Young Revelations (Young Series) (32 page)

She glares at me. “No. I want you to be a father to your son. All he wants is to see you and spend time with you. Take him to a movie or out for pizza or something. Don’t fucking pretend like none of us exist just because you’re miserable.”

“Fuck you,” I shoot back, leaving the bedroom, grabbing a pair of jeans. Claire predictably follows me through the house even as I struggle to get dressed. “I’m not the one who left! Samantha left. Nothing I could have said would have changed that. I realize I’ve fucked up and got her and Tyler into really bad situations where they could have been killed.” We descend the stairs and I head into the kitchen looking for the left over Chinese, though I can’t remember when I last ordered Chinese. “Nothing I do is good enough to keep them safe. And since I’m realizing all the people I’ve trusted have been lying to me for years, this is the last place they need to be.”

“No, Matt,” she says firmly. “My place is the last place they need to be. They need to be with you. You need to be with them.”

“She doesn’t want me!” I shout, slamming the fridge door shut and turning towards her. “She dumped me, Claire, and she wants nothing more to do with me.”

Claire stares in shock for a moment at my outburst, but recovers quickly. “She doesn’t want you?” she repeats quietly, stepping further into the kitchen. “Is that why she spends most of her time playing with that locket around her neck? Or why every time her phone rings, her eyes light up and when she realizes it’s not you she looks like her heart is breaking all over again? We can’t even talk about you when she’s around, because we’re worried about the baby. She loves you, Matt. That isn’t going to change. Ever.”

“Really?” I ask her challengingly. “If she loves me so much, why hasn’t she called?”

“Because she’s afraid,” Claire responds immediately. “Think about everything that’s happened, Matt. Anyone would be afraid—I know you are. She’s hurt and confused and afraid. She thinks you don’t trust her. She says you’ve proven over and over that you love her, but you’re always doing something to push her away.” Claire jumps up on the edge of the counter. “Did you really call her a liar when she tried to tell you Natalie was the woman on the boat the night she and Ty were kidnapped?”

I’m momentarily speechless. “I never called her a liar,” I insist. “I didn’t believe her and I should have; I was wrong. Very wrong. And I sure as hell don’t blame her for leaving, but I do trust her, Claire. With everything that means the most to me. I don’t know why I keep pushing her away; if I did, it’d probably solve a million problems with our relationship.”

“Then maybe you ought to start thinking through that,” she suggests.

I slump against the counter across from her, uncertain whether I want to tell her what I’m considering. “Marcus gave me the name of his therapist,” I say reluctantly. “I have an appointment to see her next week.”

Claire’s eyes widen in surprise at my words. “Oh,” she says. “Well, that’s probably a good idea. Do you think it’ll help?”

“Who knows?” I respond despondently. “Couldn’t possibly do anymore damage, though, could it?”

She stares at me for several minutes, appraising me carefully, then hops off the counter. I watch her curiously as she opens my fridge, pulling out the ingredients for breakfast. Smiling fondly at her, I push off from where I’m leaning, press a kiss to her temple as she turns on the stove, and start cleaning a few dishes so we can eat. She cooks silently and I take in the mess that is my house, quickly noting the pile of liquor bottles that pave a trail through the place. It’s no surprise Claire stomped into my bedroom the way she did… I clear a path to the kitchen table just as Claire slides bacon and eggs onto two plates and gestures for me to sit.

“You didn’t have to cook, you know,” I tell her, surprised that my stomach settles at the sight of food rather than rejects the very thought of eating.

She smirks. “I couldn’t watch you eat cold Chinese,” she remarks. “So, therapy, huh?”

I nod. “All things considered, it might be a decent idea,” I reply.

“And if you want to get Samantha back, this might be the best way.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “You don’t beat around the bush…”

“You ought to know that by now,” she says cockily. “Are you really going to tell me you’re just going give her up without a fight?”

Sighing heavily, I pick up my bacon. “I don’t want to,” I admit. “But until I’ve got my shit sorted…”

“I suggest you do it quickly, then,” she says bluntly. “The more time she spends wallowing in her own thoughts, the more she’s going to wonder why you’re staying away. She’s going to start thinking this is what you want—the two of you being separated like this. And I know it’s not what you want.” I quickly snap my mouth shut against the protest I’ve got prepared. “But you two are the thickest, most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life and you both get wrapped up in insecurity. That’s what causes the problems.”

