Chapter 28

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Sam was exhausted. The smell of the hospital seemed to linger on him and he wanted to burn his clothes. It was the same as last time, sitting there helpless while he watched someone he loved struggle to live. The beeping of that stupid machine, the sound grating against his nerves, had given him a headache. It felt like each gap between beeps was a knife in his stomach.

But it was better than the alternative. The silent machine, no longer metering out a heartbeat. Images of the last time he saw Thomas, still and lifeless in that hospital room, bombarded Sam. He wanted to drive them away.

Then he felt the warm hand of Ali on his back, leading him into the living room of their apartment.

She had persuaded him to come home for a shower and a change of clothes. He was so grateful she was here. At least this time he didn't feel so alone.

But he still felt the guilt.

"Let's sit for a minute," offered Ali. She pulled him on to the sofa, curling into him. Her warmth felt nice. She smelled nice, not like antiseptic. For a moment he was able to push the horrors of the day away. Sam concentrated on her.

But it was a brief reprieve.

He was so tired. He didn't have the strength to fight. Guilt and worry crept back in, his mind rehashing the same argument.

Did he cause this?

Was his father's heart attack because of the argument they had? Was not conforming to the family business so stressful? Sam shook his head. No, he wasn't to blame. Not this time.

"This time?" Ali's voice cut through his thoughts. Had he said something out loud?

"Sorry, what?"

"You said this time you weren't to blame."

"I did?" Sam mentally kicked himself. "I was just ...."

Ali picked up Sam's hand and brought it to her lips for a gentle kiss. "My love. You can tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"The thing that weighs on your mind. That you blame yourself for."

"I don't..." he started to object

"Sam." Ali cut him off. "It's written all over your face."

She reached out and rubbed the spot between his eyes. She had often mentioned she would find the little crease there cute if it wasn't Sam's tell-tale sign, he was worried about something. "For months now, since we came back, I often catch you in thought with this," Ali poked the spot gently, "marking your discomfort. I've tried to give you space, hoping you would open up to me about this. But it's getting worse. Talk to me, Sam. Let me in."

Sam swallowed. He thought he was doing a good job of shielding Ali from his internal demons. Looking at her, he recognized that face – it was one of determination. He was not going to get out of this one with distractions.

Besides, he was too tired to think up a diversion. Tired of holding in what constantly seemed to be on his mind. Reminders of Thomas popped up everywhere, the hospital had simply been too much.

"It was the night of Greyson's party, before the ski trip." When everything was possible. "Remember I told you about it?"

Ali nodded her head in agreement. "The one where Vicky was trying to get your attention."

"Yeah. I'd had enough and was trying to bail, saying I needed to get up early in the morning. Greyson insisted we do a final round of shots to toast new adventures. And that was it. I found myself too drunk to drive and even worse, back in Vicky's arms." It had happened so fast. He thought he was being careful, not drinking at all to keep his whits about him.

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