Page 19 of The Final Storm
Maybe the Captain insisted on speaking with him right away. Or whatever Caleb said to him needed his attention before he came back.
Or maybe this is about the woman from my premonitions.
I can’t understand my feelings or reaction to his disappearance. Frustrated and confused, I try to meditate on my visions. The woman in white stands before me, but all that comes is a repeat of the nightmare and her harsh words.“You should leave. He doesn’t want you here. No one wants you here. You weren’t supposed to even be here.”
Sam rejected me earlier. Did I miss the signs of my vision? Was I the reflection in the nightgown, warning me not to come?
Slow beeps come from the door, signaling someone has arrived, and I scramble to my feet, my heart racing in my chest. It opens with a click, and Sam takes a few hesitant steps inside. He has a bag in his left hand, and he’s wearing a fresh change of clothes. I smell soap and the glistening of his hair proves he’s showered. I lift my chin and cross my arms. He can sense my agitation. I can almost taste it in the air between us.
Standing on the other side of the room, he pauses before he shuts the door behind him, not stepping forward. “Did our bags make it here? Caleb got me some clothes after Luke coughed blood on mine.”
“Yes,” I clip, staring at him, waiting for an explanation. Hopefully, he will continue talking in the discomfort.
There’s a soft thud when he tosses the bag on a side table. “I’ll take Morgan now. I spoke to a nurse, and they want to check her out immediately.”
“Immediately,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my tone. “Immediately was probably three hours ago.”
“A lot has happened. I can’t discuss it right now, but let me get her.”
“I’ll take her,” I seethe. “Just wait. Let me get our things.”
Sam clears his throat and raises his hand. He takes a few hesitant steps toward me. When he reaches his arms around my middle, I melt from instinct. My resolve wanes in his arms when he places his chin atop my head, and I can’t stop myself from curling into his muscular chest.
Fuck, I hate myself for giving into him sometimes.
“You aren’t cleared to go in with her,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.”
I take a step back, breaking our hold. “What?”
“Like I said, a lot has happened. Their security is tighter than ever.”
“I will be with my daughter, or she isn’t going,” I argue.
Sam steps closer, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing. “That’s not the right choice, and you know it. Be reasonable. I’ll get you clearance. It just takes time.”
I feel like I’m choking, as if the air escaped our small room. Heat flares on my skin, and I feel the red creep up my chest and neck. “Youaren’t being reasonable. What happened with Caleb? Why are you being so cold? And what the fuck could be so terrible that a mother can’t be with her newborn because of security?”
Sam reaches his hand to me, and I jolt back, my back hitting the wall of our cabin, making my head thud against the steel. I rub the spot and watch the vein on his neck pump in a steady rhythm while nothing else on his face moves. He’s stern, determined not to let a fight break out between us. Both his hands encase me, caging me in, and he presses our bodies together. He takes in a deep breath, and I feel the pressure of his chest press into mine, trapped against this wall. “For one, the Thalassa has disappeared off the map.”
It takes a moment for his words to register. Communications have always been a problem. Although we like to think the survivors want to care for each other, this place is every man for himself. I doubt anyone would care unless they needed something from the Thalassa.
“What happened?” I murmur through my confusion.
Sam presses his face into my neck, his teeth grating on my skin, sending a rush of heat where he touches. He kisses the sensitive part he knows makes my entire body melt. “I think Dean.”
His efforts don’t work. I stiffen, and I can’t hide the tremble that comes next.
“You don’t know that,” I whisper. “Maybe it sunk.”
“They could track that,” Sam continues. “The ship…it detached the communications and tracking devices purposely.”
“It did that? Or he did that?” I bite out.
“Precisely my point, so if I’m a little distracted, if I’m not the best husband,” he draws out the words husband, making his point known. “It’s because other things are on my mind.”
I try to push him away, and he leans forward, the weight of him heavy on my body, making it impossible to escape. “We have to be careful right now. No one here knows your connection to Dean, but it’s only a matter of time…”
“Let me go.”