I stare at her for a few moments, then shake my head, grinning a little. “Maybe I won’t need to pay a therapist,” I tell her thoughtfully. “Not when I’ve got you.”

She snorts a laugh. “Please, you couldn’t pay me enough to sit in a chair while you pour your heart out on a couch and go into details about your relationships. I’ve had enough traumatizing events in my life; yours is the last I need to add.” I roll my eyes and smirk at her. “Anyway, we haven’t discussed the actual reason I came here.”

“Really?” I ask suspiciously. “So this isn’t just a wellness checkup?”

“Nope,” she says cheerily, finishing off her eggs. “I wanted to see what you have planned for Thanksgiving. It’s only a couple weeks away, you know.”

Actually, I didn’t know. All the days have seemed to blur together for me lately. “I don’t really have any plans,” I admit quietly. “Samantha and I thought we’d stay home, just the three of us this year.”

She smiles sympathetically. “You’re not going to Mom and Dad’s then?”

I actually laugh, however harshly it comes out. “Are you insane?” I ask. “So I can listen to Dad and Holly and Liz tell me how right they were about Sam? Or about how I’m so much better off without her? I’d kill all of them within the first five minutes.”

“That’s about how Danny and I feel about it,” she informs me. “We decided to just have a small, quiet dinner at home. I don’t think it would be a good idea to subject Samantha to them anyway.”

“Good call,” I say quietly, thankful Samantha won’t be spending Thanksgiving as I plan to: alone.

“You should come over,” Claire says. “There’s no need to sit here alone all day when you’ve got a place to go.”

Tempting as that is, I wonder whether my presence at my sister’s house would have anywhere near the same effect on Sam as subjecting her to my family. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I tell Claire. “Is Sam okay with that?”

Claire raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked her,” she says evenly. “Not really her choice, is it?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Samantha should be the priority right now,” I say sternly. “You should at least ask her if it’s okay for me to be there.”

“Why?” she asks. “It’s my house, not hers. I don’t need her permission to invite somebody to dinner. If she doesn’t like it, tough shit. Bros before hoes, Matt.”

My eyes widen as I process her words and I begin to laugh for the first time in weeks. “Bros before hoes?” I repeat through sniggers. “Are you really calling Samantha a hoe? Because if you are, I’m going to have to get annoyed.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I just mean you’re still my brother, whether you like it or not. I want you at my table on Thanksgiving, Matt. And while Samantha won’t ask you to join us, I know she would want you there too; she wouldn’t want you sitting at home all alone.”

Sighing, I sit back in my chair. I haven’t given much thought to Thanksgiving or what I might be doing that day. The couple of times Samantha and I discussed the holiday, we’d made the decision to stay home for our own quiet dinner. It was supposed to be our first Thanksgiving together as a family in over five years, and I was surprisingly eager about the thought. Thanksgiving has never been a holiday I tended to look forward to for any other reason than all the turkey and pie I could eat. Since Samantha left, I’ve joined my family for dinner, but it didn’t feel like it should and I know that was because Samantha and Tyler weren’t with me. Most of my day was spent wondering what they were doing, who they were with, whether Samantha was thinking about me the way I thought about her. All in all, it was usually a pretty depressing day for me.

“Can I think about it?” I ask Claire quietly, not wanting to make any commitments right now.

Claire sighs and her shoulders slump in disappointment. “Yeah, of course,” she tells me. She stands and takes my plate and hers to the kitchen. “I’ve got to get back home. A lot to do, you know…”

As I walk her out of the house and down to her car, I think I might have hurt her feelings by not immediately agreeing to her invitation. Just great. Another person I hurt unintentionally. “Tell Samantha hello for me?” I ask, holding open the car door as Claire gets in.

She gives me a tight smile. “Of course,” she says quietly. “And let me know soon about Thanksgiving; if you’re coming, I’m going to need a bigger turkey.” After buckling her seatbelt, she looks back at me again with a raised eyebrow. “And take a shower before you go anywhere. Please?”

