Young Truths (Young Series) (6 page)

It takes me a moment to remember Tyler is sitting with me, waiting for my response. “I’m sure he misses you, too, Ty,” I say quietly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Are we going to see him again?”

Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention and I see Matthew leaning against the wall, watching my conversation with Tyler with an unreadable expression. There’s no doubt in my mind he heard the subject. “I’m not sure,” I tell Tyler. “Tom is probably very busy with work...”

“Oh,” Tyler says disappointedly. “Why’d he leave?”

I shoot another glance at my husband, a little surprised he hasn’t jumped in yet. Maybe he wants to see how I handle this, though I can’t imagine why he would want to test me about this of all things. “He needed to get back home and work,” I explain. “Remember he had a new restaurant opening a while ago? He wanted to get back and make sure everything went smoothly.”

“Oh,” he repeats, though this time he seems a little more satisfied by my answer. “Can we call him sometime?”

I force a smile, almost able to feel the waves of tension rolling off Matthew. “We’ll see,” I answer.

Finally Matthew makes his presence known to Tyler, clearing his throat. “Dinner’s ready,” he says cheerily. “Get it while it’s hot.”

Tyler doesn’t hesitate to jump off the couch and call for Bandit to follow him to the kitchen. Once he’s out of sight, Matthew crosses the room to help me up. “You okay?”

My brow furrows slightly; I was expecting a much different discussion. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I tell him, smiling. “I’ve been waiting for that question for months.”

Matthew nods slowly. “Tyler hasn’t asked about him yet?” he asks, his expression inscrutable.

“No,” I say with a sigh, rubbing my lower back. “Which is surprising, since Tom was such a constant in his life for so long.”

“They got along well, then?”

I nod, smiling in recollection. “Incredibly well,” I say. “It amazed me how well Tom took to Tyler—and vice versa. It was like they’d known each other all along.” I look up at my husband and my smile slips a little. His eyes have hardened, he’s frowning, and he looks downright furious. “What?”

He ignores my words. “So... what? Tyler’s just randomly asking about someone he hasn’t seen in months and talking about how much he misses him?”

I stare at him in shock. “What is your problem?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Saunders is my problem,” he shoots back. “Just can’t get away from him, can I? You love him, Tyler loves him... I’m the asshole who kicked him out...”

“Matt, no one thinks that!” I argue in a loud whisper. “You had reasons for what you did and I never once questioned them. As for us loving him... We’ve had this discussion a dozen times before; I thought we cleared this up. Tom did a lot for us over those five years we were with him. Whatever he did recently, I’ll always love him for taking us in. And of course Tyler looked up to him as a father figure. That’s what Tom was for him.”

“Saunders isn’t his father,” Matthew practically growls at me. “I am. You’re mine, Samantha. You and Tyler. No one else’s. Do you understand that? That bastard was responsible for those people finding out where you were—”

This is the last thing I want to discuss with him right now—or ever, really. I’ve thought about our situation repeatedly over the last several months, particularly about Tom and how he told a complete stranger where Tyler and I were, and I’ve thought about everything else we’ve discovered over the months. I know Matthew will blame Tom until his dying day, but the truth of the matter is that Leo had been the enemy from the beginning and we had no idea. Leo knew where we were the entire time; hell, a lot of the time, he was there with us. Tom’s big mouth could have served as the perfect cover for Leo’s betrayal. Of course I’ve never discussed any of this with my husband. He’s still dealing with the loss of his best friend and this, especially right now, could set him over the edge.

“Mom! Dad! Come see what Bandit’s doing!”

Our son’s voice snaps us out of the glaring contest we’ve engaged in with one another and Matthew is the first to break eye contact. Without another word or glance in my direction, he leaves me standing outside the kitchen as he joins Tyler and Bandit for dinner. It’s in this moment that I know something drastic might be required if I ever want to discover what’s going on with Matthew. A discussion of Tom alone wouldn’t have made him react like this. Though I hate to do it, I think I know how to get answers.

Samantha and I have barely spoken since last night. I know I probably overreacted to my son’s innocent question about Tom Saunders, but at the time, all I could think about was my wife and son longing for someone I’ve come to hate with every fiber of my being. Realistically and logically, I understand why Tyler was so attached to Saunders, but to me it still feels like I’d been replaced, and part of me unfairly blames Samantha for all of that. She’s told me dozens of times that she’s never lied to Tyler about who I am or claimed that Tom was Tyler’s dad. And while I know Samantha loved Tom, I also know it was more of a brotherly love than anything else. She did what she had to do when she left me and Saunders took care of her and Tyler. Samantha was as happy as she could be during those five years, living a low profile life and being more normal than she could have managed with me. If I’d never met her that would have been her life. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it every day for the rest of my life: I’m a selfish man and I would risk her loss of normality and anonymity whenever possible if it means she’ll be with me.

I’ve never been the type of man to be possessive of his love. Protective, certainly. And I sure as hell won’t allow anyone to take her away from me. But talking to her like she’s some material possession of mine, controlling what she does, how she does it, and when she does it isn’t me. I know, however, that’s how my words came across to her last night. I could claim stress was the cause and it would probably be true, but I’d been handling things perfectly well. Apparently Tom Saunders was the last straw.

How messed up is that?

My work day has been incredibly unproductive. I’ve sat through three meetings, though for the life of me, I can’t recall the topics covered in any of them. And now I have no idea how long my phone has been ringing while I’ve been staring off into space. I consider ignoring it, not really in the mood to deal with whatever catastrophe has occurred down in the labs today.
I don’t know what the hell they’re doing down there right now, but the results tend to resemble those of a mad scientist’s lab complete with explosions.

