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Samson cocked his head. “You mean you—”
“You were so fucked up, I knew you’d never remember.” Frank’s calm conversational tone sent a chill up Samson’s spine. “It was the best for all of us.”
“Then you hung it over my head and used it as leverage. Made me believe I—”
“Who do you think got the cops to drop the charges?”
“I carried that guilt around for the last ten years.” Samson’s chest tightened with the painful guilt.
“That conscience of yours gets you in trouble every time.” Frank huffed out a laugh. “With all this shit, I just felt you should know the truth.”
Samson slammed his hand against the wall as he made sense of Frank’s words. The eerie reminder of the past made him want to rail against the injustice and send Frank straight to hell. What was and what could’ve been meshed together. Frank’s revelation hit Samson square between the eyes and in a twisted way it relieved him of the constant burden that haunted him.
* * *
Exhaustion overcame Lisbeth as the whole night came crashing down on her. She leaned heavily on Samson in the elevator, and when they got to the penthouse, he led her into the bedroom.
“I’d like to shower,” she mumbled against his chest, desperately needing to wash the night away.
Samson adjusted the body sprays in the walk-in shower so they didn’t wet her bandages, then he gently removed the sling and tested the temperature. She stepped in and let the warm water sluice down her back. A slow-motion movie played over the last few hours: the terror of seeing Edward holding a gun on Samson, their brutal struggle, the loud explosion of gunfire in the small room, and the fiery sting of the bullet. The doctor said she was lucky it only grazed her upper arm, but she needed stitches. The amount of blood still shocked her.
She turned off the water, and Samson was waiting to wrap her in a plush towel. He guided Lisbeth into the bedroom, helped her into her pajamas, pulled down the bed covers, and she began to relax.
“I really don’t feel that bad.” She tried to reassure him because his heavy silence somewhat unnerved her.
“That’s because you’re still loaded up with lidocaine. Get in bed, and I’ll get your pain pills.”
When he returned, Lisbeth stared at him, trying to decipher his reaction.
“What?”
“You’re acting so serious, and it’s freaking me out. I’m going to be fine.”
Samson wordlessly handed her the pill along with a glass of water.
“Even the doctor said the bullet just grazed me.” She rested her bandaged arm over her chest.
“Just grazed you? An inch to the left and it would’ve shattered your upper arm. Four inches to the left, and it would’ve hit your fuckin’ heart, so don’t—” He sank to the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. “When I saw that blood—”
“Hey.” She reached out to him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You got shot with a fuckin’ bullet meant for me.” He turned toward her. “I should’ve protected you. I should’ve—”
“Don’t.” She stroked the side of Samson’s cheek, her heart aching at the pain etched across his face.
He covered her hand with his. “If anything happened to you I—”
She leaned up to him. “The minute you wrapped me in your arms, I felt safe.”
“Fuckin’ scared the shit outta me.” He blinked hard, then wiped his eyes.
Lisbeth’s eyes welled up, too, and she pulled him to her. They stayed that way for a long time, drawing comfort from one another and knowing they could get through anything after tonight as long as they were together.
* * *
Aweek later, Lisbeth woke up to the scent of coffee and strolled into the kitchen to find Samson busy plating her dish with bacon, eggs, and his award-winning waffles. All her favorite breakfast foods. She sat at the island’s granite countertop, smiling at the feast before her.
Samson’s gaze lingered on her shoulder. She’d gotten rid of the sling, and the only trace of her gunshot wound was a square gauze pad. The doctor was impressed with her healing ability and assured her she’d have no mobility problems in the future. Despite the good news, she knew Samson was still worried.