Chuckling, I close the door and watch as Claire backs down the driveway and disappears. Once she’s gone, I scan my body, realizing what I’ve let myself become. I quit drinking like I did last night years ago and I’ve managed to stick to my convictions about staying sober when I’m depressed, since I’ve proven I have no self-control once I start. And I remember my thought last night about drinking myself to death. Feeling disgusted with myself, I head back into the house. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I have to work on getting my life back on track or one day someone is going to walk into my house to find me dead in a pool of my own vomit. The thought that the person who might do that could be Samantha is enough to build up the determination I need to get through this.

The day I return to the bookstore actually comes as a relief. As soon as I get up, I realize the previous night had been the first in weeks that Tyler has slept through the night without bad dreams. We both woke up refreshed and feeling better than we had in too long, and he’s actually speaking to me again. His interactions with me had been oddly strained since leaving the hospital. He hasn’t climbed up next to me for a cuddle or asked me to play with him. Though I haven’t actually asked him, I suspect his behavior is a result of knowing I’m the reason he’s not with his father. Just another thing to add to my list of reasons to feel guilty.

A few days back, I woke up and headed down to the kitchen to help Claire with breakfast only to find Danny in her place at the stove. He told me Claire had left before even he woke and he wasn’t sure where she’d gone. She didn’t come home until nearly noon and while she initially wouldn’t admit it where she had been, I suspected she’d gone to see Matthew. Only last night did she finally answer my questions.

“How is he?”
I’d asked as we finished off the dinner dishes.

Claire had looked at me out of the corner of her eye and sighed. “He’s a mess,” she said resignedly. “When I got there, he was passed out in bed. The house was wrecked. He was hung over…”

That was all I’d needed to hear. It’s what everyone was most afraid of—that Matthew would resort to drinking as therapy to get him through this situation. I was just as afraid, but it’s not as though I’ve done anything to deter him from that behavior. I don’t think he would welcome my help at this point, since I’ve made no attempt to contact him. I’m not the only one at fault for lack of communication, though: even after telling Tyler he would see him as often as possible, Matthew has been a no-show for his son. This angers me. If he wants to ignore me, fine, I deserve it. But there is no reason for him to take out his frustrations on Tyler. All Tyler wants is to spend time with his father, with whom he’s made a quick, deep bond in the short time they’ve known each other, and I thought Matthew wanted the same. Was it all talk? More things for him to say to me to convince me to stay?

I don’t want to believe that. I’ve seen Matthew with Tyler and there is no father in the world more devoted to his son. I convince myself it’s because Matthew is trying to get himself back on track before he sees Tyler again. If I don’t do that, I’m going to show up at Matthew’s house or work and end up regretting whatever happens there. Probably some form of violence.

It’s certainly not helping that with everything going on, my hormones are acting up more than they did during my pregnancy with Tyler. I feel almost bi-polar with my moods recently—one minute I’m perfectly fine, the next I’m sobbing hysterically or angry and shouting beyond reason. In some of my more unreasonable moments, I tried convincing Claire it would be best if I didn’t send Tyler back to school. I need to find him a new school as it is, since his current one has thoroughly proven their incompetence in keeping him safe. Claire managed to talk me out of homeschooling him by reminding me I’m in the middle of a pregnancy and I have my own job to go to. It hasn’t stopped me wanting to know where he is at all times and I have the feeling that won’t change anytime soon, regardless of where he goes to school.

“Well, good morning, sunshine!”

I enter the bookstore and look up, feeling a genuine smile on my face as I see Bonnie sitting behind the counter. A moment later, that smile falters slightly when I take in her appearance. I know she’s been ill, but she hasn’t seen fit to tell me what’s wrong. She’s gotten much thinner since I last saw her and her clothing hangs off her like potato sacks. Her hair is thinner and grayer. The only part of her that seems normal is the shining in her eyes. I shake myself out of a daze when I realize I’m staring and plant the smile on my face again. “Good morning,” I tell her, walking around the counter to give her a hug. I try not to wince at the boniness in her body or the weakness in her arms as she hugs me back. “How’s business today?”

She grins. “Quiet so far,” she says. “But I expect everything to pick up what with the holidays coming and all.”

