Several long beats of silence followed.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, the lack of noise made me uncomfortable. I was in the process of turning around when Sam said, "I don't even know why I have this thing. I mean, the house didn’t come with it and I hire people to maintain the lawn because I can't work a lawnmower to save my life, but I saw this shed at Home Depot one day while I was looking for some hanging flowerpots for my front porch and I just had to have it. I mean, in what world is a garden shed an impulse buy at the checkout aisle? My world, apparently."
I found myself inwardly smiling at Sam's rambling. I had no clue why it brought me such a strange sense of comfort, but it did. Maybe I was just glad he wasn't asking me the dreaded question of what I was doing there. I was sure that question would eventually come, but in the meantime, I’d enjoy every second of the momentary reprieve.
"I think it's because it matches the house. I mean, not exactly, but the trim is close, and I liked how the windows were circular. Maybe it reminded me of a dollhouse or something. I don't know. I always wanted a dollhouse as a kid, one with circular windows, but that was a big no-no because boys weren’t supposed to want dollhouses…" Sam let out a laugh that sounded more nervous than anything else. Then he went quiet.
Which was unacceptable to me, though I didn't really know why.
I cleared my throat and said, "The windows are nice, but they’re a bitch to replace."
Jesus, Matias, was that really the best you could come up with?
"Oh, um, I didn't realize that. I told you, I could hire someone to do this… I mean, I'll pay you, of course, but I'm just saying that if you don't have the time or the desire to—"
I glanced over my shoulder at him, which effectively silenced him. I was surprised to see that he was holding two bottles of beer in his hands. Was that the reason he'd come out here? To bring me a beer?
"I broke it, I fix it," I reminded him. I inwardly cursed when Sam's expression fell even further. God, why couldn't I just say the right thing? And why was it so important to me that I wanted to? I’d never once given a shit what people thought of me. Hell, my dad had spent years trying to beat certain words out of me. He’d never succeeded, of course. But definitely not from a lack of trying.
"Is that for me?" I finally asked, because I couldn't come up with anything better to break the tension that had arisen between us. Not that there wasn't always tension between us, but when Sam went silent, it was never a good thing.
"What? Oh, yeah, I brought you this. I don't even know if you drink. I mean, I don't very often, but I figured if I've ever earned the few extra calories, it would be this week." He let out a nervous laugh. I couldn't help but let my eyes trail up and down his body. He might not have been a gym rat, but I couldn't imagine him as anything other than perfect. The hunger that was an always present thing around Sam intensified and I found myself lowering the hammer in my hand as I stepped closer to him. I loved hearing him suck in a breath as I did so. He was so damn easy to read. And so fucking responsive. I thought about the way he'd come apart for me a few days earlier.
God, had it only been a handful of days since I'd had him?
"This is good," I managed to say as I took the longnecked bottle from him, making sure that my fingers touched his in the process. I'd told myself the night before that I needed to keep my distance from the man, but I might as well have tried to stop the tide from coming in. He was like a drug to me and I was more than eager to become addicted to him. But I also remembered the way he'd tried to crawl into the wall after our encounter, sobbing and begging me not to touch him. In the past few days, I'd tried to convince myself that I just had no interest in pursuing a man who was still hung up on his dead husband, but that stupid little niggle in my brain was proof otherwise. So was the fact that I was still here. I could've had Sam the night before. I'd known that from the way he’d looked at me as we’d stood by his kitchen window. He'd been mine for the taking. I’d been practically shaking with the need to touch him, to consume him, to make him mine in every way that I could.
But that was exactly why I'd walked away. Because for the first time in my life, I'd actually been afraid that I wouldn't be able to walk away. That was how I'd known it was time to go. That was how I'd been able to take a step back from him even after I’d touched his warm skin.
By the time I'd reached my car, I'd vowed to never again return to the little ranch style house in the Beaver Cleaver neighborhood. And yet, here I was.
I took a sip of the beer but kept my eyes on Sam the whole time. I watched him as he watched me. Well, my throat, anyway. His eyes were fixated on that particular part of my body as I swallowed the icy-cold liquid. I told myself that I should just fuck him and get it over with, but my brain overruled my body and I found myself turning back around to focus my attention on the window. I'd found the glass in Sam's garage, along with the one for his kid’s window—Ryan… Ryan’s window. My plan was to tackle that job next, then deal with Sam's flimsy locks. He needed a security system too, but I'd focus on the locks first.
"Matias—"
"I knocked," I interjected before Sam could ask me the question.
"What?"
"I knocked on your door," I said simply. "You didn't answer."
"I was dropping Ryan off at his afterschool program. He hasn't been ready to go back to school itself, but he feels safe at the afterschool place because Elliot volunteers there a couple of afternoons a week. He and your brother are going to take Ryan to a movie tonight." Sam paused a beat before he said my name again, but coward that I was, I began nailing the frame for the window into place. I took my time with the task. Assuming my blatantly rude gesture had done the trick and sent Sam scurrying, I reached down to grab a nail from the box on the ground but it was no longer there.
I turned around and saw Sam holding a single nail in his hand. He extended it to me and said, "I can do this as long as you can. We are going to talk about this."
His stubbornness was not a good thing because it chipped away at the wall I'd put up between myself and him… the wall that was keeping me from putting my hands on him again. The very last thing he should be doing was challenging me in any kind of way. I took the nail from him and stepped into his space. He shifted nervously for a moment but stood his ground. My cock filled even more in anticipation. "What is it that we're doing?" I asked.
Instead of answering me, Sam softly said, "Thank you, Matias."
His words caught me off guard and, admittedly, made me more than uncomfortable. I didn't want his thanks. I didn't want his kindness or his understanding. I didn't want him trying to figure me out. I wanted him to keep his distance so I could keep mine. I wanted to not wonder why I was doing this dance with him. I wanted to bury my body within his and be done with it so I could get back to my normal life, even if normal was relative in my case.
"I told you, I broke it, I fix—"
"You saved my son's life. Probably my life too. Blake was clearly unstable. So thank you for what you did. I know I said it that night, but it wasn’t enough. No words could ever be enough."