4. Sam
Chapter 4
Sam
T he nurse had just handed Sam a cup of water and an Ativan when a crowd of people filed in past the curtain partially concealing his room, including Detective fucking Whatshername and the DA.
Great.
Sam threw back the anxiety medicine and took a big gulp of water before anyone could start talking. He was going to need it.
“Um, Detective Sutton and DA Rivera are here to ask about the accident,” Jaime said, gesturing vaguely toward them.
“It wasn’t an accident,” Finn cut in gently.
All eyes turned to him, the Detective in particular zeroing in. “Why do you think that?” she asked.
He angled his head, his tone implying her question was rhetorical. “I saw the tire tracks, same as you. There were no skid marks on the road; they didn’t swerve around something and crash. They drove right into his apartment without even trying to stop.”
The whole room was quiet, contemplating what Finn had said, but Detective Sutton didn’t reveal her feelings regarding his statement either way. She turned to Sam and asked, “Is there anyone who might want to hurt you? Have you had any recent threats? Anyone who’s made you feel uncomfortable?”
A couple of names flashed through Sam’s mind, none of which benefited from him being smashed under a car . “Hurt me? No, nothing like that,” he said, picking at the blanket thrown across his lap.
The detective hummed. Silas was looking at him with that stare that stripped him naked, and not in a fun way.
He knows. He knows you’re hiding things.
“So you do think it was targeted?” Jaime interjected. “You think it’s someone who knows Sam?”
“We’re just following leads, I’m afraid I can’t disclose more than that at this time,” Detective Sutton said.
He wanted to roll his eyes, but the anxiety medication was beginning to set in, making his eyelids heavy.
“If they fled on foot, they could be seriously injured, or even dying somewhere without medical assistance,” she continued, still staring at Sam. She was trying to bait him into reacting—looking for some sign that Sam knew who’d done this and was upset at the thought of their death.
He wasn’t—for once, Sam was telling the truth. He had no fucking idea who was in that car.
“How terrible,” he responded flatly.
The silence in the room was deafening. Another tactic to get him to talk, he imagined. If she was hoping he’d fill the silence, she’d be waiting a long time. He didn’t give a fuck about awkward silence.
He was rapidly becoming sleepier and sleepier, though.
“That’s enough questions. He needs rest,” Silas said, motioning for the detective to leave and ending their silent stand-off.
Sam was too sleepy to rebuff the help.
DA Rivera smiled apologetically. “I’ll give you a call when we know more,” he said to Sam, before following the detective out, Sheppard close behind.
Jaime let out a heavy sigh when they were gone, his shoulders falling. “Sam. Seriously, what the fuck is going on? Could this be the stalker you talked about? I don’t know why you won’t tell them about that, or let Silas and Finn help you?—”
“Jaime, I love you. But please not now,” Sam interrupted. “I really don’t know who would want to do this. I swear. And I didn’t say anything about… the other thing, because it’s not relevant.”
Jaime and Silas looked ready to argue, so Sam continued, “I haven’t heard anything from that… situation in months. It’s totally blown over, I promise,” he finished, yawning.
He hated that he’d lied to them. Some nights, it made him physically ill that he hadn’t just come clean about everything. He was in too deep now, though, and doing his best to not add to his dishonesty was exhausting.
Jaime’s face was grim, but he nodded. “As long as you know we’re here for you. Us, in this room,” he gestured to Finn and Silas, the latter of which was still staring holes through him. “And Sheppard too. You’re safe with us. You can trust us.”
Oh, Jaime. It had never been about trusting them.
“Thank you,” Sam said, not knowing what else to say, tongue-tied beneath Silas’ intense stare.
Jaime nodded. “We’ll make up the guest room for you, Finn can bring the truck around.”
“I’ll be fine in a motel?—”
“He’s staying with me,” Silas spoke over Sam, their words running together. He’d used that tone again—the one that made something inside Sam sit up straight, alert.
Not a challenge, but a call.
“I’ll be fine in a motel,” Sam said again, gaze fixed on Silas.
Never mind that I can’t afford a fucking motel. Details.
“You’ll stay with me,” Silas repeated, enunciating every word while that underlying growl yanked on something tied to Sam’s ribcage.
Maybe he needed an MRI after all.
