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It'd been ten days since we’d put our makeshift plan into place and while there was no evidence that Bishop was watching us, I knew in my gut that he was. I had absolutely no proof, though. I hated the waiting. I hated knowing that he was out there hunting us, planning the moment when he could carry out his attack. I was forced to rely on others to watch my back, which served only to make me more restless and frustrated. I wanted this whole thing to be over. I wanted Bishop six feet under and I wanted Sam to…
Fuck, I didn't know what I wanted from Sam.
Although we touched and kissed for the sake of anyone watching us, Sam avoided me like the plague when it was just the two of us.
While on our supposedly intimate dates, we might've looked like we were deep in discussion about something moving, but we’d kept the conversations pretty light. In fact, it'd been one of the few bright spots in the farce we’d been putting on. In those moments where we were supposedly murmuring words of love and devotion to one another, we'd actually been talking about the most mundane of things and it had ended up turning into a game of sorts.
It had started on the first date when I’d told Sam that we needed to look like we were lost in each other. When we’d leaned into one another, he'd told me to talk to him about something, anything to keep him from completely freaking out. I'd ended up talking about munitions. That had only served to make Sam even more nervous, so he’d jokingly told me that if I was going to talk about guns and bombs, to at least pick something boring like how to clean them. So that was exactly what I’d done. I'd given him an in-depth lesson on how to correctly clean a gun.
The next day, I'd gotten a very long and very dull lecture on investment options for someone of my age and income bracket. Since Sam had been pressing soft kisses to my lips every few minutes, I'd been more than happy to stay there all day, though I still couldn't remember a single thing the man had said to me about my retirement options.
But as light as those moments had been, I knew that Sam and I were reaching our breaking point. Ronan had suggested more than once to me that I let someone else take over the responsibility of staying in the house with Sam overnight, but I'd nixed that idea from the get-go. Not only did I not trust anyone else with Sam’s safety, I couldn't bring myself to leave him for even the shortest amount of time. As it was, when I couldn't sleep, which was most nights, I found myself watching Sam as he slept.
When I heard footsteps entering the kitchen behind me, I forced myself to focus on the pasta I'd been draining for the past ten minutes. We'd arrived back at Sam's house a good thirty minutes ago and while Sam had disappeared into his room, I'd started the task of getting some dinner going, though I doubted either of us was hungry.
"I've got some spaghetti going here," I murmured as Sam moved past me to get to the refrigerator.
"I'm not hungry," he responded.
"You should eat something."
"Should I?" Sam asked. The irritation was clear in his voice.
"I can make something else," I offered.
"No thanks," Sam muttered and then he was slamming the refrigerator door shut. I resisted the urge to grab him as he moved past me again.
"Sam, I know this is tough, but I'm sure it'll be over soon," I said as I turned around to watch him.
"Well good, as long as you’re sure," Sam drawled.
It was on the tip of my tongue to call him out for his childish behavior, but then I remembered everything he'd given up because of me—because I hadn't been up front with him about myself. And because I'd been the one who’d brought this threat into his life. I dropped my eyes and went back to draining the already drained pasta.
"I'll leave you a plate in the microwave in case you change your mind," I offered. I picked up the colander full of pasta but when I went to pour it into a bowl, Sam was there. He snatched the colander out of my hand and flung it across the room, sending pasta flying.
"I don't want any fucking pasta!" he snapped. "I want this to be over! I want to know that my kids are safe. I want to know that my son is sleeping soundly in his own bed! I want—"
Sam's tirade was interrupted by the kitchen door being thrown open. I automatically stepped in front of Sam and drew my gun. I drew in a heavy breath when I realized it was one of Ronan's men. As soon as he saw me and Sam, he lowered his own gun and muttered, "Everything okay in here? I heard a noise."
