Page 18 of Samuel's Heart

“I want the address,” I say, defeated. “Please,” I add, when I notice how curt and rude I’ve been. Using my training should be an automatic response, even with Aidan pushing all the wrong—or, I admit, right—buttons.

“Call me on my number.”

I’m left with my mouth hanging open when the line goes dead.

I grip my phone in my hand tightly to avoid smashing it on the counter in a bout of rage. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, and breathe so deeply my lungs nearly explode, to stop myself fromscreaming at the phone like I want to murder it. My training for dealing with difficult people goes out the window.

When I’m finally calm enough, I call Aidan.

“What’s your fucking problem?” I ask him as soon as he picks the phone up.

“You,” he replies.

I wait for more, but nothing comes. I want to ask, but I don’t want to be the one capitulating first. When the silence stretches, and my agitated breathing is the only sound between us, I get the hint of how ridiculous this situation is.

“I’m not sure why you’ve got a problem with me. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I asked you for a favour, and you had two choices: help me or send me back the way I came. You decided to help, so just do that, or tell me and I’ll find another way to find the information I need.”

The silence stretches a little longer, so much so I’m sure he’s gone until he talks again.

“You should help yourself instead of meddling in other people’s business. You’re breaking the law to help someone you don’t even know, but you don’t have the courage to face your own problems.”

Someone else would have said these words with passion or anger behind them. Instead, Aidan says them as if he’s talking about the weather, and I’m not sure why, but that gets to my head.

“What I do with my life is none of your fucking business. I’m old enough to make my own decisions, and I don’t need abastard like you to tell me what I can or can’t do.” I’m breathing heavily when I’m done with the emotional dump.

I don’t like the ‘me’ I am with him.

“You should put the same passion into taking responsibility for what you did.”

My world implodes, sending pieces of it to scatter around.

“Fuck you.” I try to put the hatred I have for him into my words, but both of us can hear the tears clogging my throat.

I pull the phone away from my ear and disconnect the call. Then I walk to the kitchen and take a glass, going to my secret stash and pulling out a bottle of whisky. I watch myself fill the glass as if I’m no longer inside my body. My mind is screaming for me to put down the bottle and walk away, while my body automatically does whatever is needed to stop the pain from taking over and crippling me, like it did five years ago.

I take the full glass in my hand, sniff it like a dog looking for a treat, and slowly slide it up to my mouth. The ringing of the phone snaps me back into reality, and I place the glass on the counter with so much force the liquid overflows and spreads everywhere. I ignore it and pick up the phone, giving the devil’s nectar my back to avoid temptation.

“Samuel?” Felix’s voice brings me fully back into the room. My mind goes from needing a drink to needing information.

“Sam?”

I clench my jaw so hard to avoid snapping at Felix that my teeth grind together.

“Samuel, please,” I say when I’m able to relax my jaw enough.

“Sorry,” he says, then continues, as if I didn’t ask anything strange. “What do you need?”

“Aidan gave me a fold—” I don’t have the chance to finish as Felix jumps right in.

“Yeah, I took care of it.”

“I need the address.”

“It should have been there,” Felix says, sounding perplexed.

I’m not surprised, sure Aidan is behind the missing information.

“I have the information somewhere. I’ll text you.”

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