He opened his mouth to decline again, but surprised himself and probably everyone else in the room when instead, he gritted out, “Fine,” through clenched teeth.
Sam blamed his acquiescence on the anxiety medication.
Jaime and Finn's heads bobbed back and forth between them as if they were watching a sporting match, both wide-eyed and a little lost, like they hadn’t quite grasped the rules of the game yet.
Sam hadn’t either, really. He just knew he wasn’t losing.
Finn cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I'm sure you're exhausted. We'll let you rest until they discharge you.” He put an arm around Jaime's waist, pulling him close. Jaime wrapped an arm around his back in return.
Their easy intimacy was hard to watch.
“Call me, Sammy. I mean it. Please.” Jaime's eyes were big and pleading, begging him not to disappear again like he had last year.
“I’ll call. I promise.”
He would. Sam would keep that promise this time. He just wasn't sure what there would be to say.
It's why he'd avoided Jaime—why Sam had sat in silence when he was woken late into the night by one of his phone calls, panicked after a nightmare.
Sam had been unable to voice words of comfort and companionship, choking on his guilt and shame. So he’d sat there, frozen, unable to speak while he listened to his little brother cry for so many nights, both of them broken in different ways.
Sam swallowed his explanations—they wouldn’t want to hear them.
A nurse came in as Finn and Jaime left for one final check of Sam's vitals before discharging him.
Thirty minutes later, he batted Silas' hands away and heaved himself up into the passenger seat of the truck, plunking down heavily and fumbling with the seatbelt until it latched.
“I can get myself up here just fine, Oaf,” Sam said, stifling another yawn.
Silas snorted but backed off, holding up his hands. “Alright, sleeping beauty. Three hours ago you were under a kitchen, and you nearly tripped over your own feet on the way out here. Forgive me for worrying.”
Silas shut his door, and Sam rolled his eyes—or he tried to, anyway. Silas wasn't worried about him, he’d probably just caught on that there was more to the situation than Sam was sharing, and he wanted to keep tabs on him. Like a threat. He was the alpha after all.
Sam hated that take-charge voice Silas used, even if it made him want to climb him like a goddamn tree.
Why the hell had he agreed to stay with him, again?
Sam could get away if he needed to—if being so near each other became too overwhelming. His car hadn’t been damaged; once they picked it up, he could leave Silas' whenever he wanted. It wouldn't be long before he had insurance called and everything sorted out.
He’d start when they got home.
Maybe in the morning, he thought sleepily, barely able to keep his eyes open now. He’d only be at Silas’ for a few days, tops.
Sam would need his security deposit back first, though… and he’d need to sift through the wreckage to find his salvageable belongings. Fuck, his laptop had been in the living room when the crash happened. It was probably still under the car. There was no way he could afford a new one before an insurance payout…
So, he’d work from his phone. No problem. iPhone microphones were so much better now than when he’d first started recording NSFW audio content, and he’d made it work then. He could make it work now, too.
But that meant being out of Silas’ house. Hell would freeze over before Sam let Silas hear him getting off to thoughts about him . Which meant he’d also need to find another apartment he could afford in Monroe.
That might take a few more days, and there hadn’t been many in his price range to begin with.
Thirteen years ago, the day Sam had turned eighteen, he’d packed Jaime, Alfie, and all of their worldly possessions up in his car and drove out of Anchorage, their father barely even acknowledging their departure. Sam had sworn he’d never be back. In the end, they hadn’t gone far; Monroe was only twenty miles or so north.
But to Sam, it had felt like they were a million miles away from that awful man and that awful house.
Still, if he couldn’t find what he was looking for in Monroe, he could make Anchorage work. It would be fine. He’d just have to make more of an effort to see Jaime with the extra distance—that’s all. Maybe being further away from Silver Rapids, further away from Silas and his all-knowing gaze, would be for the best.
Sam hurt everywhere thinking through it all, and things were going a little bit fuzzy as he settled further into the seat. Silas’ truck was very comfortable.
“You’re flagging, love. Whatever you’re thinking about so hard over there can wait for the morning,” Silas said as he stepped up into the truck, far more easily than Sam had.
Damn him and his giant… giant-ness.
