Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 22

Trigger warning: assault.

A plane appeared from behind the mountains, its lights winking among the starts. Samuel followed it with his eyes, from east to west, until it disappeared from its line of vision. Where was it going? LA? Seattle? San Francisco? Or somewhere more exotic like Hawaii or Japan? How many souls onboard? How many dreams, accomplishments, or broken hearts? Were those people flying from or towards something?

Samuel was still. Immobile.

Frozen on the same chair where he'd slumped hours before. He only knew because the fool moon, too, had moved, reflecting off the empty bottle of vinegary Barefoot that had rattled to the edge of the patio.

The anger was long gone. A feeling more insidious had settled in, closer to hate, but not quite; he was too numb for hate.

In only two days, his life had rocketed out of control, leaving behind the ghost of the person he craved to be.

The front door opened, but it couldn't get Samuel to move. His gaze remained on the mountains. Cheryl would find him. She always did.

Footsteps followed, heavier, then muffled on the carpet.

Would she read the betrayal on his face?

"Smooch?" Her voice was a soft attempt in the hall. More steps. "Sam?" The curtains swooshed. "Sam, it's three in the morning. What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep." Facing her was impossible.

"Was my father that bad?" Warm arms wrapped around his shoulder. Cheryl's hair tickled his cheek, her embrace a cloud of Angel and disinfectant.

"No worse than usual."

She chuckled and kissed his neck, washing away Rivers' sin.

"Did you have a good time?" Another kiss.

Samuel closed his eyes. Why was she taunting him like that? What was she trying to prove?

"Yeah."

"I'm glad." She bit his earlobe. "I'm gonna take a shower. Come to bed."

Cheryl let him go, squeezing his shoulder on the way. Was that an invitation or a challenge?

"I'll be right there." His words were low, spoken to himself.

He stood and kicked the empty bottle into the garden. Rivers wouldn't stand between him and Cheryl, no matter how wicked his game. Of course, Samuel had to take responsibility for his actions, too. After all, he allowed Rivers to exploit his addiction and indulged in that moment of deceitful pleasure. As repulsive as it was, it made everything crystal clear—he couldn't hesitate anymore. It was time to make the final step with Cheryl.

Strawberry steam spilled from the bathroom into the bedroom, like the mellow light flooding the carpet and the pristine comforter. Cheryl's humming turned the night extra sweet. Samuel removed his wine-stained t-shirt and tossed it into the laundry basket near the door, then leaned against the frame.

"Shit!" Cheryl jumped, halting on the threshold. "You scared the hell out of me. Why are you lurking in the dark?" Her skimpy pajamas stuck to her damp skin and droplets fell from the wet tips of her hair.

Samuel pulled her closer by the waist. "You look beautiful."

She did. Like a controversial painting. His dick would get the memo soon.

Cheryl smiled, her lips sealed. "And you sound drunk, Mr. Reid. Let's put you to—"

He shut her up with a kiss that met no resistance. Her hands slid over his shoulders and up the back of his head, bringing him even closer. That was it—what he needed all along. He lift her from under her thighs and carried her to the bed, landing on top of her.