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“So,” I hesitate.
“I meant everything I said at the cemetery tonight. You are it for me. But I need you to understand what that means.” He takes a few moments before he says anything further. The thick silence stretches out between us making me uncomfortable.
“After Matthew died in my arms, my commanding officer insisted that I go through therapy. My mind was in a constant state of battle with itself. I was miserable but I didn’t think I needed help. I fought it until I broke down one night. Nothing even initiated it, but I’d hit rock bottom and I knew I needed to talk to someone about everything I kept bottled up inside.” Sam runs his hand down his face then places his hands on the counter on either side of me.
“I see it in your eyes. I see the pain you try to hide. I see how broken you are when you hold yourself together. I see all that because I’ve been there. You haven’t moved on from your parents’ deaths or Matt’s. That depression and loneliness follow you like a cloud. Of course no one else sees because you’re good at faking it. You’re good at putting on the face that everyone expects from you. But I truly see you. I see the hurt that never healed. I see that little girl that was forced to grow up before her time. I see the fear in your eyes, the fear that everyone you love will leave you in the end. I see you, sunshine. And I don’t want that pain for you.” Sobs wrack through my body as I try to reel in the emotions, but the more I try the more everything comes pouring out. Sam takes my injured hand in his, kissing my knuckles lightly then holding it up for me to see.
“This is from anger that has accumulated over time and finally was set free. You’re hurting yourself.” He pulls me into his warm embrace as my cries continue. I can’t deny what he’s said even though I want to. But I'd be lying. He’s right about everything.
“How do I make it better?” I murmur against his chest. “How do I make the pain go away? I’m so tired of hurting, Sam. So tired.” He holds me tighter, rubbing my back in comforting circles.
“You need to talk to someone. You’ve got to get it all out or you’re never going to be okay. You’ll always have that darkness hanging over you. I don’t want that for you. I want you to be happy. Full of life. I need you, sunshine.”
I nod my head in agreement. “But what will people think of me?”
“Who cares what anyone thinks? If they aren’t a positive force in your life then they don’t deserve a spot to be there. Fuck them. It’s time to take care of you.” Sam kisses the top of my head then pulls my chin up.
“Let’s get your hands cleaned up so we can get in bed. I think some cuddles are needed. It’s been a long day. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? I’ll make some calls and move around my schedule, you try to do the same.” The thought is intriguing. I hardly ever just take a day off, but I’m starting to think I need to begin listening to my heart and not be consumed by the need to progress in my career. I think I’ve worked so hard to keep the pain away but it never disappears does it? It hits you when you least expect it.
Samuel
Once Marcy’s hands are bandaged, we slide into bed.
“Oh, let me message Sarah and Nora about tomorrow.” She grabs her phone to send out a couple texts then puts it away. I already called Philip, my second in command, to set up some time off. He’ll only call me if there is a breach in someone's security. He does well stepping into leadership if ever the need arises.
The heavy conversation still lingers in the air like echoes in an empty room, refusing to fade away. I know it’s still not the right time to tell her about my private investigator following her or the fact that I’ve been funneling business to her to ensure her continued success. Using the ‘trust card’ earlier but not using it myself is going to bite me in the ass. I know it. I’ve got to find a way to tell Marcy everything without her freaking the fuck out.
Marcy snuggles in close as I wrap my arm around her, pulling her in tighter. The warmth of her arm around my waist, and the gentle weight of her head on my chest, ease the fears I have when she finds out the truth. I close my eyes, wishing there was an easier way to approach this subject with her. She’s going to see it as a betrayal and I’m not sure I disagree with her. I let out a deep sigh trying to live here in the moment with Marcy.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Marcy runs her hand through my hair, pulling softly.
“Of course, it’s just been a long day.” I lean over kissing her forehead then return to my pillow. She hesitates for a moment then follows suit.
“Thank you for tonight. All of it. Even caring enough to follow me to the cemetery,” she whispers after a beat.
“I told you I would always be there for you and I meant it, even all those years ago.”
“I’m starting to realize that.” Her foot drags across my leg before she drapes it over.
I love that she’s getting more and more comfortable with me. She’s the perfect fit beside me. Our bodies mold together like clay on a potter’s wheel—soft, yielding, and shaped by the hands of intimacy. In this delicate dance, we become one, our contours fitting seamlessly, as if the universe conspired to create this perfect fusion. And so, we both become art—a sculpture of passion, a masterpiece of connection. In this moment, I find home.
Chapter 19
Marcy
Weeks pass, weaving threads of connection into a tapestry of shared moments. Sam’s laughter becomes a familiar melody. It dances through the rooms of his penthouse, echoing off walls. I often find myself laughing as well from the silly and completely lame dad jokes that Sam seems to have saved up just for me. Words spill forth—dreams, fears, childhood memories. Sam tells me stories about the military and shows the accompanying scars written across his skin. Mentions of Matt and the military become easier and easier to bear, even though I haven’t gone to therapy yet. Maybe the night in the cemetery was enough to get everything off my chest. I’ve felt lighter since that night, even if I have slipped back into the habit of putting on the brave face everyone has come to expect. Sam sees the truth but he hasn’t pressed the issue again.
We spend our nights either at Sam’s or mine, although it's mostly his. He plans dates that blow any others I’ve had out of the water. I think that’s his goal, he wants to wipe away any thoughts I have of other men. He doesn't realize they were just placeholders until my real prince came along. Nevertheless, he’s making up for lost time, planning starry rooftop picnics, midnight rides with his top down and the heater on to keep from freezing. We've even taken to finding small second hand bookstores throughout the city.
But lately he’s gone overboard with the flowers sent to my office, surprise lunch dates and even romantic dinners at fancy restaurants. Not that I’m ungrateful but he knows money doesn't impress me.
“You really hit the jackpot with this one, Marce,” Sarah gushes as the newest bouquet arrives at the office. I try to smile at her as she plucks the card from the vase. The flowers seem to be getting more and more extravagant, bordering on insanity. Something doesn't seem right. This isn’t the Sam I knew when I was younger. It’s like he’s forgotten the things that made him unique, instead turning into someone that tries too hard. I guess people change, sometimes imperceptibly, until one day, we look at them and wonder where the familiar contours went. Sam, once a constellation of quirks and idiosyncrasies, now seems to wear a different skin—a borrowed one, perhaps. The essence that made him unique—the way he laughed at obscure jokes, the freckles on his hands, the way he hummed while cooking—has faded like an old photograph left in sunlight.
Sarah hands me the card and I hesitate to even open it. I have this overwhelming feeling in my mind that he is doing all of this to hide a part of himself that he doesn't want to be seen. Or more specifically doesn't want me to see.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Open it! Let's see what Mr. Knight has to say today,” Nora chimes in. I nod meanwhile wishing I didn’t have to do this with an audience.
Sunshine,
