Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (12 page)

Sighing heavily, Matthew turned off the water and leaned on the counter to look at me directly. “You really want to know?” He doesn’t give me the chance to answer. “I told him you told me he proposed marriage and that you haven’t answered him. I then told him to convince you to marry him, whatever it takes.”

My mouth drops open until Matthew gently taps the bottom of my jaw with a finger until I close it. “You did what?” I whisper.

He shrugs. “You heard me. I told him the only thing I want, the only thing I’ve
ever
wanted is for you and Tyler to be safe and happy. Clearly I can’t manage either or you’d still be my wife, so I told him to do it for me. And to do a better job of it than I did. It doesn’t stop how I feel about you, but you’re not mine anymore and I can’t keep you from your future. Which, for some reason, is Tom Saunders. I only ask one thing of you, Sam.”

“What?” I ask, feeling my good mood dissipating slowly with every word he speaks. “After that, what the hell makes you think you can ask anything of me?”

“Go back to school,” he says as though I hadn’t spoken at all. “It’s the one thing I know you wanted most when we first met and when you finally started college after moving out here, I’ve never seen anybody so happy to do fucking essays until their eyes crossed. I don’t know why you stopped after leaving and it’s probably none of my business, but you deserve to finish that, Sammy. You deserve nothing but the absolute best. Hell, I’ll pay your way if money’s an issue—”

“Stop.” I cut across him feeling annoyed and hurt and confused. All feelings I’m well acquainted with when it comes to Matthew Young. “I don’t want your money, Matt. I don’t want anything from you. If you want me to marry Tom and you’ve given him your blessing, then so fucking be it. But don’t pretend like you’re doing me this great deed.”
“You think this is easy for me?” he whispers harshly. “Seriously? You think I enjoy hearing the woman I’m still madly in love with after five fucking years groaning in ecstasy caused by someone else? Yeah, baby, I heard you two at it last night. Does Tom know you faked it?”

Before I can stop myself, I see my hand slapping him hard across the face. “Go to hell, Matt,” I whisper. “Don’t do me any favors.” I turn and leave the kitchen before he can stop me. “Ty, it’s bedtime, buddy.”

“Aw, Mom! A few more minutes?” he whines. Even Tom gives me the pouty, puppy dog look.

“No. You can play tomorrow. Let’s go.”

As I glance over my shoulder I see Matthew leaning against the wall beside the kitchen, rubbing his cheek with a look of resignation on his face. I turn away, ushering my son upstairs and through the bedtime routine. We curl up in his bed and I read him a story. He’s beginning to drift off when he decides to start a discussion.

“I like it here, Mommy,” he says, yawning hugely.

“Do you?” I ask, resting the book on my knees.

Tyler nods against my chest. “And I like Matt too.” I let my eyes close against his words which leave me feeling sad and guilty. Again. I think he’s asleep when he goes on. “Mommy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Is Matt my daddy?”

Shit.

I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing. Deep down, I knew this moment was coming; I just haven’t had enough time to formulate a proper response. And given my earlier conversations with Matthew, I’m even more uncertain as to what I should say. When I look down, I sigh deeply in relief to find Tyler fast asleep against me. As gently as I can, I move him so I can slip out of bed, where I stand for a few minutes, just watching my son. He’s just asked me the question I’ve dreaded hearing for the last five years—the who’s my daddy question. Only now it’s a very specific
who
. And I know I’m not out of the woods with the question; he might forget for a couple days, but sometime soon, Tyler is going to ask me again and next time, he’s not going to have the common courtesy to fall asleep before I answer.

Shit.

I kiss his forehead, whisper an
I love you
, and leave him to his sleep. I debate on whether I want to rejoin Matthew and Tom or just go climb into bed, but come to the decision to find them. I need a distraction right now. They’re no longer in the kitchen, and I can hear a murmuring of voices from Matthew’s office and head in that direction. The two men in my life are talking about what seems to be Matthew’s work. Tom is asking questions and Matthew is giving him detailed answers.

“Hey,” Tom says when he sees me lingering at the door. “Ty go down all right?”

I nod, refusing to even look in Matthew’s direction, which I know will only make him suspicious, but at this point, I don’t care. “Yeah, he’s fast asleep. What are the two of you up to?”

“I was just explaining a little more of my job to Tom,” Matthew announces. “Showing him a few things.”

“Oh,” I say in surprise. I never thought I’d see the day when these two could stand to be in the same room together without wanting to kill one another, let alone voluntarily have a real conversation.

Matthew is watching me questioningly and I’m wondering if perhaps I’ve missed something in the conversation. Shaking his head slightly, he turns back to Tom. “Anyway, we tend to get our fingers wet in a little of everything. It gives us experience, confidence, reputation.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s fun.”

