"Bishop sent it?"
Matias nodded.
The reality of what he was saying kicked in. "You think he wants to hurt me to get to you?" Saying the words was painful. It was all just too surreal. All I’d done was put a name in a search engine. How had that turned into a sadistic would-be murderer hunting me? And what did that mean for my children?
"This man… this Bishop guy, he went after Cruz because he knew how much you cared about him. You and me, we…" I struggled to finish the sentence because it hurt to admit the truth of it. "We don't mean anything to each other." Even as I said it, the words sounded wrong. Matias meant more to me than I wanted to admit. Even after everything that had happened, he still meant something to me.
I thought it couldn't get any more painful than it already was by confronting the truth about my feelings for Matias still being there. But I was wrong because his next sentence pretty much took the cake when it came to the pain thing.
"No we don’t, but Bishop doesn’t know that.”
Chapter 21
Matias
I wanted to pass off the tightness in my chest as being related to the memory of what had happened to Cruz that night two years ago, but I knew better. The knot was there behind my ribcage because Sam had confirmed what I should've wanted to hear.
His insistence that we didn't mean anything to each other were the right words, yet they still felt wrong. I wanted to demand that he feel differently. I wanted him to admit that when I touched him, he felt the same things I did.
Problem was, I didn't know what the shit I was feeling even meant. I was in unchartered territory.
It didn't matter. There was only one thing I needed to be focused on at the moment, and that was keeping Sam and his family safe while finding the man who was never going to let me rest. Bishop wasn't right in the head. I had no doubt that he'd been enjoying toying with me over the past couple of years… leaving little clues for me here and there to remind me that he was still out there. I'd fed into all of it by pursuing him. It had just been an extension of the game he’d played with me the night he'd attacked my brother.
"So what are you saying?" Sam asked.
I could see that he already knew the answer. That he understood what was going to happen.
"I'm sorry, Sam."
Sam fell silent for a long time. His eyes dropped to his hands which he was wringing on top of the table. He shook his head. "So what, Ryan and Elliot and I are supposed to live in fear the rest of our lives? Or we go into hiding?"
"I'll find him, Sam," I said firmly.
He let out a harsh laugh. "What do I do until then? How do I explain to my nine-year-old that he has to leave everything he knows? How am I supposed to live the rest of my own life waiting for something to happen? For something to take away the only thing that matters to me in this world?"
I didn't have an answer for him. Actually, I did, because I'd been living that very life for two years now. But I certainly wasn't going to tell him what it was like to never be able to truly rest. To always wonder who or what was just around the corner. To wake up in a cold sweat night after night as you tried to wipe the damning images of death and loss from your brain.
Sam slid his chair back and stood. He didn't say a word as he turned his back on me and left the kitchen, leaving his untouched cup of tea sitting on the table. I found myself reaching for my phone, but as I stared at the blank screen, I realized there was no one to call. The only two people in my life I could talk to about this whole thing were the same two people I’d pushed away so effectively. Once Cruz learned what my behavior had led to, I doubted he'd ever forgive me. I could only hope that my actions wouldn't cost my brother his new family.
I climbed to my feet, prepared to go outside and stand watch along with the handful of men Ronan had left stationed in front of Sam's house and up and down the blocks surrounding it, but when my feet started moving, it wasn't in the direction of the door.
I half expected to find Sam's bedroom door locked, but it was standing wide open. The room was completely dark, but it didn't take long for my eyes to adjust as I stepped into the room. I instinctively knew where Sam was.
When I reached the side of his king-size bed, I toed my shoes off, keeping my eyes on the still form beneath the covers the whole time. He had his back to me, but I knew he wasn't sleeping. How could he be? I’d basically just upended his entire world. I eased myself into the bed and then sidled up against him. I fully expected him to tell me to leave or push me away, but he didn't react. I took a chance and pressed the front of my body full-length against the back of his. It wasn't until I wrapped my arm around his waist that he reacted.
But instead of pushing my hand away, he drew it up so my palm was resting against his chest. I found myself letting out a heavy sigh of relief. I knew nothing between us had been resolved, and that he was likely just experiencing a moment of needing to be comforted, but I would take it.
"Promise me you'll keep them safe, Matias. Promise me you won't let anything happen to my children."
"I promise, Sam. I'll find Bishop and I'll end this. You, your sons, you'll be able to go back to your normal lives and this will all seem like a bad dream and nothing more."
I had no way of knowing if my words comforted him, because Sam didn't speak again. Within a matter of minutes, I could hear the steady breathing that was proof he’d finally fallen asleep.
I wasn't expecting to find any peace in slumber myself, but the next thing I knew, it was morning and I woke up alone in the bed. I practically jumped off the mattress and ran out of the room. It wasn't until I heard Sam's voice and Ryan's unique laughter that I came to a screeching halt and tried to calm my racing heart. The fact that my reaction to Sam's absence had been so over the top was just more evidence that he was much deeper under my skin than I'd ever believed possible.
When I entered the kitchen, Sam looked up at me. Something flashed in his eyes that I couldn't identify, but his voice was calm, friendly even, as he said, "Good morning. Can I make you anything for breakfast?"
I shook my head and murmured, "I'll just have some coffee."
I made my way toward the coffee machine, but Sam beat me to it. "Sit," he said as he motioned to the table. I noticed an iPad sitting on it as well as several dirty breakfast dishes.
Despite Sam’s friendly demeanor, I knew something was off. The words might've been right, but the tone wasn't. I could hear the anger behind his words. Anger I suspected he probably would've directed at me full force if Ryan hadn't been present. My eyes shifted to the little boy. He was watching me curiously.
"Sleepover," he said through the use of his computer. It still fascinated me the way he would look at something on the screen in front of him and the words would come out of the machine. After that first night with Sam when he'd gotten his hackles up about me referring to Ryan as his “kid” instead of using the child's first name, I'd started looking up information about Ryan's condition. The big takeaway I'd gotten from my research had been that Ryan and people like him weren't developmentally challenged. The condition affected movement, balance, and posture. In Ryan's case, it also affected his ability to speak. Once you got past the physical limitations, it became clear that Ryan was just like any other kid. In his case, he needed a board and a computer to help him talk, just like a deaf person would need sign language to communicate.