The Jock and the Geek (Gone Geek Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  He dodged on instinct and shook his head, blinking away the temporary blindness.

  The gunman had rushed him, and now stood between Oliver and Sam. The gunman jerked his left arm up.

  “No!” Oliver threw himself at the guy, grasping his arm, shoving it up and away from Sam.

  “Sam—run.”

  Oliver and the man staggered sideways. They both had a grip on the gun now. If he could just keep it pointed away from Sam, if he could just keep the guy occupied until the cops got here…

  This close, Oliver stared into the man’s crazed eyes. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a brother. It had to feel a lot like losing Sam.

  Oliver couldn’t let that happen.

  The gun went off, the recoil jerking both their arms. The blast momentarily deafened Oliver, his ears ringing. His hand slid around the scorching hot barrel of the gun. It burned his palm, his fingers, and still he didn’t dare let go.

  Oliver brought his right hand up and smashed the stone into the gunman’s bloodied face. His arm went slack. Oliver forced the gun around.

  At the last second, the man’s grip tightened.

  The air went still.

  And then a second shot ripped through the warehouse.

  Oliver gasped and stared.

  The gunman’s eyes widened, his mouth open on a silent shout…and dropped to the floor.

  Oliver stared at the man, his broken body, and the small pool of blood collecting on the floor, reflecting the moon back at him.

  What had he done?

  Sam stared into the darkness beyond the swirling lights. Cops, EMTs, and firemen moved around her, but she didn’t see them.

  She’d killed a man.

  And then Oliver killed the other.

  They were murderers, no matter that those men would have killed them. She had no doubt that Death and Silence would have. They’d merely been waiting for—what? The right time? A signal? She didn’t know.

  She gripped the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  The gravel crunched under yet another person’s footsteps, only this time…she knew him. That face. His smell. What he sounded like in the morning.

  Oliver sat on the edge of the ambulance next to her. Neither of them had much in the way of wounds, so the EMTs were done with their duties. The rest was up to the coroner.

  “How you doing?” Oliver rubbed her shoulder.

  “How do you think?”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “We’re both murderers now.” She dropped her gaze to the ground and her shoe. A little bit of Death’s blood stained the toe. “His name was Josh. They were brothers. The other one’s name was Peter.”

  “It was self-defense.”

  “I know.” But that didn’t matter.

  The officers had stressed as much, even going so far as to tell her she’d done a good job. A good job killing a man? Or protecting herself? She didn’t know which or what to think.

  A trio of dark colored SUVs pulled up.

  She was almost relieved to see the suit-wearing Secret Service men step out, if only because that meant she could go home. Lock herself in her bedroom. And try to forget this.

  “It’s over, Sam.” Oliver stroked her back.

  She wanted to lean into him, but she couldn’t.

  This whole thing, all of it, was a lie. Her lie, her PR campaign, had cost two men their lives. If she and Oliver had just admitted to what the pictures truly were, would they be here? She didn’t think so. But because they’d lied and covered up the truth for the sake of protecting an image, two men were dead.

  She couldn’t have any more lies on her conscience.

  “Our fake engagement is off,” she said.

  “Sam, can—”

  “Two men died because of our lies.” She turned her head to finally look at him. “They’re dead because of us. I can’t do this. Not like…I just can’t.”

  Sam pushed to her feet and set the blanket on the bumper. She wiggled the engagement ring off her finger and held it out to Oliver.

  “I can’t,” she said again

  He stared at her, then the ring, his mouth working silently.

  She hated the look on his face. The pain.

  He’d charged into that warehouse with nothing but a rock and a prayer. For her. He was her hero, and she couldn’t be with him. Not when their relationship was lies stacked upon lies. If they’d owned up to it, if they’d just accepted what’d happened, maybe it could be different. Maybe not. They’d never know now.

  Oliver took the ring and pressed his lips together. She could see it in his eyes. This wasn’t done. He wasn’t done.

  But she couldn’t keep going. Not when there was blood on their hands.

  The gravel crunched under her feet.

  Sam turned, putting her back toward Oliver. She couldn’t look at him. He made her feel things, when before she’d been encased in a cocoon of numbness.

  Her mother led the family charge.

  Sam sucked in a breath as unexpected tears pricked her eyes.

  “Sam! Oh, my baby!”

  “Mom?”

  Her mother wrapped her in a hug, followed by her father. Sam clung to them, squeezing tight as all the feeling, all the fear, flooded back into her body nearly drowning her in guilt.

  She couldn’t be with Oliver, even though she loved him.

  19.

  Oliver dragged his hand across his face and stared at the clock.

  It was too early and too late.

  He hadn’t slept. Sam wasn’t returning his phone calls. And everyone in the office was going about their day as usual. Because the only two people who knew anything was wrong were Mr. Grant and Oliver. No one else knew. The cops hadn’t even been given the full story, to his knowledge. They were the only souls who were aware of the life-or-death drama going on.

  “Oliver?”

  “Hm?” He sat up, blinking at the boss’ admin, a no-nonsense young man who hardly ever showed a bit of emotion. He was about as close to a robot as you could get.

