14. Rowan
ROWAN
Samson doesn’t leave my side.
He holds me all through the rest of the night, whispering words of comfort each time I fall apart. Feeding me water when the tears make me dehydrated. Cuddling me closer when I fear I’m coming apart at the seams, like he alone can hold me together.
Maybe he can. Without him, I’m not sure I would’ve made it through. Not in one piece, anyway.
But as the early morning sun filters through the closet door, I realize that’s exactly what’s happened. My eyes open with an audible crack, my body aching from the way I tensed while sobbing. Didn’t help that I spent most of it on the floor.
Though, somehow, in the middle of the night, I made it to bed.
I have a feeling Samson carried me there, tucking me under the covers.
I wish he hadn’t. I deserve to suffer like Adam did, alone, cold. On the floor.
I rub at my eyes and let out a soft grunt as I tuck my face back into the pillow. It smells of Samson, of the man who spent the night with me, who has spent the past few days trying to distract me from the inevitable.
I’ve made it through the worst day of my life, and yet I don’t feel any better. Adam’s still gone, and I’m meant to live the rest of my life without him.
The bed dips, and I turn, my vision slightly blurred as I make out Samson sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup of tea in his hand. “Good morning.”
I groan and roll over, my limbs not working the way they should.
“Made you some tea,” he says, holding the mug toward me. When I don’t move to grab it, he sets it down on the end table and crawls in behind me, pulling me between his spread legs, my back to his chest, his hand resting on my bare abdomen.
He reaches over, grabbing the mug and curling my hand around it.
“You need to drink something that’s not tequila.”
That word has my stomach sloshing uncomfortably.
My lips hit the edge of the mug, and I sip. It’s the perfect temperature, the perfect cup of tea. I don’t know how he knows this, but I don’t really care how he found out.
“Good boy,” he says softly, his hand stroking across my skin.
I lean back slightly, letting my head lean against his shoulder, a sigh escaping my throat. “You don’t need to stay here. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“I don’t,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck.
Pleasure pulses through me, but I’m not going to follow up on it. Not today. It made sense before the anniversary of his death, but now it feels wrong.
But Samson’s lips leave me before I can say anything, and he just holds me while I sip my tea, trying to find my footing so I can face the day. I took a few days off knowing I wouldn’t cope well, but I know I can’t just rot in bed. I need to get up and do something.
My mind goes to Larry and the concerned way he banged on my closet wall last night.
I should check on him, or at least stop by to let him know I’m alive. I don’t want him worrying. Not that he’d admit he was, but still.
“Why are you so tense?” Samson asks, his hand moving up to massage my shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”
“Larry.”
“Why?”
“He came to check on me last night. I think he’s worried.” I take another sip of the warm liquid. “He rarely does that.” I hear the knocks in my memory, the way he slammed his cane against the wall. “He only comes over when he needs something.”
Suddenly his words come back to me.
You want my death on your conscience?
My heart thunders loudly and adrenaline shoots through me. “Fuck. I need to check on him. Right now.”
I’m breathless as I scramble to sit up, my tea nearly sloshing onto my thighs.
Samson lets me go, taking the mug and standing up while I flutter around the room, pulling on a shirt.
“Fuck, what if something’s wrong with him? What if he’s dead?” My eyes are watering again, and Samson takes hold of me, his hands grounding me for a long moment.
“Breathe, baby,” he says softly. “Larry is okay. I’ve told you before—that man is younger than he’s making himself out to be.”
“He’s not. He’s old, and I ignored him last night…”
My hands flap around in the air before me, but Samson takes hold of them, squeezing them gently.
I half expect him to tell me to calm down, to not worry, but instead, he presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Let’s go check on him, then.”
I let out a relieved breath and nearly pull him out the front door, almost forgetting to put on my slides as I go. Samson reminds me, pointing to them before my bare feet hit the concrete.
I’m half out of my mind by the time we’re at Larry’s door. I twist the handle, and when it doesn’t give way like it usually does, I pound on the door.
“Larry, open up!” I’m nearly screaming, and Samson squeezes the back of my neck.
“You have a key. Did you bring it?” Samson asks, and I swallow, shaking my head and then nodding.
“Yeah, I had one made. It’s on my keychain,” I gasp and knock on the door once more.
“I’ll go get it.”
He jogs back the way we came, and I watch him go, my eyes watering as I imagine every worst-case scenario. Larry on the floor, blood pooled around him, his face lifeless and pale.
Just like Adam’s was.
I knock once more, a weak tap on the frame. The whole world is spinning, my legs growing weak.
Oh god, not again. I can’t lose Larry like I lost Adam. It would be all my fault…
Suddenly the door opens, and Larry appears, a frown on his face. The relief that filters through me nearly puts me on the ground. “What the fuck are you doing? I was sleeping.”
I inhale sharply and collapse forward, right into him. The world around me winks, my vision fading before bursting back to life as strong arms carry me to the couch. I expect to see Samson there, but it’s Larry. His stride is strong and steady. Unwavering.
