down the hall, and beat the shit out of him. My third is to curl up in a ball in the corner and try to keep my chest from imploding.

Is this why she hasn’t called me after talking to Claire? She saw the video, met some other guy
, and moved on? Was she planning on telling me? Does Claire know? I suspect the answer to that one is yes as I recall her hesitance to tell me something about Samantha over the phone.

So what does this mean for my relationship?

I can’t look at this anymore. Before leaving, I walk slowly towards Samantha’s bed and set down the vase of flowers I got for her, and prop the letter right beside it. I can’t resist the temptation to reach out and run a finger down her cheek; it’s not my imagination that she emits a little sigh and smiles in her sleep.

“I love you, Sammy,” I tell her in a whisper.

I leave the room before my vision blurs and the strangled cry erupts from my chest.

––––-o––––-

Mark has been gone for an hour. He woke up to find me crying and did his best to calm me down, and find out what was going on. When he realized Matthew had been there, he apologized for close to twenty times until I finally said I wanted to be alone. He was hesitant to leave me in that state, but I insisted, and he finally relented, leaving me no room to argue when he told me he’d be back to check on me later. The moment the door shut behind him, the shock sets in. Aside from the sadness, I feel intensely guilty, especially whenever my eyes dart to the beautiful flowers Matthew brought me.

Then there’s the letter. I know it’s a letter because I lifted the flap of the envelope and saw several pieces of folded paper and could make out his handwriting on a couple lines. I’m almost afraid to read it. I glance at my cell phone which is sitting on the table beside the flower vase and debate on whether to call him and ask him to come back. It takes remembering the video to resist the idea. He may have walked in on a compromising situation, but I watched him fucking his supposed ex-girlfriend. I’m not the one who needs to beg right now.

My curiosity gets the better of me the longer I stare at the envelope in my hands. Sighing shakily, I pull the paper from it, unfold the letter, and begin to read.

––––-o––––-

Dear Samantha,

Having read the beautiful letter you wrote and gave me before I left for Germany a dozen times, I’ve been thinking about the best way to respond. And since you’d currently prefer not to speak to me, I feel this might be the best outlet. I’m currently sitting in my hotel suite with a bottle of bourbon to my left, and our children’s ultrasounds to my right. Since the day you told me you were pregnant with Tyler, I’ve carried his ultrasound photo with me wherever I go. It’s been a reminder of the day the family we so often discussed became a reality. That day, you gave me something I never realized I wanted and there are only four other times in my life that I’ve felt such happiness: the night you agreed to become my wife, the day you actually
became
my wife, the day you told me you were carrying our second child, and the second time you agreed to become my wife.

Do you see a pattern in there anywhere?

Every good thing that has ever happened to me has involved you. Nothing else even comes close. From the first second I saw you, I knew you would change my life. I think I fell a little bit in love with you that first night outside Chet’s when you threatened me with the pepper spray. You fascinated me, Samantha, and I truly didn’t understand why. You were pretty and poised—whether you believe it or not—and you were inexplicably sad. I’ve never been drawn to another human being the way I was drawn to you. Even though I knew absolutely nothing about you, I wanted to see you smile and laugh and I wanted to wipe the sadness from your eyes. You were a distraction for me to the point that all I could think about was seeing you again. That’s why I went back to Chet’s. That’s why I spent my entire day waiting for your shift to end. Even if you turned down my offer for coffee, at least I could say I saw you again.

Returning home didn’t diminish my feelings towards you. If anything, they only grew. You were the last thing I thought about at night when I closed my eyes, and the first thing I thought about in the morning when I opened them. That’s never changed.

In your letter, you said I terrified you. Well, the reverse is true for me. What I felt for you—what I
continue
to feel for you—terrifies me on a daily basis. I can only explain it by saying you are my reason for being. Even during the five years we were separated, that never changed. I still obsessed about your safety and your well-being and your happiness. As stalker-ish as it may sound, a couple times a year I flew out to Omaha to see you. I saw you at work and with Tyler and at home with Saunders. Those times killed me because as desperate as I was to talk to you or for you to just acknowledge me, I made you a promise that I would stay out of your life. I made those visits just to assure myself that you were okay. It was clear to me every time I saw you that the sadness that was in your eyes when we first met had made its return. That killed me.

You made mention of the first time you came to visit me in New York. I cannot even begin to tell you how nervous I was for your arrival. We’d only seen each other a few times at that point, and though we spoke frequently, and I thought I knew you well enough, I honestly had no idea what to expect. I won’t insult your intelligence by saying the thought of sleeping with you during that visit never crossed my mind. It did. Often. Probably too often, if we’re being honest. But I knew you were very inexperienced, and I never would have even considered pushing you into doing something you weren’t ready for, no matter how much I may have wanted it. The night it happened, was beyond imagination. I knew you were nervous, and afraid about what I would think of your body, and whether you could satisfy me sexually. Samantha, those were concerns you never needed to consider. You are beyond beautiful, and one of the millions of reasons I love you is because you are so unaware of that. The women I’ve known in the past were obsessed with how they looked as opposed to other aspects of what little personality they might have had. Making love to you was mind-blowingly amazing. The fact that you trusted me enough to take something from you that is so special, so coveted, meant the absolute world to me. I still have no idea why you chose me when there were hundreds of men more worthy, but I am forever grateful that you did.

The night we decided you would move in with me still seems like a dream. At that point, I’d been terrified that I was the only one feeling so desperate to just be with you again, and I was so afraid of scaring you away by admitting how deeply I’d already fallen for you. I can’t remember ever mentioning it, but the day you were to move in, I waited at baggage claim and when you didn’t show up when I thought you would, I thought you’d changed your mind. I thought I’d suffered a broken heart the day I found Lucy in bed with someone else, but that was nothing compared to how I felt when I thought you’d stood me up. And then there you were with your heart in your eyes and a smile on your lips.

Like you, many people tried to talk me out of our relationship, though I’m sure you’ve realized that by now. I’ve never been so glad to have refused advice from my friends and family. Having you share my home with me was amazing. I loved waking up with you, and going to sleep beside you. I loved getting to know all of the little things about you, like how you pull at your lip when you want me. Did you even realize you do that? It’s the most adorable thing in the world. I loved watching you cook in my kitchen when before the most I was ever able to do was scramble a couple eggs and burn grilled cheese sandwiches. I spent months wondering if it was too soon to ask you to marry me. When I finally did, it was because I’d just spent ten days away from you, and so afraid that the moment I walked through the front door, you’d be gone, and I knew it was beyond time. I wanted to take care of you for the rest of our lives, to give you everything your heart could possibly desire, and to keep you safe and happy. I wanted to be your husband more than anything.