I nod, removing my coat and hanging it and my purse on a hook in the backroom. I didn’t really need the reminder about the holidays—until very recently, I had a mental countdown to December 26
th
, which was supposed to be my wedding day. Aside from that, I’d been looking forward to having our Thanksgiving dinner at Matthew’s, just the three of us. He’d offered to cook and when I’d given him a look of utter disbelieve, he backtracked and said he’d help me cook. Claire mentioned the other day having Thanksgiving dinner at her house rather than her parents’ house like normal; I can’t remember ever being so grateful to a person in my life. I don’t know if she intends on inviting Matthew, and I’m not sure if I’d be happy to see him. Another part of my often-changing moods—one second all I want is to see him and kiss him; the next, I want to see him and throttle him.

“How are you, Sammy?”

I return to the front of the store and start helping Bonnie check off books from the delivery that morning. “I’m okay,” I tell her. “Happy to be doing something else for a change.”

She eyes me closely. “How’s Tyler?”

I sit on the stool beside her. “He’s doing better,” I say. “There have been several nightmares since the kidnapping, which is understandable, and he’s missing Matt. Slowly he’s getting back to normal.”

Her brow furrows. “He hasn’t seen Matt?” she asks almost incredulously.

“Matt and I are…” I glance around the room for the right word, then realize there is no right word for what we are right now. “I guess we’re separated.”

“Ah,” Bonnie replies, nodding. “So I guess it’s true the wedding is off?” I look at her in surprise; she smiles slightly. “Small town, sweetheart. Word travels fast.”

Sighing, I wonder who Matthew has been talking to about us, since he’s not talking to me. “The wedding is off,” I confirm quietly.

She reaches an arm around my shoulders and gives me a slight squeeze. “Very sorry to hear that,” she says genuinely. “But if I know Matt at all, he’s not going to let you go without a fight.”

“It’s been two weeks since we last saw him,” I say. “I told him I want him to see Tyler and I don’t want to cut off communication with him—ever—but I haven’t heard a damn word from him. Claire went to see him the other day and apparently he’s a complete mess, drinking again, all of it.”

“He’s been through a lot,” she tells me gently. “You both have. But you’ve been through worse and you’ll get through this as well. That boy loves you, Samantha. I know you know that. Give him time to get his thoughts in order and I guarantee he will be right at your side again doing whatever he can to fix this.”

I want to agree with her and to believe her, but I can’t help wondering how much more time will pass before I see him again. As much as I want to see him, I need him to actually fight for me, to prove I’m his priority rather than the other people in his life. Though every time I think that, I wonder if wanting that is conceited. Then I remind myself he’s been my priority through all of this, and I’m willing to fight the entire world for him. But only if he wants me to.

With one last squeeze to my shoulder, Bonnie stands up. “Come on, come help me with this damn shipment…”

For the first time in weeks, my mind is on something other than Matthew and our current disaster of a relationship. We order in for lunch and Bonnie tells me about how her nephew’s dog just fathered puppies. The nephew and the other dog’s owner are looking to give the puppies away, since neither of their jobs allows them to stay home and care for them full time.

“Tyler’s actually been asking for a dog lately,” I say thoughtfully, my brow furrowing. “He’s never asked for one before and came home from school last week telling me he wants a puppy.”

“Well, I can talk to my nephew if you’d like,” Bonnie suggests. “His dog is the sweetest thing you’ve ever met.”

“The only problem is we’re living at Claire’s right now and I doubt she’d want to add a puppy to the four kids and her husband,” I reply wryly. “Or the pregnant lady whose moods are worse than unpredictable at the best of times…”

She chuckles. “Think about it and let me know. Might be a good Christmas present. And no one says it has to live at Claire’s—I’m sure Matt would love a dog.”

My brow furrows and it takes me a minute to work out what it is she’s insinuating. I turn to look at her and she’s grinning mischievously and unapologetically at me. Rolling my eyes, I finish off my lunch and get back to work.

––––-o––––-

I have no idea what I’m doing here. Okay, I’ve got a vague idea what I’m doing here: I need to get my shit sorted out so there is some chance of getting Samantha and Tyler back. After Claire’s invasion a few days ago, I finally took a couple steps back and saw just what I was doing not only to myself, but to my family. Samantha thinks I don’t want her. Tyler thinks I don’t want him. Neither of them could be more wrong, but it’s up to me to make sure they know that. Samantha told me no matter what happens she wants me in her and my son’s lives, and so far I’ve stomped those words right into the mud. Instead of being at my sister’s house every night and making sure they have everything they need, I’ve been wallowing in my own self pity and trying to drink myself into an early grave.

