Vice probably had now and so much more if he’d gone through Sam’s photos, and I prayed he hadn’t done that.
Even so, the thought should’ve embarrassed me, but it didn’t. All I could think about was Sam wanting proof of something we spent most of our time hiding.
He had always wanted more than I knew how to give him.
Not more love. I loved that man harder than I’d ever loved anybody. Sam knew that when it was just the two of us.
He wanted more freedom.
He wanted to sit beside me at family dinners without checking how close we were. He wanted to answer honestly when somebody asked why we kept showing up at the same places. Some days, he talked about telling his mother. Other days, the thought scared him enough to make him change the subject.
I never pushed, either.
At the time, I thought I was protecting him by letting him move at his own pace. Now I wondered whether my silence had made it easier for him to believe hiding was the only option.
I set the picture on the nightstand instead of putting it back in the drawer.
There was nobody left to hide it from.
My phone vibrated again, this time with a message from the man trying to trace the prepaid number.
Him:No subscriber information. Phone was bought with cash. Last active near Grady, then shut off. Still checking nearby cameras.
I read it twice before typing a response.
Me:Find out where it was bought. I don’t care how long it takes.
The answer came back almost immediately.
Him:Working on it.
I set the phone down and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Sam had been warned to leave something alone, and instead of backing off, he’d gone deeper. That was him. Oncehe believed something mattered, getting him to let it go was damn near impossible.
I’d tried…
The last real argument we had started over the same shit that got him killed.
Sam had come into the house late, a mug on his face and his mind somewhere else. I’d been sitting in the living room waiting on him because he’d ignored three calls and a text asking where he was.
“You know how to answer your phone,” I said when he walked in.
He shut the door and tossed his keys on the table. “I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Handling something.”
“That ain’t an answer.”
“It’s the one I’m giving.”
I watched him cross the room, already knowing the conversation was about to go left. “This got something to do with Vice?”
Sam stopped walking.
That answered me before he opened his mouth.
“Who told you that?”
