Page 61 of Wicked Little Secret

I tumbled to the ground, mud splattering onto the secondhand dress I had thought was so pretty when I put it on that morning…

On Friday night, for a second time in my life, Samson had knocked me to the dirt. He sought to hurt me…

Professor Adler might not understand what he did showing up when he did, but he was interjecting himself in decades-old trauma. He was rescuing me in that moment from my tormentor.

As far as I’m concerned, Samson’s concussion and cracked open skull aren’t enough karma for what he’s done. He deserves to go down in a fiery blaze like the rest of them.

I’ll do everything within my power to ensure he does.

I show up to his hospital room to find Katie and Macey coming out. Macey has an arm tossed around Katie’s shoulders as she quakes from her sobs.

“Nyssie,” Macey says the second she spots me. “We were wondering when you’d come by. Samson’s asking for you.”

I barely conceal the incredulous quirk of my brow. “He is, is he?”

“Katie, why don’t you go clean up your face in the bathroom? I’ll come find you.”

The mousy brunette nods between choked sobs and dabbing at her eyes with the tissues she’s clutching. She plods off down the corridor, the sniffling sound she makes following her every step of the way.

Macey waits ’til she’s sure Katie’s gone before she speaks. “I get you and Samson are having issues right now.”

“Issues?” I interrupt despite myself. “You mean like him cheating on me?”

“You know how Heather is. She sleeps around. Stealing men is her thing.”

“Macey, a man can’t be stolen unless hewantsto be,” I snap. “Samson made his choice. He stuck his dick in Heather—and probably other girls—and a concussion doesn’t change that.”

She folds her arms, her expression puckered. “All I’m saying is, people make mistakes.”

“They do. I don’t hate Samson.”

Lies.

“But that doesn’t mean I have to accept his cheating.”

Nice save.

“I’m here, right?” I ask, tone blunt and unapologetic. “I care about his well-being.”

…and we’re back to lying.

“I want to make sure he’s okay,” I say. “I want to speak to him too.”

Macey sighs, still with a dissatisfied bend to her mouth, but she nods. “Maybe you guys can talk it out. Come to a new understanding.”

It takes a great amount of restraint to keep from rolling my eyes. I let Macey pass me by with a mention that she’s going to find Katie, then I venture into Samson’s room.

A calmness washes over me. More than the usual kind of calm that leaves you feeling peaceful and devoid of stressors.

It’s a calm that’s commanding—if such a thing exists—a calm that’s born from the knowledge I’m in control the moment I walk into the room and find that we’re alone.

Samson’s propped up by a stack of pillows, haloed by the natural light from the hospital window. He’s got IVs stuck into his arms and a thick bandage wrapped around his head. The TV’s on, but it might as well be off for how much he’s paying attention to it.

I come up on the side of his bed. Sensing my presence, his bleary eyes drift over to me.

“Nyssa…” he mumbles. He sounds like he has cotton in his mouth. “Hey… you came…”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

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