Young Revelations (Young Series) (24 page)

Aside from work, I’ve busied myself with working out clues from the information Samantha was able to give me about the woman from the boat. The scarce details are frustrating, though I have no intention of ever telling her that; I think she feels terrible for being unable to give me more to work with and I’d be the biggest asshole to walk the face of the planet to make her feel even worse. This is all really starting to scare me, though. She’s convinced the woman is someone she knows or has come into contact with recently, and the not knowing is killing me. It’s one thing for one of my own people betraying me, but someone who has access to Samantha being the cause of this is truly becoming a frightening prospect for me.

It’s not until Thursday night that I get any sense of resolution with the kidnapping, though even then what I learn doesn’t seem to actually solve anything. Samantha called me at work sounding very odd. All she would say was that she and Tyler and the baby were fine, but she and I needed to talk tonight. I tried to convince her to tell me over the phone so I wouldn’t have to wait hours to find out what was going on, but she brushed it off saying it had to wait until we were together. My mind went into overdrive. The last time she sounded like this, she told me she was leaving me. I’m trying not to think like that now; I trust her not to run from me again, just as I couldn’t run from her. It still doesn’t set me at ease.

I waste no time leaving work, barely acknowledging anyone I come into contact with as I rush to my car to get home.
Tyler is occupied watching television. Samantha is sitting beside him, though it looks as though she couldn’t be any less interested in watching cartoons. She doesn’t even realize I’m there until touch her shoulder; she jumps and yelps at the contact, and I’m getting even more nervous.

Tyler glances at us briefly, telling me hi and giving me his big smile before going back to his TV show, and I look at Samantha again, nodding my head towards the basement staircase to indicate we should talk privately. She doesn’t hesitate to join me, taking my hand immediately. I lead her through the house silently, trying to ignore how her body is shaking with nerves. We enter the bedroom and sit down together on the edge of the bed without me releasing her hand.

“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.

“I figured out who the woman from the boat is,” she whispers in a rush, her eyes huge as she looks at me.

“What?” I exclaim. “Who? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because I needed to tell you in person. I need to know you’ll believe me.”

I furrow my brow deeply. “Of course I’ll believe you,” I tell her. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She hesitates for several long moments, looking around the room as though trying to find enough strength for this discussion. I can’t imagine why she would react this way, unless it really is someone close to us, and even then scrolling through my mental list, I can’t think of anybody she might name. Looking back at me, she takes a shuddering breath, lets it out slowly as a tear slips from her eye. Her next words are enough to knock the wind right out of my body.

“It was Natalie.”

I never thought three words would be so difficult to speak, especially in this context. I can barely meet Matthew’s gaze; rather I stare into my lap where I’m twisting my fingers around themselves as my mind runs through all the scenarios of how I imagined this conversation might go for the hundredth time since I came to this conclusion.

If a gun were placed at my temple right now, I don’t think I could come up with how I worked this out. All I’m really aware of is that I was at the bookstore and there was a rush of customers. Bonnie and I were both running around trying to help everyone we could, and at some point two very different conversations popped into my mind and the focal point of these conversations was a woman whom I had watched having sex with my fiancée on video and later had seen in my hospital room. Everything clicked in my mind out of nowhere; I’d nearly had a panic attack in the middle of the bookstore, but managed to remain in control to get my job done. Bonnie hadn’t missed the change in my mood and had sent me to sit down for a bit, which gave me time to think.

At first I thought I was jumping to conclusions. There is no doubt in my mind that I hate Natalie with every fiber of my being for having been with Matthew and for harassing me in the hospital, but that didn’t mean she’s the type to arrange a kidnapping. But the more I thought, the more I realized I was right. Natalie and the woman from the boat are the same person. I had no idea how Matthew would respond to my allegations—he could believe me, of course, and start arranging for her arrest; he could think I’m being paranoid or vindictive and not believe me in the slightest. When he arrived home I’d never been so nervous to be alone with him. I thought about not telling him at all and just waiting to see how things played out, but that was far from being an option in my mind. I couldn’t keep this from
him, no matter how he reacts to it.

Glancing up, I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see on his face in response to my words. He’s staring at me, shock written all over as he tries to register my words. “Natalie?” he repeats quietly, his tone unidentifiable.

I nod.

His eyes slowly close and he lets out a rush of breath, running his hands through his hair. “Samantha,” he whispers, shaking his head slightly before finally looking at me again. I feel my heart sink at what I see. “I know you don’t like her and I certainly don’t blame you for that, but…” He shakes his head again.

“You don’t believe me,” I breathe.

“It’s isn’t
a matter of not believing you,” he argues. “But I know Natalie, whether you like it or not, and I know she isn’t capable of doing what you’re saying she’s done. The woman doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body.”

