Page 37 of Wrecked (McIntyre Security Bodyguard #16)

As I watch Sam walk out of the reception, an icy chill settles in my chest. I think I just screwed up royally.

My heart aches as I watch him struggle on those damn crutches.

He shouldn’t be on them—it’s too soon. And yet he risked a fall just so he could ask me to dance. In front of all these people.

And I threw his gesture right back in his face.

Sam doesn’t look back once. He just walks on, and probably every step is agony for him, both physically and emotionally.

I’m a shitty boyfriend. He deserves better, and I definitely don’t deserve him.

Once he’s gone from sight, I glance around the room to find everyone looking at me with emotions ranging from confusion to disappointment to disgust.

Shane takes pity on me as he lays his hand on my back. “Maybe you should go talk to him.”

My gut is hollowed out. “I doubt he wants to see me right now, let alone talk to me.” The look on his face. The sense of utter betrayal. I did that to him.

“Beth is with him now,” Shane says. “Let her calm him down, and then maybe you can try later.”

I leave the great room through the kitchen, stopping to grab a beer from the fridge. I need to get out of here. Hell, I need to get drunk, but I can’t right now—not with a houseful of watchful eyes.

I leave through a side door and head down to the private dock, where Shane keeps his boats moored. I walk out to the end of the pier and stare down at the rippling water as it surges against the dock.

I take a long swig of my beer and wish it were something stronger. What I really want right now is whiskey, but there are too many people in the great room where the bar is located.

Being by the water reminds me of home. As a kid, I spent so much time fishing in rivers and lakes. There wasn’t much else to do after school let out. I was a poor kid who lived in a small, isolated town, in constant fear of people finding out that I liked boys, not girls.

Growing up, I remember more than one boy who simply disappeared without explanation.

Folks just went on with their lives pretending they never existed.

Later on, I’d hear rumors that they were sent away to live with relatives.

Those boys never came back, not even to visit. It was like they never existed.

I ended up being one of those boys when I ran away from home and hitchhiked north to my aunt in Illinois. When she called my dad to let him know I was with her—so he wouldn’t worry—he told her to keep me. He told her if he ever saw me again, he’d kill me.

My folks wanted me to disappear and never return. Anything to put an end to the rumors about that Daniel Cooper kid getting caught making out with another boy.

But at least I survived. Poor Cody wasn’t so lucky.

The bullying was terrible.

The terrorizing was endless.

My stomach knots when I think about Cody. I wish I’d never met him. If I hadn’t, he might still be alive. I loved a boy, and it got him killed. I swore on Cody’s memory I’d never let that happen again.

So what did I do instead? I broke the heart of the most amazing man I’ve ever known.

I hear footsteps on the wooden planks as someone approaches. A moment later, Shane’s at my side. He stands next to me, quiet, just lending me support I don’t deserve.

I tip back the bottle and guzzle the last of the beer.

Finally, Shane breaks his silence. “I think you should tell Sam about Cody. At least then he’d understand where you’re coming from.”

“That won’t undo the damage I did tonight.”

“Maybe not, but it’s a start.”

* * *

Once it’s dark, I sneak back into the house through the front door and head upstairs. I need to fix this, no matter what it takes. I’ve let Sam down so many times, he’s bound to give up on me and walk away for good. I’d never survive that.

When I get to our room, I listen for a moment through the door to make sure he’s alone. If Beth is still with him, I won’t interrupt. But after listening for a full five minutes, I don’t hear a thing. So, I grasp the doorknob.

It’s locked.

He’s locked me out.

I knock quietly. “Sam?”

There’s no answer. So I try again, knocking a little bit louder in case he’s in the bathroom and can’t hear me. Or possibly asleep.

Still no answer.

Beth must not be in there, or surely she would have opened the door.

I knock again, trying to be discreet and not alert everyone on this floor that I can’t get into my own room.

When it’s clear Sam’s not in the mood to answer—or see me—I sit on the floor and lean against the door.

I’ll wait as long as it takes.

A couple of hours later, after knocking multiple times and still getting no response, I rise and stretch my numb legs. It’s clear I’m in the doghouse tonight.

So I head downstairs. It’s late evening now, and the great room is cleared out. I grab a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler and disappear into the library. In here, it’s dark and quiet.

I find a comfortable armchair in a corner, open the bottle, and start pouring the first of many drinks that night. I pull up a small end table to prop my feet on and get comfortable. It looks like I’ll be sleeping here tonight with just a bottle of liquor to keep me company.

It’s more than I deserve.

* * *

I lose track of time. I also lose track of how much alcohol I’ve had to drink. It’s a good thing the bottle wasn’t even half full to start or I might have drunk myself into an alcohol-induced coma.

Eventually, I run out of liquor, and I’m too depressed to bother going in search of more.

I must have dozed off because when I open my eyes, it’s light outside. The morning sunshine is slipping through the blinds, lighting up the room. My head is pounding! I deserve a headache after last night’s binge.

Immediately, I think of Sam. He was alone all night.

I don’t know how he managed on his own. I should have been with him to help him change clothes and go to the bathroom.

I jump up, feeling a sudden and compelling need to check on him and make sure he’s safe.

