Page 8 of Samuel's Heart

“No need,” I say anyway, just to piss him off, but when he chuckles as if knowing my intent, I’m the one who gets riled up.

“It’s always a pleasant experience dealing with you.” I put all the sarcasm I can muster in my words.

“Yes,” he says, but his tone is as flat as ever, then he continues without missing a beat. “Send me everything you have, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” I say to him, and it comes from my heart.

I need Aidan to find them so Rory can deal with the loss. Something I haven’t been able to do. I push the thought away because I don’t want to deal with it right now—or ever.

“There is one condition.”

Of course there is. He doesn’t do anything for nothing.

“I’ll give you the names, one at a time, but if whoever you’re asking this information for shares who he is and why he’s looking for them, I’ll keep the rest of them to myself and not even your brothers in blue will find them.”

“I’ll make sure of that.”

“I’ll call you.” And then the line goes silent as he ends the call.

What a piece of dark ice. I’ve met all sorts of people in my line of work, but no one has ever been as mysterious as Aidan. It’s like there’s nothing inside him. As if darkness has made itself at home inside of him, leaving nothing but emptiness and coldness.

I need to call Rory, but can I truly trust him not to tell these people who he was to the donor? Not to tell them his story? Can I trust him not to bother them, by meeting them over and over so he can stay close to his dead lover?

If he knows he won’t learn about the other recipients if he fails with the first one, maybe it will act as a deterrent against breaking the rules.

I’ll decide what to do with the info when Aidan shares the first name with me. There’s no point in thinking about it now.

A knock at the door pulls me away from those thoughts—my stupidity and need to do good, to right a wrong.

When am I going to learn that no matter what I do, the hole I have in my heart is never going to close?

Never.My brain is quick to reply.

Thank you, brain.

I open the door with a polite smile, hoping for one of my friends to be behind it so I can stop mulling over something I can’t solve, and try to get out of this funk that has taken over my life.

I miss my fucking job. Being busy all day, thinking about cases, was a good way of avoiding things I was willing to forget, but couldn’t.

“Hey, mate.” Jason’s smiling face on the other side of the door pulls a similar response out of me.

I like the man; he’s solid and real. Sometimes I think it’s strange that, despite being proper and rich, he gets along with us so well. But behind all that money, he’s down to earth.

The only problem is that he’s a good-looking man, and he doesn’t have any problem using it to his advantage. His blond hair is styled to perfection, longish at the top and short on the sides, a chiselled, strong jaw, high cheekbones, and sea-blue eyes.

“Hey,” I say, moving to one side so he can enter the apartment.

“How’s the physio going?” he asks, stepping in and walking towards the living room, and stopping near the sofa.

“It’s going.”

He glances at me as if to make sure I’m okay. Not sure what he sees on my face, but he returns to the task of taking his jacket off without comment.

“Do you want a beer?” he asks, while walking to the fridge, and I smile at the way he makes me feel like I’m the guest in my own house.

He’s been here so many times that he doesn’t need a tour to find what he needs.

“No thanks,” I say. “Still taking the painkillers.”

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