They were turning out of the hospital parking garage when Sam looked down at his dust-covered hands and clothing. He scratched at his beard—it would get itchy if he didn’t wash up and keep it moisturized. “I need clean clothes. And a toothbrush. And face wash. And moisturizer. And beard oil,” he said, his words dangerously close to slurring.
Silas turned to look at him, awe in his expression.
Sam narrowed his eyes in defense. “What? It’s autumn in Alaska. My skin will dry out in the cold. I need those things,” he huffed.
Silas blinked, then shook his head and smiled. In Sam’s tired, medication-induced loopy state, he forgot to tell himself he hated it. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, love. Let’s get you home and rested, and we can worry about everything else tomorrow, yeah?”
Sam pouted. “I don’t want to be itchy when I wake up, Silas.”
Silas whined. He actually whined. How could such a cute noise come out of a man so big and burly?
Words began spilling out of Silas’ mouth, some of them more growl than anything human. “I have a spare toothbrush at home. And moisturizer. And face wash. And shampoo, hot water, clothes, and a bed. It’s a warm bed. I put flannel sheets on. You’ll be cozy. Finn showed me how to make chocolate chip pancakes because I know you like them. I can make them for you in the morning. And I have wood ready for the winter; lots of it. In a pile outside. A big pile. Plenty for us, more than anyone else on the street has ready. Our house will be the warmest. I’ll cut more for you tomorrow,” Silas finished, looking out of breath and a bit dazed.
Something hot popped and crackled to life in Sam’s chest, like an ember among the ashes. “You’re not very goodatthiss,” he said, smiling even though his words were definitely slurring now.
Silas looked like a kicked puppy. “I’m not?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure your wood is the biggest. Put your face away.” Sam shook his head, waving his hands in front of Silas’ face. That look was terrible; he’d do anything to never see it again.
“You’re not very good at keeping me as your prisoner,” he continued. “I know you’re only taking me back to your house so you can watch me, make sure I’m not a lllliabil-ty—liabil-it-y—to you and your friends. You shouldn’t offer such nice thingsssto your captives, Sssilas,” Sam said, his words running together.
Silas perked up a little and preened, looking so smug and happy Sam wanted to kiss his face. A pulse of arousal shot down his cock at the image, even though there was no way he’d be able to get hard right now.
“Valiant effort,” Sam said, nodding down at his own crotch.
“What?” Silas asked.
“Nothing, I wasn’ttalkingtoyou.” Sam sighed and nestled further into the warm seat. When had he turned the heater on? He’d just rest his eyes for a minute, and then he’d be ready to call his landlord. Or whatever it was he had to do. Why did he have to do all of that, again?
“Go to sleep, Sammy. We’ll be home soon,” Silas whispered.
As Sam dozed off, lulled to sleep by the steady hum of the road and Silas’ claws gently massaging along his scalp, he forgot to tell himself that he hated the way that nickname sounded in Silas’ baritone voice.
When he felt the truck come to a stop and shut off, signaling their arrival back in Silver Rapids, Sam forgot to tell himself that he hated the warm strength of Silas’ arms wrapped around him, carrying him inside and up the stairs to the on-suite bathroom.
He forgot to say he didn’t need help when Silas drew him a bath and turned away while Sam undressed, resting his back against the tub just in case Sam slipped or fell asleep in the water while he washed off all the itchy dust.
He forgot to tell himself it was annoying when Silas held open a warm, soft towel with his head turned, and then ushered Sam into the bedroom where he dropped one of his own giant t-shirts over Sam’s head.
He forgot to say he especially hated the way Silas tucked him in between the sheets, which were indeed flannel and soft from wear, smelling like Silas and safety.
Sam forgot to say he hated any of it because he never had in the first place. Quite the opposite, actually.
Silas flicked off the bedside lamp and quietly closed the door behind him, leaving Sam to press his cheek into the soft pillow that wasn’t his, but felt like a home he’d never known.
He almost wished he could forget it all by morning.
Would it be worse to not remember the warm tenderness that Silas had shown him, or to have it burned in his memory forever, haunting him with a taste of what could never be his?
Both , he thought. Both would be worse.
Just as Sam drifted off to sleep, a text lit up his phone.
Unknown Number
Don’t forget our deal. I’m calling in my favor soon. Be ready. And say hello to my nephew for me.