Tom grins as he looks around the glass display cabinet in appreciation and interest. “I thought defense contractors tended to deal with military.”

“Generally speaking, yes,” Matthew says. “And honestly, that’s how we started, but over the years, we got away from that as a definition. It’s not that we’re anti-war, but we prefer to avoid getting involved in weapons development or anything like that. We’re more interested in helping people rather than harming.” He pauses for a moment, frowning. “Though sometimes, they’re the same side of the coin.”

I frown myself at how his tone grows darker. “Is that what’s going on right now?” I ask bravely. Tom and Matthew both turn to look at me, the latter startled at the question. “With this threat. Is it something you developed to help people that could also harm them?”

Matthew hesitates. “It’s not really that simple, Sam,” he says in deflection.

“Then explain it,” I offer. “We’ve been here for days, Matthew, and you haven’t said a damn thing about what’s going on or the people looking for us. I think we deserve something.”

Tom looks between Matthew and me as though he’s trying to work out whether I’m right. Matthew sighs, gesturing for Tom and me to take a seat on the couch. We do so even as I’m starting to regret pressing Matthew for answers. He sits in front of us in a chair and takes a minute to arrange his thoughts. “Here’s the thing about my company,” Matthew says slowly, looking down at his hands. “For the most part, we’re the good guys. We develop medical technology that saves lives daily, both in hospita
ls and foreign warzones. We try to improve quality of life for people around the world. Our intentions are always good, even though we have a lab in our building devoted to military development. I can’t talk about what goes on in there for many reasons, most of which involve the very much clichéd saying ‘it’s safer for you to not know.’ That lab isn’t involved with our current situation. The item our foreign friends are so interested is something I’ve been working on for years and am only now starting to perfect. I’m not naïve and I’m not stupid. I know even the most innocent product could be a nightmare in the right hands.”

“So what is it we’re dealing with?” I ask quietly.

Matthew leans back in his chair, surveying us carefully. “I told you the people after you are Italian. At the time, that is what I believed. As a rule, my company only deals with countries friendly to the United States, since we know anything we develop could potentially be used against us and we don’t want to tempt fate. All my usual background checks on these guys said what they wanted it to say: that they’re an Italian company working to strengthen their military. And when I say background checks, I mean I have people tailing these guys for weeks on end, digging into their family history, bank records, business dealings... These guys have done their homework on me just as well as I did mine on them. They know how I operate and how thorough I can be.”

“Who are they?” Tom asks, enthralled with what he’s hearing.

“I don’t know,” Matthew admits. I know he’s telling the truth. And the fact that he’s being honest is a little frightening. “I honestly have no fucking clue who they are, why they want what they want. What boggles my mind most about this is the fact that there truly is nothing harmful about this technology. There are things in this room that they should want a whole hell of a lot more than that, and yet...” He shakes his head. “I’m very protective of the things I develop. I don’t even consider working with agencies I don’t trust and I would never work with a group who has the sheer audacity to threaten people close to me. These people are not good people. Of the little information I’ve been able to dig up about them, they’re some sort of terrorist organization. They’re based out of Italy, but they have no affiliation with any government. My biggest fear about these people is the possibility that they’ll sell the technology they get from me to someone with the means to harm us.”

He stands and starts pacing which, to me at least, is an immediate warning sign of what’s to come. Trying to work out how much to say, whether he
can
say anything without putting us into further danger. Abruptly he turns and faces us, his hands fisted in his hair. “It’s a microchip they’re after,” he says so quietly we have to strain our ears. “And not the one I showed you before, Sam. Everything I keep in my house as far as my work goes is a non-working prototype or it’s locked in a safe.” I notice he doesn’t disclose the safe’s location to Tom—he’s only shown me once; it’s down in the basement hidden in the floor beneath one of the theater seats. “This thing is the only thing I keep with me at all times.” I can practically feel Tom’s impatience building to find out what the chip is for, but I know Matthew is trying to work up to it. “About three years ago, the IRS came to me looking for something they could use to search for hidden bank accounts across the world. With all the white collar crime popping up everywhere we look, it’s become a concern and they’re getting smarter about hiding, even when the original schemers are locked up tightly in prison. It searches for patterns, and despite what all the genius businessmen smuggling funds from their own businesses believe, there are
always
patterns. In everything.”

“Why would anyone go to such trouble to get something like that?” I ask.

Matthew swallows hard and looks away from us. “Because it can be used to discover defense detonation codes all across the planet. Detonation as is nuclear detonation. And if someone was able to use that technology, we could be facing another cold war, or worse.” He winces when he glances over to find our faces reflecting the horror his words have inspired and he’s waiting for one of us to speak or run away screaming.

“So why not destroy it?” Tom blurts out.