As much as I’ve been dreading this, I’ve kept my appointment to see Marcus’s therapist. I don’t know much about her other than what Marcus told me. She was top of her class at Stanford Medical School, which immediately intrigued me, being a Stanford alumnus myself, and that she doesn’t take any of his shit. Actually, I’m a little afraid of this woman. She seemed to put the fear of God into FBI superman Marcus West; what chance do I have of survival?

“Matthew?”

I look up from where I’ve been watching my knees bouncing up and down at a rapid pace for the last fifteen minutes to the secretary smiling at me. She’s been smiling and staring at me since I walked into the office, and if I’d been able to look up from my knees, I’m sure I would have seen her becoming glossy-eyed and possibly drooling.

“Dr. Morris is ready to see you,” she says in a voice that’s more appropriate for a gentlemen’s club rather than a doctor’s office.

I give her a tight smile as she holds open the door from me and try to figure out how to pass without touching her. Unfortunately, it’s impossible as she seems to push closer to me and I’m forced to brush her arm. As I start breathing again inside the doctor’s office, I swear I hear the secretary sigh dreamily as the door closes again. Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I look around the office and I’m pleasantly surprised at the décor. It’s comfortable, a lot like my office at home, complete with an aquarium in the corner. Black leather couches dominate the room arranged in an L-shape and separated by an end table that holds a lamp and a box of tissues. Across from the couches is a matching chair that looks incredibly comfortable.

“Mr. Young.” I look up to find the woman that has to be Dr. Morris and I actually gulp, stopping myself from taking a couple steps back. Dr. Morris is around 5’8 with blonde hair, green eyes, and a glare so cold it could melt away the remaining glaciers in the arctic. It’s the same glare my mother used when one of us kids really screwed up. Normally nothing could get her truly angry with us—she’s always been very easygoing and sweet, the perfect balance to my father’s authoritarian demeanor and it took a lot to get that look. “I’m Doctor Morris. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I say, crossing the room to shake her hand. She’s got a firm grip and doesn’t seem the slightest but put off by my slightly sweaty hands.

“Please have a seat,” she says briskly. I sit on the edge of the closest couch to the chair where she seats herself. I have no idea what to expect from these sessions; therapy has never been something I considered for myself. There were times I probably could have used it, particularly after the bombing when I was taking my frustrations out on the people who didn’t deserve it, like Samantha. Or after Samantha left me, rather than throwing myself into work and liquor. I suppose I always saw the need for therapy as a form of weakness and I never considered myself weak. Apparently, that’s all changed. “So Mr. Young, tell me a little about yourself. Why are you here?”

“Please, call me Matthew,” I suggest. I hate being called Mr. Young. Reminds me of my dad… “As for why I’m here… I’m not sure I can pinpoint one exact thing.”

She doesn’t react to my words or write in a little notebook or avert her gaze in the slightest and it is very disconcerting, to the point that I feel the only thing I can do is continue speaking. So that’s what I do. I tell her about Samantha, how we met, how quickly our relationship grew, everything that happened around our breakup. I tell the doctor about my career and the dangers involved, and how that contributed in bringing Samantha and me together again. By the time I’m finished speaking, I’m sure my hour has come close to its end, but when I glance at my watch, I’m surprised that only half an hour has gone by.

For the first time since she asked me why I’m here, she opens her little notebook and begins to write furiously. She looks back at me a few moments later. “Tell me what drew you to Samantha,” she says, watching me expectantly.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, thinking about her suggestion and the day Leo and I walked into Chet’s Diner in a small Iowa town when I first set eyes on Samantha Everett. I feel myself smiling. “I don’t know,” I say softly. “The second I set eyes on her, I couldn’t look away and I can’t even say it’s because she was strikingly beautiful, which she was, but that day she had a gravy stain on her skirt, a rip in her shirt. Her hair was sticking up in every direction and she looked as though she hadn’t slept in days. I remember seeing her eyes and thinking there was something incredibly sad about her eyes, and I wanted nothing more than to make the sadness go away and stay away. I wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh. When we left, I thought that would be the end of it and I’d move on, but I couldn’t get her out of my head. It was constant. I could barely work and I went back to see her twice. And that was pretty much it for me. We kept in contact, I visited her family once, she flew out to stay with me for a couple weeks, and a few months after that, she was moving in with me.”