Young Revelations (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  The politically correct part of me—which, incidentally, is a very small part of me—insists it doesn’t matter whether we have a boy or a girl, as long as it’s healthy when it arrives. To a point, this is true. The weeks following Tyler’s premature birth were absolute hell for both me and Samantha, and I desperately hope this child doesn’t have to go through what he did. He turned out fine, even if he’s on the small side for his age. There have been no medical issues, at least none that I’m aware of, and every time I set eyes on him, I realize how lucky we are to have him.

  The rest of me, however, thinks it might be great to have a little girl running around the house. There is no doubt in my mind a daughter of mine would have me wrapped around her tiny finger within the first five minutes of being born; I’m surprisingly okay with that. But God help the first boy who decides to start hanging around her. I don’t own guns and I have a policy about keeping them out of my house, even the ones that belong to my security team, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t put some little punk sniffing around my daughter on his ass in five seconds flat.

  Out on the back deck overlooking the beach, I finally locate some signs of life. My sister Claire is sitting at the table with a coffee cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other while she looks to be taking a nap.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I mumble, dropping into a chair beside her.

  She rolls her head to the side and glares at me. “I’m surprised to see you up and about after last night,” she grumbles.

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “To what are we referring, exactly?” I reach over for the coffee pot in the middle of the table to pour myself a cup.

  “You do realize that you and Sam are sleeping right across the hall from us, don’t you?” she asks me, flicking the ash from her cigarette over the deck railing. “And I’m pretty sure the vents in your room connect with ours.”

  Grinning, I realize to what she’s referring. “Haven’t you ever heard of earplugs?” I shoot back at her. She glares. “What’s wrong, Claire? Jealous?”

  She scoffs. “Please,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Though if memory serves, your stamina since high school has improved…”

  And she’s won this round. “How the fuck would you possibly know that, you perverted little sneak?” I ask her conversationally. She only smirks in response. “Where is everyone?”

  “Down at the beach,” Claire says, gesturing with a nod of her head. “The kids wanted to swim, so Sam and Danny were kind enough to take them.”

  “Have they been gone a while?”

  Claire looks at me suspiciously. “Why?”

  I reach into my pocket, removing a small black box, placing it on the table in front of my sister. She stabs out her cigarette in the ashtray and turns her attention fully to the item, opening it. I watch her eyes widen in surprise and I think she might actually be impressed.

  “Holy shit, Matt,” she whispers, looking between me and the ring. “It’s beautiful. And I’m flattered and all, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate, what with me being your sister and all…”

  I shove her shoulder and snatch back the ring, ignoring her laughter. “Are you done?” I ask archly.

  She considers the question for a moment. “For now, possibly,” she says. A moment later, she’s completely composed and has taken the ring from me again to further examine it. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Nodding, I shift in my seat, my eyes darting out to the beach and the distant forms of my family splashing out in the ocean. “Yes,” I say, answering Claire’s question. “What do you think of it?”

  “She’ll love it,” Claire tells me sincerely. “It’s different from the original.”

  I shrug. I spent quite a long time choosing this ring, turning down a dozen different designs until I found the one that felt most right for Samantha. “It’s a new beginning for us,” I say quietly as Claire closes the box and hands it back to me. “New ring, new life.”

  “Have you decided on how to ask her?”

  I grin, but don’t answer.

  “And you’re not going to even give me a hint, are you?” she asks.

  “Actually, I might need your assistance, but I’ll let you know. I’m still making all the arrangements and I don’t want to jinx things…”

  “Jinx things?” Claire asks in amusement. “What are we, twelve? You act like you think she’ll say no.” She laughs and I continue to stare out at the ocean, not sharing in her humor. “You can’t be serious, Matt! Why the hell would she say no?”

  Again, I shrug, though this time I have no response. Of course I’m nervous. How can I not be after everything that’s happened between us since the day we met? Our relationship was the very definition of a whirlwind romance. Only a couple months passed from our first coffee date that I practically had to beg her for to the day she moved into my house in Upstate New York. From that moment on, I didn’t let her out of my sight longer than I needed to, because I was convinced she was a figment of my imagination and would disappear if I wasn’t very careful. There were a lot of adjustments to be made in both our lives. For her, it was being away from her family for the first time in her life and living with a man she barely knew who hadn’t answered to another person since his own high school graduation almost a decade before. We argued quite often in the beginning—nothing really major; usually when she was feeling particularly home sick.

  Eventually we managed to figure out how to live with one another without resorting to murder, and it was then I needed to make things permanent. Samantha’s never had the greatest self-confidence, but even I, being the idiot man I am, realized she was starting to wonder where our relationship was going or if I was planning on leaving her for one of the many women who hit on me wherever I went, whether she was with me or not. I wanted to give her stability and happiness and security in the knowledge she’s the only one I needed. Throughout our marriage, I watched her transform from a beautiful, quiet, small town girl to a beautiful, outgoing woman who could take anything that was thrown at her.

