Page 15 of Samuel's Heart

I ignore his question because I’m not yet sure if I do. There’s something he’s not telling me, but I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t remember or because he doesn’t want to share. Anyway, I’ve boarded the boat, and now I’m going to row.

“I have a name,” I say instead, taking the biggest fucking jump of my life and hoping to land on my feet.

Chapter Six

Rory

A name.A name. A fucking name.Finally!

The sound of that word screaming inside my head is getting stronger and stronger, while on the outside, things are different.

A marble statue would have had more life than me right now. My body is shaking, my skin feels as cold as snow, and I bet I’m as pale as a whiteboard. So breathless that not even my chest is moving, and his eyes change mood from one blink to another.

Then I’m like spring coming out of winter and off the sofa, pacing around the room, mumbling to myself, saying thanks to whatever deity finally fulfilled my prayers.

All while ignoring the man still standing near the sofa, watching me, and spying each reaction his news pulls out of me. I’m not ashamed of showing my emotions to him—my tears, my inability to stay still, or the need to scream my joy at the four winds.

One thing I’m trying very hard to contain is my need to hug him and say a thousand thank yous. In a surge of joy which overwhelms my common sense and self-preservation, and ignores the flags of danger flying around Samuel, I hug him. I put my arms around him and pull him closer. I ignore his stillness and rigidity, trying to convey how grateful I am through the touch of our bodies so that it can be passed to him without having to utter impossible words at the moment.

Samuel stays rigid in my arms, but he doesn’t pull away, so I stay close to him until my heart stops beating like bolts of lightning, and finally settles on its normal rhythm, leaving me tired, as though I carried rocks up and down a hill all day long.

I drop my arms to my side, but I don’t move away because the warmth seeping from Samuel to me is too comfortable—too enjoyable—and it affects me deep inside. I’ve been without human touch, deprived of the simplest contact, since I lost John. Partially because I couldn’t fathom the idea of someone else’s touch, and because no one was John.

So, why is Samuel affecting me so much?

I’ve never been a tactile person, and I’m not sure why I need to touch him so much. It must be gratitude, and nothing to do with the awareness zinging up and down my body, which I ignore.

“Thank you.” The words come directly from my heart.

“No need for thank yous. Can we talk before we proceed?”

His coldness puts me in my place, sending me down in the dumps. I shake it off and focus on moving forward. Yes, he’s the first person to take an interest in my situation, but it doesn’t mean we’re friends.

I don’t even knowwhyhe’s doing it. What is he getting out of my situation? And because my need to know takes over before my brain can process my thoughts, the question is out of my mouth.

“Why are you helping me?”

He does a double take, as if surprised by my question, then pretends he didn’t hear me.

Should I press him? What if he walks away? Thank you, brain, for being a step ahead every single time. But then he answers, and while his answer doesn’t give me any insight, it still has the power to settle my nerves.

“Because I can.” His answer is curt and doesn’t leave room for more questions. I’m not sure why those words make me happy. I’m not right in the head if I find his coldness and detachment interesting. And—what the actual fuck—charming. I shake my head to scatter the useless thoughts away.

“Let’s talk,” I say, bringing the conversation back to the important stuff—the name.

“There are a few rules we need to discuss before I’ll share the name.” He sits down on the chair, which tells me it’s not going to be an easy or short conversation. Never mind that I would agree to anything, if it gives me that name.

“Okay.”

“First things first, no contact with this person. Second, you must keep who you are and why you’re there a secret, in case there is contact. Third, no mention of your life and no mention of knowing about the transplant. Fourth, I’ll be there with you.” He pauses, and I wonder if he’s thinking about more rules, but when he doesn’t talk for a while, I get worried.

“Is—” I try, but I’m interrupted by Samuel.

“I’m risking everything by helping you out. So, please, don’t break these rules.”

He had me at ‘please,’ but I want to make sure he understands how much what he’s doing means to me. Reading further into his rules, it’s clear he needs to control everything, almost as though bad things could happen if he lost it.

“I would never do anything to harm you. I’ll follow every single rule you have, and I won’t ask questions of them or you. You can be there, and I won’t complain.” I stop to take a breath, then continue. “You’ll never know how grateful I am. On a scale from one to a hundred, I’m a million times grateful.”

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