He’s murmuring under his breath as he settles me on the couch. My body flops backward as he moves quickly across the room, grabbing a blanket from the back of the chair he’s usually sitting in.
“Where’s your cane?” I ask, and Larry’s gait changes slightly, almost as if he’s surprised I noticed. He tosses the blanket at me and sits down roughly.
“None of your business,” he grunts just as Samson appears, stalking into the room, his knife drawn as he approaches Larry. But when he sees me tucked under a blanket on the worn couch, he puts it away.
Thank god. I’ve had enough murder in my life to last an eternity.
“Took you long enough,” Larry grumbles. “Were you with him last night?”
“I was.”
“Good.”
They exchange a look, and something passes between them. Almost as if they know one another. But I’m too worn out to process it.
“I was worried you were dead,” I tell Larry, who just scoffs.
“Will take more to kill me than you’d expect.”
I nod, my eyes filling once more. “I’m glad. I don’t want you to die. I was so worried.”
“Yeah, I was too,” he replies as Samson sits down beside me, a glass of water in his hand. He’s intent on keeping me hydrated, to flush the toxins from my body.
“Drink this,” he murmurs, lifting me up slightly so I’m draped across his lap.
“So, what happened last night?” Larry asks as the water slides down my throat. When I glance at him, I realize he’s not asking me. He’s asking Samson.
“He had a hard night.”
“I need more than that,” Larry replies, his tone curt and unlike what I usually hear from him. He sounds…almost competent.
“You’re out of the business. You don’t need to know.”
Larry’s lips purse, his hand curling on the arm of the chair, and I find myself studying him intently.
What the fuck is going on? What business is Samson talking about?
“I would like to know,” Larry finally grinds out, his cadence oddly formal.
“Why?” Samson asks.
“Because.” Larry’s gaze turns toward me, and I see something cold and hard in those depths. Maybe Samson’s right. Maybe he’s not the sad, lonely old man I’ve made him out to be. “He’s a…” He lets out a soft breath and turns his gaze away. “Friend.”
My heart flutters in my chest, my eyes widening. “You’ve never called me that before, Larry.”
“Well, you are. I guess. Didn’t want another friend, but here we are.”
“Aw, I knew you liked me.” I let out the first laugh since the anniversary started, then feel guilty for feeling happy when he’s gone. My emotions swing from one side of the pendulum to the other, my bottom lip wobbling.
Larry clocks it and so does Samson.
“Tell me, Buckingham. I want to know,” Larry bites out. “I need to know what to look out for. Or who.”
I sniffle loudly as Samson hands me a tissue. I blow my nose noisily, a honk that almost makes me miss what they’re saying. Sounds almost like they’re talking in code.
I try to catch up, but Samson’s finished speaking already. I wonder if I’m hallucinating.
Larry sits back in his chair and cocks his head. “Let me help.”
Samson purses his lips. “You left for a reason.”
“That reason is dead.”
Samson considers it for a moment and then nods his head. “I’ll have to speak to my brothers. I’ll be in touch.”
Larry seems satisfied with that, and my mind is still reeling from what just happened, or what didn’t. I have no clue what’s going on.
I feel like I’m losing my mind.
Samson smooths a hand over my head, causing me to lean against him, seeking more reassurance. My eyelids flutter slightly, Adam’s smiling face at the forefront of my mind.
I blink them open, trying to hold it together.
“I need a distraction,” I say, my voice cracking.
Larry turns toward Samson. “You could show him your family home. Lots to see there. Would be a hell of a distraction.”
Samson tenses slightly, his hand faltering on my head. Almost like he doesn’t like the idea.
I swallow hard. “You don’t have to. I can find something else to do today. You’ve done enough.”
Samson grumbles under his breath and then pulls me farther onto his lap, his arms wrapping around me.
“No, I want to show you. Just… You’re going to meet my family. And…well, they’re not normal.”
“Of course they’re not,” Larry interjects, but I’m craning my head back slightly.
“I don’t like normal. If you want me to meet them, I’d love that.” It’s just then that I realize how terrible I must look. “Or maybe not. I’m a fright.”
“You’re beautiful,” Samson replies, holding on to me tighter. “I just don’t want it to be too overwhelming.”
“You mean, you don’t want your opulent wealth to overwhelm him.” Larry smirks.
Samson glares at him pointedly. “You’re one to talk.”
What’s going on now? Larry isn’t wealthy. He wouldn’t be living in this shit-heap of an apartment building if he were.
Larry doesn’t give him a response, just turns the TV on to one of his favorite game shows.
It’s then that Samson adjusts me on his lap, his fingers tilting my chin toward him. “I can take you by, and you can stay as long as you want. Just…know that my family can be a little eccentric. They’ll definitely be distracting.”
“I like that.” I bob my head and pull my bottom lip through my teeth. “But I need to shower first and put on an eye mask. I look… I can’t meet them like this.”
He leans forward and presses a soft, chaste kiss to my lips. “Whatever makes you smile again, Row.”