Page 37 of Waiting for a Prince
Groggily, Mark sat up in bed. There it was again. Then he realized it was his phone in the living room.
He pushed back the solitary sheet that covered his naked form and staggered out of bed. Coming home and drinking two or three glasses of whiskey had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now?
Areallybad idea.
Mark groaned as the phone buzzed once more. He grabbed it, and stared at Sam’s name on the screen.
Are youkiddingme?
He clicked on Answer. “Sam. It’s late.” The words slid out of his mouth unevenly.
“Mark, I’m downstairs. Lemme in.” Sam’s speech was slurred.
He froze.No fucking way. How in the hell had Sam found him? He’d never been to the flat. Mark scrubbed a hand acrosshis cheek, the rasp of his stubble all too loud. “Go away, Sam.” The words sounded so weary to his ears. He hung up, and stumbled toward his bedroom. He wasn’t ready for more of the same, especially since it appeared Sam was even more drunk than when he’d left.
The phone’s insistent buzzing stopped him in his tracks.
Mark cursed under his breath and lurched back to the living room. He clicked on Answer once more. “I mean it, Sam. Go the hell away. You said all you needed to in the pub.”
There was no way Mark wanted to hear it again.
“Mark, please.” Something in Sam’s voice tore at him. “Don’ turn me away. I need to speak to you.” There was a pause. “Please, mate. ’S important.”
Mark hesitated, his finger hovering over the icon to end the call. He was in no fit state to have a conversation.
He sounds as if he needs you.
Mark hated that a tiny part of him remained stupidly hopeful. Sighing heavily, he pushed the door release button, then spoke into his phone. “Come on up. Second floor. It’s the flat on the right.”
“Oh, thank God.” The note of relief in Sam’s voice was unmistakable.
Mark staggered into his bedroom and snatched his robe from its hook on the back of the door. He slipped into it swiftly, tugging it around him and tying it tightly. He went to the door, unbolted it and pulled it open. Sam had just reached the top stair. He held onto the rail, panting.
“Get in here, quickly.” Mark grabbed hold of Sam’s arm and hauled him into the flat. He pushed the door closed as quietly as he could. Ron across the hall worked on the rubbish bins and always got up at the crack of dawn. It wouldn’t do to piss off his neighbours. Once Sam was inside, Mark locked and bolted thedoor as silently as possible. Sam leaned back against the wall of the small hallway, as if the wall was propping him up.
“Come into the living room,” Mark told him and led him into the long room which contained his living room at one end and kitchen at the other. He pointed toward the long sofa. “Sit.” He switched on the small table lamp that stood next to it.
Sam flopped down onto the sofa, his head lolling back against the seat cushions. He closed his eyes.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Mark shook him roughly by the arm. When Sam opened his eyes, Mark fixed him with an intense look. “What do you want, Sam?”
Sam stared up at him with such a look of abject misery that Mark caught his breath.
“Need to talk to you,” he slurred.
Mark frowned. “Did you find somewhere else to drink after you left the pub?” Sam’s head bobbed once. That gave rise to another question. “Sam, how did you find me?”
“Waited in a doorway ’til you left,” he confessed. “I hid when you came out so’s you wouldn’t see me. Followed you home. Thought ’bout ringin’ the bell, but didn’t have the nerve.” He gulped. “Then I went to the off license and bought a bottle o’ Scotch.” Sam closed his eyes. “I sat on the beach at the end of your road, drinkin’, ’til I couldn’t stand it anymore.” He choked out the words.
The haunted look in Sam’s eyes, his quivering chin, the tremors that rippled through him…
This guy is a mess.
Mark longed to touch him, to comfort him, but the memory of Sam’s coldly delivered speech was still too raw. “You’re in no state to talk,” Mark said gently. “I think you should go.” He winced as his head throbbed.
“Please!” The word burst from Sam’s lips. “Don’ make me go!” To Mark’s dismay, two fat tears slid from beneath Sam’s eyelids, rolling down his cheeks. “I don’ wanna go home.”
The words tugged at Mark’s heart. “Oh, Sam.” Those piercing blue eyes held the threat of more tears. There was no trace of the man who had left him alone in the pub.
