Free Young Revelations (Young Series) by W.R. Kimble

then we went to the grocery store.”
    I nod in acknowledgment and we fall into a comfortable silence together as she finishes cooking dinner, neither of us willing to move away from our embrace. Eventually it becomes a necessity, as she has to remove the baked chicken from the oven. Even still, I’m reluctant to leave the room to change or play with my son before dinner. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly feeling clingier than usual to Samantha; maybe because of the confrontation with my father today; maybe because of my brief panic when I walked in the door and didn’t hear anybody. Whatever the cause, Samantha is starting to realize something’s off.
    She turns around briefly. “How was your day?” she asks quietly.
    My entire body tenses at her question and I glance around the kitchen with the hope of finding an answer to pacify her for now. Dinnertime is not the best time for this conversation, especially since I know it will upset Samantha and I don’t want Tyler to have to see that if I can help it. “It was fine,” I lie. “Busy.”
    Her brow furrows and I realize I can’t lie to her. “Matt…” she whispers, looking at me with an almost pleading expression. “I thought we—”
    I don’t know what it was she had been about to say; Tyler enters and immediately locates me, wrapping his arms around my legs and looking up at me toothily. I grin, reaching down to pick him up as he tells me all about his day in very fine detail. Catching a glimpse of Samantha as we leave the set the table, I know we’ll be having a very in-depth conversation later on.
    ––––-o––––-
    After Tyler is tucked into bed, I make my way back through the house to find Matthew. Though our evening was carefree while we entertained our son and I once again felt the wave of guilt over having kept these two separated for so long, my mind was preoccupied by the thought that something is bothering Matthew. We went through this phase eight years ago—something would upset him, but he didn’t want me to worry about whatever it was, so he kept it to himself. I can’t even remember the number of arguments we had because of this tendency. I wanted to know him better, to share in whatever was on his mind; he wanted to protect me from the world. It was maddening. Eventually we came to an understanding that if we wanted our relationship to succeed, we needed to act like mutual partners. There were still some things he couldn’t tell me for any number of reasons, but he was much more open to me than we’d ever been. With five years between us, I can understand his reticence to share things with me, especially as we’re still trying to get to know one another again after so long of keeping things to ourselves. He’s so accustomed to bottling things up—so am I for that matter—and I know if we keep on like this, it will only lead to arguments.
    “Hey,” I say quietly, entering the basement. Matthew is sitting on the edge of the couch, head bowed as though he’s in prayer, a glass of what I assume to be bourbon between his hands. His eyes snap up to meet mine and he gives me a small smile, patting the cushion beside him in invitation. Setting aside his drink, he instead wraps his arms around me before I’m even sitting down completely. I chuckle, resting my head on his shoulder and feel his entire body relaxing. As much as I want to keep the tension away from him, we need to talk and I really have no idea how to broach the subject without seeming like I’m prying.
    Like always, though, Matthew has a sixth sense of what I’m thinking and feeling. He sighs heavily, tightening the arms around my waist before he begins to speak quietly. “My father came to see me today.”
    It’s my turn to tense up. Of course that would be the reason for his bad mood. The mere mention of his father is enough to ruin my contentment of being in Matthew’s arms. “Oh?” I say quietly, my eyes scanning the room looking for some unknown