Page 33 of Samuel's Heart

For a long time.

Chapter Thirteen

Samuel

That was some scary shit, and I really thought Rory was going to break down and spill the beans.

He surprised me today, and I couldn’t have been prouder of him. I know for sure that I couldn’t have done the same thing. Not in a million years.

I’m actually running away from what I’ve done and the pain I’ve created.

Now I’m pacing the room we have to share while I wait for him to be done with his shower. We both know he’s in there dealing with the emotions that were stirred up today.

I still can’t believe the guy walked up to us and invited us for breakfast. It was more of a brunch or lunch, but it was nice ofhim. Then his story . . . it moved something inside me. I’m not sure how I acted all composed when I wanted to run away as much as Rory did. I could read him so easily, and I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. I stayed because he needed me, and I made small talk because Rory needed me to take the situation into my own hands and leave him be until he was able to face the man who had his dead boyfriend’s kidney in him.

I glance at my watch and notice Rory’s been in the bathroom for a good half an hour. Something is wrong, but I don’t want to intrude. I keep pacing, and I wish I could rush out of here and forget everything. This situation really hits close to home. How would I react if it was me in the same situation he’s in now?

I don’t want to think about it, because I’m a coward. I could never come face to face with Lucy and Daniel, because I’m guilty of what happened to her husband and his father. It was all my fucking fault and I’ll have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life.

Rory did nothing wrong, so he can face John and all these people—and he’s doing it in such a beautiful way. I would never have been able to face them and ask for nothing. He did. He sat there and listened to how his dead lover saved the lives of people he never knew.

Another glance at my clock has me moving to the bathroom door.

“R . . . Hey man. Are you okay?” I can’t call him by his name, because it’s moving something inside me, and I can’t deal with it right now.

When nothing comes from inside the other room, I knock and call again. “Man?” That’s when I hear the shower shutting off. Imove away from the door, so it doesn’t seem like I’m waiting for him to come out.

After another fifteen minutes, I hear the door open and try to act casual, but I can’t stop myself from turning and looking at him. The expanse of his chest is right in front of my eyes, and while I’m a bastard for looking and reacting to his beauty while he’s grieving, I still can’t stop ogling him. Even my cock takes notice, and that’s when I turn around and pick up my towel so I can rush inside the bathroom and not make a fool of myself. I don’t glance at him again, even when I sense his eyes on me.

Once I’m inside the small room, I rest my back on the door and take a few deep breaths to calm down. I drop my head into my hands, trying to get some clarity, and forcing myself to not rush back outside and follow what my small head wants to do to the man on the other side of the door.

I can’t get involved.You are involved already.

I can’t allow anything to happen, because I don’t deserve it, because he’s so much better than me, and because he’s still in love with his dead boyfriend.

I nearly tear my clothes off in my attempt to get into a cold shower. I walk in and stay under the cold water until my cock is back on its best behaviour. Only then do I wash myself and push away any thought of Rory and me in bed together.

I take a good half hour to get to a place where I’m happy with myself, and then I walk out of the bathroom to find Rory just sitting on the bed, his head between his legs, his body shaking, and soft sobs filling the space inside the room.

I rush to him because I can’t stop myself from wanting to help. I wrap my arms around him, and I whisper reassuring wordsthat won’t do anything to solve this situation, but that I hope will make him feel less alone.

I go rigid when his arms come around my waist, and that’s when I realise I’m still only wearing a towel. I don’t want him to think I want something from him, but at the same time, I don’t want to leave him alone and have him think I don’t care about him.

“Rory, I’m here.” His name on my lips is like an aphrodisiac, but I’m better than my lust and I force my dick to stay down, and I’m glad when it follows orders.

“Sam . . .” But he doesn’t say more, and I pull him even closer before I let him go.

“Let me get dressed,” I say to him, so I can really take him in my arms without starting anything sexual.

I try to pull away, but Rory’s arms tighten around me, and he hugs me closer, unbalancing me, and making me fall onto him. I grunt in pain when all my weight ends up on my injured hip, and Rory lets me go.

He pulls back, and I read guilt on his face. I’m ready to reassure him, but his hand moves to my injured side and his light touch entices another grunt, but this time of pleasure.

I pull away and walk—limp—to the other part of the room, rummage around inside my bag, and pull out a pair of boxers. I quickly try to put them on without taking the towel away, but I have some difficulties as my cock is at attention. I bite my lips so as not to let out a moan when the fabric touches my over-sensitive dick. Then, with a calmness I don’t really feel, I rummage some more until I find my tracksuit bottoms, and I put them on, hoping they’ll be enough to hide my erection. Butmostly to keep me on the right track of having my hands to myself.

“Sam.”

What the nickname does to me should be illegal. No one has called me Sam in a long time. Not since I was a newbie and my training officer was making fun of me. Not in a nasty way, but after losing him—or after causing his death—I haven’t allowed anyone to call me Sam. Too painful.

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