“Really?” I ask
, stung. “So why did she show up in my hospital room in the middle of the fucking night to try convincing me the two of you are madly in love? Explain that to me, Matt.”

He looks genuinely at a loss. “I can’t,” he admits softly. “I’ve tried. The only explanation I can come up with is that we were friends and she was being protective of me. It’s a weak excuse, I know, but that’s the best I’ve got. Maybe she thought in some twisted way she was doing what was best for me.”

“And the video? You can’t tell me she wasn’t at least aware of it. How is that doing what’s best for you? I nearly miscarried, Matthew—twice—and both times it was in some way because of her.” I can’t help the tears falling from my eyes, but I do notice that despite the tortured expression on his face, Matthew makes no move to wipe my tears away. “Why are you taking her side on this? You’ve told me a hundred times how hard you’re working to find out who this woman is. Well, I’ve just told you.”

He hesitates. “And you don’t think there is a possibility your mind is making the connection to Natalie because she’s made trouble recently?” he asks tentatively.

My mouth falls open. “You really don’t believe me,” I whisper in horror. “Matt, I’m not wrong about this! And I’m not just connecting imaginary dots! It was her! She kept me and your son on that fucking boat. She questioned us about where you were, then asked where that fucking chip was.”

“But you didn’t see her,” he says evenly.

“No, I didn’t see her!” I shout. “Why is it not enough that I’m telling you I recognized her voice?”

“Because according to you, you’ve heard her voice twice,” he snaps back. “And one of those times, you were in the hospital because of a video that made you believe I was fucking around on you. It was the middle of the night. The kidnapping was months ago, Samantha. I’m not saying you wouldn’t know her voice if you heard it again; I’m just saying you’re applying blame to somebody who wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

I can’t believe he’s doing this. After everything, he thinks I’m making it up, jumping to conclusions, blaming the wrong people. He’s defending the one person in the world he shouldn’t be defending. He’s supposed to trust me and support me no matter what. But no, he’s on her side, even knowing how close he’d been to losing me after that video. This isn’t right and I don’t know how to fix it. “You’re wrong,” I whisper to him, standing up. He tries to reach for me, but I step away. His hand drops limply to his side and the expression on his face wrenches my heart. I have to stay strong right now. “When are you going to realize you don’t have all the answers to the world? Just because you’ve given someone your trust, it doesn’t mean they’ve earned it or that they won’t betray you somehow. I don’t want this to be the answer to this problem, but it is. You can either believe me or not, but until you’re willing to admit you could be wrong, just stay away from me.”

I manage to get out of the room before the first sob hits.

––––-o––––-

I’m at a complete loss of what to do right now. It’s not that I don’t trust Samantha or think she would lie to me about something like this; I just think she’s mistaken. She’s so convinced that Natalie is up to no good and while I know Natalie hasn’t exactly been on her best behavior, I really can’t believe she’d do something like this to Samantha and Tyler, or to me. And it doesn’t escape my notice that’s been less than a week since we’ve started working things out for the betterment of our relationship, and here we are, once again at odds. Over Natalie.

“Fuck,” I hiss, getting to my feet. I leave the room with the intent of figuring out where Samantha has gone—I need to know she’s okay, even if she doesn’t want me near her at the moment. Before I know it, though, I’m out in the yard and headed towards Leo’s. We haven’t really spoken since the other night when I asked him to speak to Natalie and I need to know what he’s found out.

“You look like you need a beer,” he says when he opens the front door.

I snort a humorless laugh. “Only if it’s a beer/tequila cocktail,” I mutter, entering the house and shutting the door behind me.

“Everything all right?” he asks, eyeing me with concern as he retrieves a couple beers.

“Been better,” I say honestly, leaning against the back of the couch. “Samantha thinks Natalie is the woman from the boat.”

Leo very nearly drops the beers he’s carrying in shock. “What?” he exclaims.

I nod grimly. “She’s completely convinced of it,” I tell him. “I tried convincing her Natalie wouldn’t hurt a fly, but…” I shrug hopelessly. “Did you talk to Nat like I asked?”

Sighing, Leo nods and we move to sit down. “Yeah, I talked to her. “Matt, she didn’t mean anything by her visit to Sam at the hospital. She admits it wasn’t the best idea in the world considering Samantha’s condition, but I think she really wanted to see if Sam was okay.”

I take a long drink from my beer bottle. “And she couldn’t have done that during visiting hours like a normal person?” I ask wryly.

He shrugs. “She says she was at the hospital visiting someone else and she’d heard Samantha had been brought in…” He runs a hand across his short hair. “And she knows what Samantha means to you, Matt. I really think she just wanted to make things right again, maybe make a friend out of Samantha somehow.”

