Page 67 of Blood

“Aww,” she pouts, but it doesn’t have its usual effect. It just makes me want to get her alone quicker.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Sammy can just stay home tonight. You head on back to the cabin.” Mom smiles, completely oblivious to my impending breakdown.

I don’t know if it’s the look on my face or the tension radiating off me, but Sam stands quickly. “It’s getting late, anyway. I should go.”

Dad frowns. “Mention moving in to Shelby. See if she’s receptive to the idea.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees, shrugging into the coat I’m holding open.

It takes far too many hugs and kisses, but we’re out the door four minutes later.

Closing the passenger door, I relax a little. I’ll have her to myself soon. Rounding the car, I freeze.

My front tire is flat. My nostrils flare.

Fuck. Off.

“Everything okay, son?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Tire’s flat,” I answer dryly.

A jingle of metal flies over the top of my car toward me. My right hand shoots up, catching the projectile before it can hit me in the face and really push me over the edge.

Unclenching my fingers, I stare down at a set of keys.

“Take my truck,” Daniel’s deep voice calls.

Waving my pointer finger in the general direction of the front door, I retrieve my girl from the car.

Giving a short explanation, I help Sam out of my car. “Tire’s flat. We’re taking Daniel’s truck.”

“Oh, we can change it now if you want? And by we, I mean you.” She smirks.

My lips twitch with the need to kiss her. No one calms me like she does.

“Not tonight. I just want to go home.”

Sam nods at my somber tone.

“Night,” I call out, giving a final wave to our family.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Samantha

Kaleb throws his keys on the side table so hard I flinch.

He’s been like this since he got into the truck to come back to the cabin. His car getting a flat isn’t that big of a deal. I have no idea why he’s so upset . . . well, not no idea. I might have caused some of this since I did avoid him at every turn tonight.

Cringing, I sigh. Might as well get this over with.

“Please don’t be mad,” I whisper. “You have to understand why we have to be careful. Mom and Dad can’t know,” I stress.

Kaleb drops to the sofa, his head in his hands.

When he finally looks up, he props his head on his entwined fingers. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

My stomach sinks. “Tell you what?”