If he still won’t answer the door, I’ll pick the lock. Anything to get in there to him.

I race up the stairs to our room and try the door knob. It’s unlocked this time, thank God. Maybe he’s had second thoughts about keeping me out.

I step into the room and close the door quietly behind me. It’s dark in here as the shades and curtains are still drawn, keeping out the light.

I walk carefully to the bed, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The bed looks made up, which doesn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t be up this early if he didn’t have to be. It’s barely eight o’clock.

I turn on the bedside lamp and find the bed made neat as a pin. I glance around the room and see… nothing. No wheelchair. No crutches. I check the bathroom—Sam’s toiletries are gone. I check the walk-in closet. His clothes and overnight bag are missing.

At first I think maybe he’s gone downstairs for breakfast, but I quickly dismiss that idea. He wouldn’t have taken everything with him.

Sam’s gone, along with all his belongings.

I change out of last night’s suit, which is horribly wrinkled, and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then I hit the bathroom to pee and wash my face and brush my teeth. I look and feel like shit warmed over. My eyes are bloodshot. My head is killing me.

My heart races as I leave our room and head straight to Beth and Shane’s room. If anyone knows where Sam is, they do.

I knock on their door.

“Come in,” Beth says.

I step inside to find Beth lying in bed, sitting up, propped against a stack of pillows. “Sam’s gone,” I say, getting right to the point. “His room is cleaned out.” Please, Beth, give me some reasonable explanation as to why.

Beth looks gutted, pale as a ghost, as she nods. “Miguel gave him a ride to the airport early this morning. He’s gone to his mom’s.”

Dayton, Ohio?

I can feel the blood leave my face. There’s a roaring in my ears, and the room starts spinning. I drop down onto the side of Beth’s bed and rub my forehead.

He’s gone.

I turn to face her. “Did he say how long he’d be gone?”

“No. He said he was going to recuperate at his mom’s house, and maybe get physical therapy and strength training there.”

That would take months.

I cover my eyes with one hand. He’s left me. I finally screw up the courage to face her. “I fucked up, Beth. I really fucked up.”

She agrees with me. I can see it on her face. “Don’t worry. He said he was coming back. He promised.”

As Beth’s revelation swirls in my head, Shane walks into the room carrying a food tray.

“Here you go,” he says to Beth. “Light toast with a little bit of butter and a cup of decaf with cream and sugar. I also brought you some strawberries. They look good, and you like strawberries.” He nods to me. “Hey, Cooper. You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. Sam’s gone.”

Shane nods. “I know. I’m sorry. He asked me not to tell you until after he was gone.”

I feel sick. “It’s my fault.”

At least Shane has the decency not to contradict me. “Give him time,” he says. “He said he’s coming back, and I believe him. And if he doesn’t, I’ll go after him myself and drag his ass back here.”

I laugh, although the sound is hollow and bitter. “Even if he does come back, it might not be for me. He didn’t leave Chicago, he left me .”

Shane’s expression hardens. “Then you’d better get your act together before it’s too late.”

It goes without saying it might already be too late.

* * *

Life goes on. Beth’s pregnancy is developing well. Shane dotes on her, seeing to her every need. Hell, we both do. She’s the only bright spot in my life right now.

Without Sam, I have nothing. No joy. No pleasure in anything. I realize now how much I crave his presence, his laughter, his smart-aleck ways. I miss holding him at night. I miss kissing him until he can’t breathe. I miss baking him cookies.

I miss everything about him.

I haven’t heard a single thing from him since he left. Not one damn word. I tried calling and texting him, but he blocked me. I guess that tells me everything I need to know.

The only thing saving my sanity right now is that I have his sister’s cell number. I’ve been communicating with Rachel in secret for weeks now. She’s agreed to keep me up to date on Sam’s progress.

She assures me he’s progressing as expected, at least physically.

She lets me know when he’s able to use the crutches, when his cast comes off, when he starts physical therapy.

What she won’t tell me is how he’s doing emotionally.

She tells me enough to let me know he’s safe . I guess that’s all I can ask for.

Eventually, when the two-month mark passes and there’s no sign of Sam returning, Beth starts moping around. I think Shane’s at the end of his rope. He’s talking about going down to Dayton to fetch Sam himself and haul his ass back to Chicago.

If Sam does come back—please, God—the only chance in hell I have of mending this rift between us is to deal with my past once and for all.

I have to put Sweetwater behind me. I have to get justice for Cody.

And there’s only one way for me to get that—by returning to my childhood home and holding those who were responsible for Cody’s death accountable.

I have to do this if I ever hope to have a chance of moving past the trauma and regaining Sam’s trust and— what? His affection? His love?

One evening after dinner, Shane comes to me and says, “I’m going to Dayton tomorrow to bring Sam back. He’s been gone long enough. Beth needs him.”

As my chest tightens, I nod. “I’m going home to Sweetwater to get justice for Cody. That’s my first step in trying to win Sam back.”

“Take Jake with you. You might need some muscle, or at the very least, someone to watch your back. I doubt the residents of Sweetwater are going to appreciate you coming back to raise hell and uncover long-buried secrets.” He clasps my shoulder. “You can do this. I know you can.”

I blow out a heavy breath. “I just hope you’re right.”