Page 28 of Samuel's Heart

“Where is your drink?” I ask, and he jumps up on unsteady legs and leaves the room, but not before sending a heated look towards Keegan.

“Thanks,” I say to him.

“If he asks, I’m not going to lie. So don’t tell me anything, just be careful. It would kill Martin if something happened to you, especially if it’s related to Carl’s kidnapping.”

I take the papers and push them under the cushion, and when Martin comes back, we’re talking about physio, and how bossy and evil Gavin is.

We spend a few hours together, never touching on deeper topics, and I’m glad when Martin doesn’t ask about work. I don’t want to lie more than I already have. I’m not at risk of losing my job, but if I don’t regain full mobility, I’ll be locked at my desk, forcing me to find something else.

They leave, but only after Martin makes sure I have everything I need. He pulls me close, kisses me, and then scolds me, just like I was a kid living alone for the first time.

Once I’m on my own, I retrieve the documents from under the cushions and begin sorting through them. The faster I do it, the faster I can go back to my life and my job. Rory and his need to find John’s organ recipients is affecting me more than I thought it would.

What I want is to concentrate on my recovery, and go back to work so I can forget how bad my life is and how the guilt is eating at my insides, day after day, hour after hour, and minute after minute.

I want to go back to saving others and throw myself into my redemption, even if I know it won’t be possible.

Ever.

Chapter Twelve

Rory

I can’t believe I’m here, in front of this guy, Ian. A guy that has parts of John in him. I can’t see those parts of him, but I know they’re there, making my need to reach out and touch nearly unstoppable. Only the consequences of doing that are keeping me stuck in my own place.

I’d love to talk to him, to ask about his life, but that’s another rule I can’t break. And yet, I’m happy like I haven’t been in a long time, because even if I can’t voice my thoughts and share them with this person, I can still say my goodbyes. I can also see the results of what John’s organs have given to people. A new life, something they couldn’t have had if John was still with me.

It sucks big time, and I wish with all my being I could have him here with me, but what his death has done, the hope it has given to people, makes his loss a little less painful. It gives it meaning.

Samuel’s gaze is like a weight on my body. Is he making sure that I’m following his orders? Or is there more to it? I shouldn’t be thinking about him, and what his presence does to me, especially now that John is here—in some way.

I watch the man who has John’s kidneys laugh at something someone next to him says, and that joy spreads inside of me like water. I’m regenerated, purified, and blessed just from seeing it.

I observe him, and nothing in him reminds me of John. He’s shorter than John, and at least twenty years older. I don’t see any grey hair from this far away, but I bet he has some. His mannerisms remind me of older times, and the way he laughs and interacts with the man beside him speaks of years of friendship. Nothing in him is John.

Our eyes lock, and John’s face overlaps Ian’s, and tears spring to my eyes. I take a step forward, but Samuel’s gaze gets more intense, and I stop.

I watch in fear and excitement when Ian leaves the bench he’s sitting on and walks towards me. I don’t move—I’m not even sure I’m breathing—and the closer he gets, the stronger John’s presence becomes.

“Hey,” he says, when he stops in front of me.

“Hey,” I try to reply, but the greeting gets stuck inside my throat. I clear it and try again, and I swear his smile is just like John’s.

“Do we know each other?”

I shake my head because I can’t talk. And if I do, I’ll spill everything, and this will be the last time I have the chance to see John. I’m not ready yet to let go. So, I bite my lips to keep everything inside.

Samuel’s gaze is no longer a weight, but like a caress that gives me support, and I finally find my voice.

“We were just admiring the place,” I say, while including Samuel in the picture with a gesture of my hand.

“Are you passing by?”

“Yes. We’re here . . .” But I can’t continue because I can’t lie to save my life.

“For work.” Samuel’s strong voice saves me again.

“What do you do?”

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