Page 56 of Allegiant

By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging for death. Even then, I might make him wait.

Eternity might not be long enough for everything I’m already planning.

14

ROWAN

Samson doesn’t leave my side.

He holds me all through the rest of the night, whispering words of comfort each time I fall apart. Feeding me water when the tears make me dehydrated. Cuddling me closer when I fear I’m coming apart at the seams, like he alone can hold me together.

Maybe he can. Without him, I’m not sure I would’ve made it through. Not in one piece, anyway.

But as the early morning sun filters through the closet door, I realize that’s exactly what’s happened. My eyes open with an audible crack, my body aching from the way I tensed while sobbing. Didn’t help that I spent most of it on the floor.

Though, somehow, in the middle of the night, I made it to bed.

I have a feeling Samson carried me there, tucking me under the covers.

I wish he hadn’t. I deserve to suffer like Adam did, alone, cold. On the floor.

I rub at my eyes and let out a soft grunt as I tuck my face back into the pillow. It smells of Samson, of the man who spent the night with me, who has spent the past few days trying to distract me from the inevitable.

I’ve made it through the worst day of my life, and yet I don’t feel any better. Adam’s still gone, and I’m meant to live the rest of my life without him.

The bed dips, and I turn, my vision slightly blurred as I make out Samson sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup of tea in his hand. “Good morning.”

I groan and roll over, my limbs not working the way they should.

“Made you some tea,” he says, holding the mug toward me. When I don’t move to grab it, he sets it down on the end table and crawls in behind me, pulling me between his spread legs, my back to his chest, his hand resting on my bare abdomen.

He reaches over, grabbing the mug and curling my hand around it.

“You need to drink something that’s not tequila.”

That word has my stomach sloshing uncomfortably.

My lips hit the edge of the mug, and I sip. It’s the perfect temperature, the perfect cup of tea. I don’t know how he knows this, but I don’t really care how he found out.

“Good boy,” he says softly, his hand stroking across my skin.

I lean back slightly, letting my head lean against his shoulder, a sigh escaping my throat. “You don’t need to stay here. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“I don’t,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck.

Pleasure pulses through me, but I’m not going to follow up on it. Not today. It made sense before the anniversary of his death, but now it feels wrong.

But Samson’s lips leave me before I can say anything, and he just holds me while I sip my tea, trying to find my footing so I can face the day. I took a few days off knowing I wouldn’t cope well, but I know I can’t just rot in bed. I need to get up and do something.

My mind goes to Larry and the concerned way he banged on my closet wall last night.

I should check on him, or at least stop by to let him know I’m alive. I don’t want him worrying. Not that he’d admit he was, but still.

“Why are you so tense?” Samson asks, his hand moving up to massage my shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

“Larry.”

“Why?”