Page 14 of Samuel's Heart

Home visit it is.

It’ll give me the chance to see with my own two eyes what he’s up to and know more about him. Aidan is not stupid; I really am putting my job on the line with this stunt. But I can’t stop myself from helping, as it’s both for himandfor me. I’m hoping that by helping him heal, I’ll be able to do the same.

Twenty minutes later, I’m in front of his door, and I’m no longer sure of the decision I’m making. His younger, happier face appears again, just like when I open the folder, but overlapswith the one I saw the other day, and I can’t avoid comparing it with his aged, troubled face. That’s all I need to push myself forward. To bring peace, to bring order, to bring serenity if it can be done.

The door opens before I can knock, and I’m left with my arm raised. I soon put it down at my side when a scent wafts towards me, and I inhale deeper to breathe it in before noticing what I’m doing.

What I’m looking at is the top of his head because he’s looking at the floor, something I would never do with all the training I’ve had. Danger can come at you at every turn. If only I had followed those rules and used them before it was too late.

When he looks up, I ignore the surprise on his face, because my gaze is attracted to the vein on his neck where his accelerated pulse is in view for everyone to see. Why that makes me uncomfortable is beyond me. Other than that, his body is like a piece of steel, unmoving.

I clear my throat, hoping to get him out of this frozen spell he’s under so we can talk business.

“Hi.” His voice has an effect on me that I don’t want to explore.

“We need to talk,” I say, and take a step towards him to avoid any discussion before I’m inside. I don’t want anyone listening to our conversation.

He moves back into the apartment, but his body doesn’t lose the stiffness from before. However, his face is saying he’s ready for whatever I’m going to dish out.

He accompanies me to the sofa, and I take a look around. The place seems to be freshly cleaned, or at least, it is today. I can’tavoid spotting the pile of clean dishes and loads of clean laundry lying around.

Did he spend all day cleaning? Does he do like I do when I can’t keep still?

No. I don’t want to know, and I don’t want to find more similarities between us.

I spy him, noticing his freshly washed clothes, nearly normal appearance, and how the scent emanating from his warm body gently fills the room.

“Do you want something to drink?” Rory asks, but I shake my head.

“Tell me everything I need to know. Don’t skip any details.” Better get down to business before I get too involved in his pain and try to do even more to help.

“What do you need to know?” He looks surprised by my question because we both know he answered them all before.

“I want to know what’s not in your criminal record. I want to know what happened that night, before the accident. I want to know that I can trust you.”

“I met John when I was still a barista at a coffee shop. I was trying to save the money to find a nice place to live and maybe do some courses. He swept me off of my feet in a moment.” He smiles, remembering something I’m not privy to, something that can, from the look of it, still make Rory sparkle with love.

His smile dies soon enough, probably remembering how life kicked his ass once more.

“We were both surprised, excited, and so damn in love that we didn’t care about anyone or anything. That was, until thefirst time I went to dinner at his parents’ house.” Not smiling anymore, but a hopelessness that speaks of witnessing the same thing many times.

I don’t say anything to disturb his train of thought. He’s telling me as much with his behaviour as he is with his words.

“They didn’t like me. They thought I wasn’t good enough for their precious son. I couldn’t even deny their assertion because I agreed with them. John knew, but didn’t allow me to think ill of myself. We left the house with the promise, made by John, that we’d never come back until they could respect us both.” Rory’s face shows both pain and pride for what his lover did for him.

“I loved him even more at that moment. He was the first person to fight for me. To show me I was special, and he believed I deserved to be respected.”

A long pause, hinting at something big coming.

“I should have known that something so good wouldn’t last. Six months later, John was dead, I was in a coma, and his parents had taken control.”

Another long silence, and I’m ready to speak when he does it.

“Is this enough?” His voice carries the suffering, rage, frustration, and especially the love they shared.

“Yes, that’s what I needed. If I risk my neck, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“Do you trust me?”

---