  Losing her after the bombing on my company building had been more painful than the months of physical therapy I had to suffer through to regain the use of my shoulder, as I recovered from nearly losing my arm altogether. I spent close to a year in a drunken haze, fighting through my depression to keep my company afloat, only to find out that after leaving me, Samantha and Tyler went to Tom Saunders. That only served to piss me off, which led to several encounters with women to whom I had merely a slight physical attraction. The only exception was Natalie, and she might have stuck around longer if I hadn’t realized I’d been with her because she so greatly resembled my ex-wife. After that, I went back to meaningless flings for another year, then got bored with that and focused on my work.

  With all of that behind me again, I realize how empty my life has been without Samantha. I fooled myself into thinking I didn’t need her to be happy; it was necessary if I’d ever hoped to go on without her with any semblance of normalcy. But every time I walked into my house, which ceased to be a home the night she left, the loneliness returned and I knew it was all for nothing. I don’t ever want to go back to that. I want her with me every step of the way.

  Aside from that, my biggest concern about tying her to me again is the threat that still looms over us. The fact remains that there is somebody in my most trusted circle of friends that has betrayed me, tried to kill me, and orchestrated the kidnapping of Samantha and Tyler. I’m no closer to discovering the identity of this person and there are moments when the danger is almost suffocating. If Samantha and I get married again, it’s not only her safety I have to worry about. Tyler is a target as well. And now we’re bringing another child into this world, one that will undoubtedly be targeted from its first breath. What kind of man would I be to knowingly put my family through that? How terrible a husband and father would I have to be to risk their health and safety for my own selfish needs? If I loved them at all, I’d walk away from them for good.

  But
I’ve experienced life without Samantha and selfish or not, there is no way I can put myself through that sort of hell again. I want to see my children grow up. I don’t want them being raised by anybody but me and Samantha. I want them to know me and I want to know them. I know I can keep them safe; the times they’ve been in the most danger, I was too far away to stop it. That won’t happen again. I don’t care what it takes. My family will be safe and whole.

  So yes, I’m nervous about asking her to marry me again. I realize the chance of her saying no is probably very slight, but there is still a chance.

  “Between the two of you,” Claire says quietly, “it’s a wonder you’re together at all.”

  My brow furrows as I watch her. “What do you mean?” I ask.

  She turns to me, looking as though her patience with me is running very thin. “By yourselves, you’re both confident and stubborn and know exactly what you want from life. But when it comes to your relationship, I have never met a more insecure couple in my life. Did you know Samantha is worried that the reason the two of you haven’t discussed your future together is because she believes you think she’s not good enough for you? Or that she’s waiting for the moment you walk through the front door and tell her having her and Tyler in your life is too much to handle? And that’s not even counting what Dad and our sisters think of her. She doesn’t think she’s good enough for you, Matt. And given the look on your face just now, I’m thinking you don’t believe you’re good enough for her. And that you’re too much trouble… There are times I hate both of you. And this is one of those times.”

  I sink back into my chair, feeling as though I’d been slapped. Is this what’s been holding us back? Both of us believing the other is just waiting to end the relationship. I know I could never do it; and judging by what Claire just told me, neither could Samantha. But the fear is there. And I think I need to be the one to erase that fear for the both of us.

  “Now you’re getting it,” Claire comments softly. “Look, I know a lot has happened in the last few months. I can’t imagine what that’s been like for either of you, but if you don’t get over this, it’s going to destroy you. She loves you. You love her. You have a son together and another baby on the way. It’s an easy decision for both of you, Matt.”

  Hearing it like that, I have to agree with her. As always, I’m overcomplicating something that should be as simple as breathing. Claire and I look up to find the kids running up the beach towards us, with Danny and Samantha bringing up the rear. Seeing her walking along the sand, her long brown hair blowing out behind her while she laughs at whatever she and my brother-in-law are talking about, there is no doubt in my mind of what I should do. Smiling, I turn towards my sister.

  “I’m definitely going to need your help with this,” I tell her.

  Beaming, she agrees and we set the conversation on the backburner until we can scheme in private.

  2

  After a day spent on the beach sipping Piña Coladas with Claire—virgin, for me—and watching Matthew trying to teach our son how to swim only to give up halfway through the first lesson in favor of being attacked by four children, I enter our bedroom and smile at the sound of the shower running in the attached bathroom. Then I laugh when I hear Matthew singing so loudly and off-key that I can’t even place the song. I open the bathroom door and allow a bit of the steam to escape before entering, closing it again, and leaning against the wall to watch the show in front of me.

  Six months ago I wouldn’t have imagined being here; even in my more extravagant daydreams. My life for the last five years has revolved around being a mother, an office manager at a small Omaha business, and the girlfriend to the owner of a chain of successful family restaurants. It wasn’t my dream life, not by a long shot, but it worked for me. The three years prior were positively incredible. I’d never been happier than when I was married to Matthew and before everything went sour, I thought it would only get better for us. Leaving him had nearly broken me. It had taken nearly two years for me to regain some semblance of a new normalcy. It took that long to go through a day without thinking about Matthew every five minutes and before he showed up on my front doorstep a few months ago, those thoughts still occurred a couple times a day.