“Young,” I say tiredly, pinching the bridge of my nose as I already feel a migraine coming on.

“Long day?”

To my relief, it’s not one of my department heads calling to tell me the building is being evacuated for one reason or another. “Thought you were on vacation, Marcus.”

“I am,” he answers. “But I thought I’d call and check-in, see how things are going.”

Something in his voice seems a little off and I can’t quite pinpoint what that is. “Fine, I guess,” I say cautiously, uncertain what he’s referring to.

“Sure about that?”

“Unless you know something I don’t, yeah.” It’s been two seconds and I’m already irritated with this conversation. “What are we talking about exactly?”

He sighs. “Look, don’t be pissed, but Samantha called me this morning.”

For a moment I only stare across the room, trying to decide if I heard correctly. “Samantha called you?” I repeat. “Why the fuck would she do that?”

“Maybe because she’s worried about you,” Marcus says as though he’s speaking to a child. “She seemed pretty upset.”

And there’s the migraine I was hoping to avoid... “I’m fine,” I say shortly. “I don’t know what she told you, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“I disagree. Anytime someone’s wife calls me to tell me her husband is on the brink of a meltdown, I think that’s something to worry about. Especially when the husband in question is someone who’s been through multiple wringers over the last six months and I’ve been, frankly, waiting for this meltdown.”

What the fuck, Samantha? The fact that she went over my head to call Marcus and talk to him about God knows what is irritating enough, but now I’ve got Marcus worried about my mental well-being. “I told you I’m fine,” I say firmly. “I don’t know why Samantha thinks she needs to bring you into it...”

“Like I said, she’s worried. She says you’ve been closing yourself off again despite all her attempts to get you to talk to her and she’s afraid if it goes on much longer, you’ll only crash harder. You’ve been through some fucked-up shit, Matt, things that would bring down even the most hardened FBI agent. And I know exactly what happens when all that shit starts to hit at once, you tend to lose yourself. I’ve seen guys I’ve known for years change into someone I don’t recognize. More than one has landed himself in jail because they brought their problems home and took them out on their family.”

My jaw falls open at his words. What the fuck is he insinuating? That I’ll hurt my family? “Marcus, that’s not—”

“I’m not saying that’s what is going on with you,” he says quickly. “But your wife is concerned. Enough that she came to me, because she thinks I can talk some sense into you.”

As pissed as I am that my wife decided to talk to someone about my problems, part of me understands why she did. It’s not like I’ve told her what’s bothering me or the things I’ve found out since my conversation with my sister regarding our father. I’ve probably snapped at her more in the last few days than I have in the last six months. Even my attempt to made amends last night by making dinner for her blew up in my face when I jumped all over her about Saunders. For the first time since that mess, I think about the expression on Samantha’s face—hurt, anger... fear... She was actually a little afraid of me last night because of my reaction, something I swore nearly seven years ago would never happen again, not after how I treated her following the bombing.

“Matt?”

“I’m here,” I say quietly.

Marcus is silent for a moment. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? I mean, is this a simple case of everything hitting you all at once? Are you having pre-baby jitters?”

Sighing heavily, I know there’s no other choice but to start talking. “My father has cancer. It’s terminal,” I say flatly.

I hear Marcus suck in a sharp breath and know that’s probably the last thing he expected me to say. “Jesus, Matt, I’m sorry. What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” he asks incredulously. “He didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t find out from him.”

I can almost feel his confusion. “Then how...”

Rolling my eyes, I know what his reaction to this will be. “I hacked into his medical records,” I tell him. “Just enough to see what the hell’s been going on.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that since I know you don’t want me arresting you,” he says evenly. I crack a small grin. “So you read the records. You didn’t read far enough to know the details?”

“I couldn’t,” I say heavily. “I got far enough to know he’s got cancer and I couldn’t bring myself to look any further. I need to hear it from him.”

Marcus sighs. “Well, I am very sorry to hear about your father. I’m assuming you haven’t told Samantha?” My silence is enough of an answer. “You need to talk to her. She’ll understand. That girl is amazingly strong; she has to be, dealing with all your bullshit.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say sardonically.

“You know what I mean. All I’m saying is give her a chance at helping you. Stop treating her like she’s breakable; she’s anything but.”

“I know,” I respond, annoyed at the cracking in my voice. “I’m worried that it will just bring back memories of her mother’s death and at this point in her pregnancy...”

“Talk to her,” Marcus says firmly. “You told me once secrets were part of the reason you two split up in the first place; don’t let that happen again. Matt, I’ve known you a long time and I’ve seen you deal with some bad shit, but since Samantha’s been back in your life, you’ve been different. Happier. More relaxed... I don’t know... Right now you’ve got an incredible, beautiful wife. A great son. A daughter on the way. Don’t lose that again. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

He’s right, of course. And part of me hates him for that. “I’ll talk to her,” I promise.

“Good. I was going to call you today anyway,” he goes on. “Got a call late last night about a sighting of Frank Marone.”

I hold my breath for a moment. “Where?” I manage to ask.

He hesitates for a moment, probably debating whether I can handle this news on top of everything I just told him. “The prison where Natalie Walsh is currently awaiting trial,” he answers eventually.

“What?” I yell. “What the fuck was he doing there?”

“We’re not sure. Best guess, he was trying to get in to see Natalie. He used one of his aliases to gain access to the prison, but was informed Natalie wasn’t allowed visitors at that time and he left. One of my fellow agents was there on separate business and thought he recognized Marone. He had the surveillance footage pulled and sent it to me.”

“Why didn’t he just grab Marone when he had the chance?” I ask. “It’s not like there aren’t grounds for an arrest!”