  “He wants to see you.”

  “Be right in.” Oliver patted his pocket. The weight of the Grant family ring felt like a ton of boulders.

  He had to return it, even if that meant things were really over.

  For now.

  After everything they’d been through, the nights they’d shared together, he knew Sam cared for him. Everything had just spun out of control. If they had time, alone, to fall back in love in their own way, he knew he could win her over. He just needed a chance.

  Oliver pushed to his feet, adjusted his tie and fastened the top button of his jacket. He wouldn’t be surprised if he still got fired over this. He’d not only created the scandal, he’d killed a man. His brain shied away from that, still not ready to process what had happened.

  He knocked once at Timothy’s door, then let himself in.

  The Secretary sat at his desk, sheets of paper in his hand, glasses perched on his nose.

  “Have a seat, Oliver.”

  Oliver would rather stand, but he wasn’t in a position to push his luck. He perched on the edge of a wing backed, leather chair and awaited his sentence.

  Timothy took a moment longer reviewing the documents before laying them down and pulling the glasses off. He folded them carefully, the moment drawing out.

  “How are you this morning?” he asked. Such a simple question with so many interpretations.

  “I’m…fine, sir.”

  Timothy studied him for a moment. The man was both like a father and a boss. Oliver stood to lose all of that because he dared to love Sam.

  “You should take some time away from the office. Not because you’re in trouble, but because you might need to. For you.” The man staring back at him was the father figure Oliver had come to know and love. The man he admired. The one he’d missed this last week.

  Oliver blew out a breath. A break would only give him time to get mired in what had happened.

&nb
sp; “I’d rather not, sir. I think the best thing to do, is to stick to my routine.”

  “I would prefer if you did take time, but I understand. I’m going to shuffle some things around, so if you need to duck out, it won’t leave us in a lurch. And if you need time, any time at all, just say so.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “May…sir, may I ask how Sam is?”

  Timothy leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face.

  That wasn’t a good sign.

  The Secretary was not a man of external reactions.

  “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I was hoping Sam had spoken to you.” He dropped his hands to the desk, and the veneer of the politician was gone. He was a father, carrying the same burdens and love for his child, as any man might. “Helen went to check on her, and she was gone. Left a note on the fridge that she’s going to stay with Shae.”

  “She’s—what?”

  Oliver blinked. Sam was gone? To Rashae’s? In New York?

  “We failed her. And you.” Timothy stared at him, sorrow carving deep lines in his brow. “If I could go back and change things…”

  “When?”

  “She must have caught the first flight out this morning. Security had to review the tapes to even figure out when she left.”

  Oliver braced his hands on his knees.

  She’d just…gone. Like that?

  He pushed to his feet and paced the office.

  “If you talk to her…would you tell her we love her?” Timothy asked.

  Oliver approached the desk. He should have seen this coming. How she’d looked at him last night. Shutting him out.

  It’d been a goodbye.

  Plain as day.

  But he’d been so stunned he hadn’t seen it.

  Sam gave and gave. But when she’d needed them, they’d failed her.

  He’d failed her.

  “She gave this back to me, last night.” Oliver set the slim ring on the desk and turned, walking out of the office, out of the building—just out.

  He didn’t stop until he’d nearly reached the metro, and then he simply turned around, back toward the office.

  If Sam had left on an eight o’ clock flight… She would have had to go by her place, pack a bag, and make it through security. She could be reaching New York right about now.

  Rashae lived south of the city, right on the edge of Jersey, in a studio-apartment space where she created costumes for a living. Cosplay. Broadway. Even a couple indie films. He’d never been there, but he’d seen pictures.

  Of course Sam would to go Rashae.

  The one person who hadn’t turned on her.

  He pulled out his phone and hit dial on Sam’s number.

  No surprise, it went straight to voicemail.

  He scrolled to Rasahe’s number and dialed that one, too.

  It rang only twice.

  “Hey, Oliver.” From Rashae’s heavy tone, she knew. Likely all of it.

  “Is she there yet?”

  “Yeah, we’re on our way to my place. Got an Uber home.”

  “Is she okay? Is she…fuck, I don’t know.”

  “Hold on.”

  The line muffled. He could hear ambient noise, the hum of voices, but that was it.

  Sam wouldn’t want to speak to him. She’d avoided him just like everyone else. Because they’d failed her. She’d taken the fall for them all, and no one had stepped up to tell her she didn’t have to. Not even him.

  “Oliver?”

  “Sam.” He closed his eyes and breathed out all the anxiety stored up inside of him. Her voice…it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

  “I can’t be there,” she said. Her voice was different. Thin, tightly wound, fragile.

  “I know.” And he got it. He’d failed her. He should have…fought for more. Fought for her. And instead he’d been part of the problem.

  “I just…I can’t be with you. I need time. I need—”

  “Sam? It’s okay. Rashae is there for you. I’m here for you whenever you want. If you need…if you need anything, I’m always right here.”

  The line clicked, going dead.