  Being back in his life, even under such frightening circumstances, only served to show me that I’d spent five years missing a very key part of myself. Despite the hurt we dealt one another before he sent Tyler and me to Claire’s, I felt alive again. Then the night he showed up at Claire’s after the break-in when we admitted how much we still wanted each other and made love with an unspoken promise to make our relationship work once he returned from his trip…

  The day we got word that Matthew’s plane had gone down was the very worst in my life. Whereas before I had the chance to be with Matthew if one of us initiated it again, the choice was taken from us—Matthew was dead. We attended his memorial service. That hadn’t so much broken my heart as it shattered it completely. I still have to remind myself, nearly two months after his return, that he’s here and he won’t be going anywhere again. Now we’re in Cape Cod with his sister, her family, our son, and expecting our second child in a few short months. I remind myself often that from the day I met him, Matthew Young turned my world upside down, and in his world, anything is possible. I only hope the anything is possible means nothing but good.

  “Enjoying the show out there?”

  I snap out of my thoughtful daze and look up to find Matthew’s head poking out of the shower door, grinning at me. “Actually, I was going to tell you the state of Massachusetts has decided your singing is so horribly offensive that you’re being banned.”

  He snorts a laugh. “My singing is positively angelic, thank you very much.”

  I raise an eyebrow in amused disagreement, causing him to scowl at me. “Tell that to the ruptured eardrums of anybody within a ten mile radius of your angelic singing voice.”

  “Why don’t you come over here and say that again?” His grin has turned mischievous.

  “Why would I do that?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and trying to control my twitching lips.

  He pushes the door open a little further and my eyes drift down his body, widening just below his hips. “Because it’s been at least ten minutes since I last kissed you and I’m beginning to suffer from withdrawal.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s what you’re suffering from…”

  Regardless, I begin shedding clothing, watching his eyes darkening, as I approach him. Once I’m within his grasp, he wastes no time reaching for my waist and pulling me inside the shower with him, kissing me deeply as the water rains down on us. I gasp when I feel the cold tiles behind my back, but he doesn’t give me time to think much about it before he’s lifting me into his arms, easily sliding into me. Rocking his hips into mine, he continues to kiss trails across my neck, one hand supporting my bottom, another kneading my breast until I shudder all around him. Increasing his pace, it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s muffling his own groans in my shoulder.

  I have no idea how long we remain entwined together before he finally releases me and lets me slide down his body. Pushing my wet hair out of my face, he kisses me deeply, lazily, then pulls me to his chest, just holding me.

  “I love you,” he murmurs into my hair.

  Reluctantly, I pull away from him so I can look into his eyes. “I love you too,” I tell him quietly.

  Grinning slightly, he proceeds to wash my body and my hair before we step out of the shower. We haven’t uttered a word to one another since our whispered utterances of love, but we exchange shy, happy smiles as we get dressed. And as we walk downstairs to meet the others, he holds onto my hand as though it’s his lifeline.

  Tonight we’re being treated to dinner by Matthew at what seems to be a very expensive steakhouse. Apparently he’s arranged for us to have a private table on the deck overlooking the ocean and I have to admit he chose well. Everyone is in great spirits as we laugh and ta
lk. Matthew has never been shy about public displays of affection and it took me quite awhile to accommodate this part of his personality when we first became an item. Placing little kisses on my cheek or hands seems to come as naturally as breathing for him and I learned to look at it as being incredibly sweet rather than feeling self-conscious about it. Every time he kisses me, my eyes dart across the table to find Claire rolling her eyes at us, and I smirk. She’s been the number one champion for us to rekindle our romance and she can pretend to be disgusted by our lovey-dovey behavior all she wants; when it comes down to it, I know she’s happy for us.

  After dinner, Claire and Danny offer to take the kids back to the beach house so Matthew and I can have an evening out together. They had theirs the other night and I spent most of it silently laughing at Matthew’s attempts to wrangle his nephews, niece, and son when bedtime arrived. We take a cab to a nearby club and I raise an eyebrow at his choice of venues. It’s one thing to go to a place like this when you can drink alcohol, but now it’s just torture.

  He shrugs when I vocalize my thoughts. “We don’t have to drink,” he tells me. “Maybe I just want to take you out dancing. Is that so wrong?”

  Put like that, I’m placated and I slip my arm into his as he leads me into the building. It’s an upscale club and I’m suddenly glad I chose to wear a dress that allows me to fit in with the other women. Darting my eyes around, I notice several appreciative stares from the men we pass. I look up at Matthew. Either he’s clueless to the attention—not likely—or he is smug enough to know they can stare all they want, but I’ll only have eyes for him.

  We choose a private booth overlooking the dance floor, but before we can head in that direction, I hear Matthew sigh heavily. Looking at him questioningly, I sigh as well, finding his phone in his hand. “I have to take this,” he tells me apologetically. “I’ll try not to be long. Why don’t you grab us something to drink, and when I get back, we’ll dance?”