Matthew’s grave expression shifts as he looks at Tom as though he’s grown two heads. “Why don’t you go back to Omaha and burn down one of those restaurants you’ve spent months planning and designing and opening because there’s a potential some asshole could do something bad with it? You don’t just destroy your life’s work. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with threats like this. I know how to handle myself and my business dealings.”

“And yet, here we are,” Tom mutters, rubbing his hands across his face tiredly.

“Here we are,” Matthew repeats quietly. “I want this resolved as quickly, quietly, and safely as I can manage. That means looking for a buyer who won’t use it for malicious means. That’s not easy to do, especially when the people we want to sell to are being threatened by the people who want us to sell to them. They don’t say as much, but when you’ve dealt with this much shit, you know how it goes.”

The three of us sit in silence for what seems like an hour before Tom finally makes his excuse to escape the tension. He looks at me expectantly to join him, but as annoyed as I am with Matthew right now, I know he wants to talk and for some reason, I want to listen. Tom looks between us suspiciously, then leaves us alone.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Matthew says the moment we hear Tom’s footsteps heading down the hallway. “I was way out of line.”

“Damn right you were,” I snap. “You’re killing me with this double talk, Matt. One second, you’re looking at me and talking to
me like we’ve never parted. Next second, you’re telling me to marry Tom. Then you turn around and insult him and start making insinuations about our sex life that are, frankly, none of your Goddamn business. Make up your mind. What the hell is it that you want from me?”

Matthew stares impassively at me for several moments. “I can’t have what I want from you, Samantha. I won’t let myself have that, because the last time I did, I lost you. You’re not stupid; you know damn well I still love you and that I miss you more than you’ll ever know, but when we split up, that was it. I forced myself to leave you alone and that nearly killed me. Having you back in my life is bringing back old feelings I thought were long gone when you left and I don’t know any other way to handle myself around you than to be possessive and protective, and I’m sorry for that. If Tom makes you happy and he takes care of you the best way he can, then I will do everything possible to let you go. But like I said before, I plan on making the most of the time that you’re here to get to know my son.”

I try to refrain from flinching as I recall Tyler’s question before he fell asleep, but when Matthew’s brow furrows, I know I failed miserably.

“What?” he asks quietly, concernedly. “What’s wrong?”

I hesitate. Do I really want Matthew to know this before I have a chance to think about it? “Tyler asked me a question tonight,” I speak slowly, thinking as I do.

“What did he ask?” Something in Matthew’s tone and in his eyes tells me he already suspects what I’m about to say.

Sucking in a deep breath, I begin to tell him, but his phone rings. I think he might ignore it, but he curses and removes the phone from his pocket, checking the caller id. “Dammit,” he mutters, looking back at me. “I have to takes this. Can we continue this in the morning?”

I nod, feeling relieved, then bolt out of the room before he can call me back. I’m such a fucking coward...

-------------o-------------

Over the next few days, I manage to avoid being alone with Matthew. By some miracle, Tyler has forgotten his question for the moment, though I’m not delusional enough that I believe he’ll let it drop for long. In the meantime, I seem to be the only one around here who’s not settling into this very strange living arrangement. When Matthew isn’t working, he’s spending every second with Tyler—playing with him, reading to him, talking to him, everything a father does with his son. Despite the truce between the two of them, Tom and Matthew haven’t bonded any further than that night, but even I can’t deny it’s nice that they’re being civil to one another. Tom has made himself at home, and since locating Matthew’s very extensive library, I haven’t really seen much of him.

Unlike the boys, I can’t seem to relax. I feel as though I should be able to lie around with Tom reading all day or even out chasing Tyler around the yard, but I can’t seem to ignore all the signs that constantly remind me that we’re not here on vacation. I see security making their rounds in the yard, Matthew and Leo having whispered conversations that stop the moment one of us walks past, and anytime I want some freedom, I’ve got a babysitter. I know it’s Matthew’s intention to keep us from knowing exactly what’s going on and I appreciate that; this is all new to Tom and I don’t want Tyler picking up the feeling I had for so long of being afraid. I suppose I’m just a little more on edge than the others and being at odds with Matthew isn’t helping matters.

For the first time in over a week, I hear my cell phone ring and it takes me a moment to realize it’s actually mine, then rush upstairs to the bedroom to grab it. One look at the caller id and I’m smiling.

“Well, hello, stranger,” I say.

“If it isn’t my baby sister,” comes the deep rumbling of my brother Jimmy’s voice. “We’ve been calling the house for a week and a half and you haven’t been answering. What gives?”

I flop down on the bed, already knowing what I have to say to my brother. “We decided to take an impromptu vacation. Tom’s been stressing out and he needs a bit of relaxation.”

I can almost see Jimmy taking a swig from a beer can on the front porch of our family’s home, just like our father once did. “So you’re not with Young, then?” he asks evenly after a few moments.