  Her words were more than he deserved.

  He loved her. Which meant he had to let her go.

  Two weeks later…

  Samantha sat upright, sweat coating her arms, her lungs burning, heart racing.

  Rationally, she knew this was not the warehouse. She was at Rashae’s studio, surrounded by sequins, fabric, and enough pointy objects to defend a small country. She was safe. But her head was still trapped in that endless loop.

  She slapped at the lamp base, activating the motion sensor.

  Light blossomed, chasing away the nightmares, the memories of Death and Silence. Sam closed her eyes for a moment, sucking down the first easy, post-adrenaline breath. Her lungs expanded, drawing air down all the way into her diaphragm.

  There.

  A bit of peace.

  She blinked at the clock. A little past one.

  Shit.

  She listened for sounds of movement, a groan, the squeak of the bed, any indication she’d woken Rashae.

  Rashae had let Sam share her queen-sized bed for all of three nights before Sam took up residence on the studio sofa. There wasn’t a night yet she didn’t start awake, half the time screaming her head off. The neighbors complained. She’d been chastised. Rinse. Repeat.

  No noise.

  No movement from the bedroom.

  She must not have shouted.

  This time.

  Next time, who knew?

  Sam slid out from her make-shift bed and stood, her knees a little wobbly. She shuffled into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and then let herself out onto the tiny balcony. She went to grasp the railing, but couldn’t. She stared at her hand. When had she grabbed her cell phone?

  She drank from the bottle of water and stared out over the city. The cool breeze brushed her skin, cooling her a bit.

  The memories only bothered her at night, when there was no one to talk to. It was something of a blessing. She would have never scored the job at the magazine, if all she could talk about was a kidnapping no one knew about. Rashae was being so very patient. It wasn’t like her to cut a person this much slack, but here she was, doling it out by the yard. Sam had half a mind to go get in bed with her sister. She’d wake up, and then Sam would have someone to talk to.

  It was selfish.

  A week ago she’d have done it, because she needed the companionship, to not feel so alone. But she had to make progress. Somehow. Someway. She needed to get beyond what had happened to her. Maybe this was how it started. Facing her nightmares on her own.

  Besides, it wasn’t fair to Rashae. She hadn’t asked for this or even given Sam permission to crash here.

  She’d just shown up.

  She looked at her phone, all the texts and emails she hadn’t been able to bring herself to read yet.

  Oliver messaged her a few times every day. Sometimes she caught glimpses of them. Normal things.

  Caught a Fastbro today.

  Hatched an egg.

  Battled at a dojo.

  I miss you.

  She wanted to talk to him and yet she couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense, but she’d stopped trying to sort her thoughts where he was concerned. They were too complicated. But she still wanted to talk to him…hear his voice…say his name.

  “Oliver?”

  “Hm, yeah, I’m here.”

  She started at the sound of his gravely, sleep roughened voice.

  What the—?

  Sam pulled the phone away from her head and stared at the screen.

  When had she called him?

  Was she beginning to really lose it?

  That was his name and his face staring back at her from the call screen.

  “Sam?”

  “Hey—sorry, you were asleep. I didn’t—”

  “It’s fine.” The bed creaked in the background
. “How are you?”

  “Awake.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have them, too.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her heart clenched. She wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

  “You’re alive.”

  “Am I?” She sank onto the folding chair, the only furniture on the balcony, and stared at the railing.

  “You called me, so I’m guessing you still are. Rashae says you’re a bit zombie-ish.”

  “I don’t sleep much.”

  “I started taking sleeping pills. They help, for the most part.”

  “Really? I might have to look into those.”

  “Yeah, they aren’t prescription or anything, but they’re letting me close my eyes for more than an hour or two.”

  “Do you think they’d have felt this guilty? Josh and Peter?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. So why am I—we—this…I don’t know. Bothered?”

  “Because you’re a good person, Sam. You were put in a terrible, awful position and you did what you had to do to protect yourself.”

  “You didn’t mean to, either.”

  “No, but I would have if it meant protecting you. That’s the difference. You had no choice, no say in anything. I went in there…different. I’d have pulled that trigger if I could have sooner.”

  “I wish you hadn’t had to. I wish none of this had ever happened.” She leaned back, resting her head against the wall and staring up at the sliver of moon overhead.

  “I can’t say the same thing. Getting to be with you…it’s worth the world.”

  “Don’t say that, Oliver.”

  “It’s the truth, Sam. I’d do anything for you.”

  She jabbed the End Call button and buried her face in her hands. Another woman might love those words, but another woman didn’t have blood on her hands.

  Two weeks later…

  Oliver turned off the alarm and pushed upright in bed.

  The minutes ticked by.

  He swung his legs out of bed and made his way blindly into the kitchen.

  Before, he’d have turned on the lights, but now he was a creature of the darkness. It soothed his soul and brought him hope. Sam came to him at night, and sometimes, if he wasn’t quite awake enough, he could imagine she was there next to him. But that night was not tonight. He was caught in that awkward place between asleep and awake.