Now there’s a terrifying thought: Natalie and Samantha, BFFs. “She could have sent flowers; she didn’t need to show up out of the blue and upset Sam the way she did. Do you realize that was the second time in a week Samantha nearly miscarried?” Leo winces, clearly unaware of that detail. “And what about the video? Did she know about it?”

Leo hesitates. “She knew about the video,” he admits resignedly. “She won’t say what the intent was or who edited and sent it, but she was aware of its existence as well as the fact Samantha saw it.”

“This isn’t a fucking game, Leo,” I tell him harshly. “Samantha could have died. She could have lost our baby. And all because of that video. I don’t give a flying fuck what the intent was; I want to know who sent it. Find out, Leo.”

Without another departing word or finishing my beer, I stalk out of the house trying to figure out when the world started going to shit around me.

––––-o––––-

The rest of the night is spent in solitude. I tried spending time with Samantha and Tyler during dinner and after, but the tension was so thick between her and me that I was actually having trouble catching my breath around her. Tyler was catching on and I didn’t want him worrying, so I made myself scarce. Samantha has tried to explain to me our son’s apparent
intuitiveness when it comes to her mood, but I didn’t understand until I saw him curling up with her and refusing to do anything else.

S
o I’ve been in my office going on six hours. Tyler came in to say goodnight, but didn’t ask me to read him a story like he has been every night; apparently he prefers Samantha at the moment. As for Samantha herself, I’ve barely seen even a wisp of her hair since I left them to their TV watching after dinner. What little I have seen isn’t promising; I know she spent a time crying and I know she’s angry and hurt and I want to fix things, but the only way to do that is to believe Natalie had a part in the kidnapping. It’s not something I want to believe. She’s a lot of things; cold-hearted bitch isn’t one of them. That’s not to say I won’t look into the possibility.

When 2AM rolls around, I finally decide to call it a night and shut down my computer. Not that I actually got any work done after I had the realization that I don’t need anybody to sabotage my relationship with Samantha; I’m doing a damn good job of it all on my own. If I keep this shit up, I’m going to lose her for good and there will be no coming back from this.

Sighing, I enter our bedroom, expecting to find Samantha curled up on the mattress, burrowed in a pile of blankets like every other night. The bed is empty and looks as though no one has so much as touched it since she and I were in here earlier. After a moment’s panic that she’s already left me, I head down the hall, open the guestroom door, and find her. Great. I’ve fucked up so thoroughly this time that she’s not even sleeping in our bed. I consider crawling in with her just to be near her, but I don’t imagine I’ll be welcome if she wakes up. Instead I sit in the chair beside the bed and just watch her for a while.

Why do I keep doing this to her? Hurting her. Pushing her away when I should be bringing her closer. Maybe we need to see a therapist together. Maybe subconsciously I’m punishing her for what happened five years ago, dropping all the hurt and anger and frustration I felt after she left me onto her. It goes without saying that if that’s the case, it’s supremely unfair to her. She might have been the one to do the leaving, but I know without doubt she suffered as much, if not more than I did. Our time apart should be bringing us closer now we’re together again, so why isn’t it? Is it really a simple matter of we’ve changed so much that our personalities are just clashing in the worst possible way? Is something trying to tell us we shouldn’t be together?

I can’t believe that. It’s not an option for me. I’ve tried living without her, tried going back to what my life was like before I met her, and it was complete and utter hell. No matter how hard I tried, she was constantly in my head. Everywhere I went. Everything I did. I was a shell of what I’d been when she was with me. And I cannot go back to that. Not after everything we’ve been through and everything that’s ahead of us.

But what do I do to fix this?

Part of me wants to wake her up right now and tell her I believe her about Natalie; that I’m deploying everything in my arsenal to bring her in and question her about the kidnapping. But unless I’m actually willing to go that route, Samantha will know without a doubt that I’ve lied to her and that sure as hell won’t do me any favors.

Unfortunately, for tonight at least, I have to leave things as they are. Aside from the fact that I’m exhausted, she needs her rest much more than I do and in the morning, things might look better to the both of us.

With a sigh, I push myself to my feet and close the distance to the bed. I tuck the blankets around her curled body and press a kiss to her forehead with a whispered
I love you
, and leave her to her sleep.

––––-o––––-

Most of my night has been spent tossing and turning and straining my ears for the slightest bit of movement in the hallway in case Samantha woke. I finally managed to fall into a restless sleep around dawn and woke up a couple hours later. Glancing over at the alarm clock, I curse. With my mind distracted, I’d forgotten to set my alarm and I’d overslept—ironic, since I can’t say I actually
slept
—and I jump up in a rush to get dressed and downstairs only to find the house empty and quiet. One glance out the front door to the driveway confirms Samantha’s car is gone and I missed my chance to talk to her this morning.