The Defiant Claim - The Claim: Book 2 [LGBTQ+]
Chapter 3 - Sam (Part 1)

Sam slammed his fist into Cameron’s face, right between the eyes, as hard as he could.

“What the fuck!” Cameron yowled, stumbling back with blood gushing from his nose.

Sam stood in front of the door to the infirmary. His anger and pain rolled off him and coiled his hands into weapons of power. “That’s for nearly killing my mate last night, asshole.”

Cameron’s father, Blair, was with him and growled, making Sam’s head bow in submission to his elder.

“Dammit, Sam! We went over this already!”

“I know, but I’m still pissed!”

He knew he had no right to punch his best friend, but after bottling up his emotions all night, he needed an outlet. Cameron would understand and forgive him, he knew he would.

Lifting his eyes from his hands cupping his nose, Cameron regarded Sam for a moment. Pain still etched in his knotted brows. “Damn, you look terrible.”

The energy holding Sam together slipped away and he hung his shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep all night.”

Cameron jerked away from his father’s hands trying to examine his face closer and mumbled that he’d set it himself. Sam tried not to look on with longing at the bond Cameron and his father shared.

“Look, Sam, I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry that I had to hurt him like that. But he wouldn’t stop. I had to stop him,” Cameron insisted.

The pain that gripped Sam all night as his memories played over and over again curled around his heart and tightened. Bile from his empty gut rose up his throat. He tried to swallow it down as he blinked against the string in the back of his eyes. “I know.” He held himself, the memory of his mate snarling at him instead of accepting him. “I know.”

Warm arms wrapped around him, cracking open the floodgates for something he didn’t deserve. He gripped tightly to his friend offering him comfort even though he had punched him in the face moments ago.

“I’m so scared. What do I do? What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he doesn’t want me?” His voice cracked as more flashes of memories struck him. His mate’s curled lip. Pushing him away. “Why wouldn’t he stop for me, Cam? Why?”

Arms loosened around him to rub his back before pulling away to grip him by the shoulders. “He’ll wake up soon and he’ll need you to take care of him. Show him that you’re a worthy mate.” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Nodding his head, he rubbed the moisture from his face with the back of his arm. He knew Cameron was right, but he still didn’t believe the words he said. He hadn’t been there. He didn’t see the look of disgust on his mate’s face and was shoved aside. He wasn’t defective.

Cameron wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder and coaxed him forward. “Come on, let’s get you some tissues before I go see Dr. Waaban.”

Sam followed him into the infirmary with his head down, avoiding any curious glances cast his way. He cleaned his face and blew his nose as Dr. Waaban worked on Cameron’s broken nose and ear from last night’s battle. His ear was half missing, ripped right off and Sam winced when Cameron winced at the doctor’s poking and prodding. Cameron was given an ice pack and sent on his way while Sam returned to his mate’s side in the back room.

As time wore on, Sam kept himself busy as he tended to his mate. There was still no sign of him waking up twenty-four hours after Cameron knocked him out. Sam dutifully cleaned his mate’s body with a cloth again, moving his arms and legs and massaging his muscles like he was instructed to keep the blood circulating and prevent long-term muscle loss if he remained in a coma for an extended period of time.

Most of the wolves in the infirmary had dispersed within twenty-four hours of coming in. Their wounds healing enough to enable them to return home to their families or their rooms in the dormitory if they were unmated adults. Sam and his mate had the back room all to themselves and he was grateful for the privacy.

He spoke softly to his mate as he tended to him, hoping that if he could hear him in some way, he would accept him when he woke up.

As Sunday drew to a close, he pulled up one of the empty beds and set it next to his mate’s. He curled up close without touching him, but close enough that he could feel his mate’s heat, his scent engulfing him in comfort, and the steady beating of his heart to lull him to sleep.

He woke a few times when a nurse came to check his mate’s vitals and his drip, but otherwise returned to sleep as soon as she left. He slept late into the morning, disappointed that his mate still hadn’t moved.

Dr. Waaban urged him to take a shower and grab something to eat in the kitchen for breakfast. He had barely eaten anything, his stress and anxiety warring with his stomach ever since he brought his mate to the infirmary. It growled obnoxiously at the doctor’s suggestion and he complied once he was assured that his mate’s vitals indicated he was still deep into the abyss and wouldn’t wake any time soon.

Sam hurried back to the dormitory, where he showered, changed out of his hospital gown and into some clean clothes, and into the kitchen for some food. It was almost lunchtime, and the chef assured him that he’d have lunch ready in half an hour if he waited, but Sam was too impatient to return to his mate’s side. He made himself a pair of sandwiches and packed them to go.

All clean and refreshed, he felt a little more confident in himself as he plopped himself down in the plastic chair next to his mate’s bed and dug into his sandwiches. He repeated his actions from yesterday, cleaning his mate with a cloth, moving his arms and legs, and talking to him as if he were awake. His shallow cuts had all healed and he removed the unnecessary bandages, cleaning and redressing the deeper wounds with the nurse’s guidance. He wanted to do it himself. He wanted to feel useful, unable to let others care for his mate if he could do it himself. It was all a distraction from the insecurities that continued to nibble away at the fibers of his being.

The nurse told him he had a knack for cleaning and dressing wounds, but he shrugged it off. Before Andrew’s death, he dreamed of helping people. He wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor, so he considered being a nurse, but his father scoffed.

‘That work is for females.’

“I don’t have the confidence,” he told her.

“Confidence comes with practice,” she stated.

He eyed the nurse, noticing that she was older than he initially thought. She wasn’t the same nurse that eyed his mate the other day, but she smiled at him with crinkles in the corner of her eyes. He handed her the tape roll after applying the last strip and yanked the gloves off.

She set it down on the cart of supplies. “It’s easier to dress someone else’s wounds than your own, don’t you think?”

He froze as he tucked his gloves into the garbage bag attached to her cart. Swallowing, he withdrew as he avoided her gaze. He gripped his wrist as he pressed it against his stomach. “I suppose it is.”

“Two hands are better than one, I always say. A second set of hands, even better. We could use an extra pair of hands around here.”

He hummed in agreement as he turned his body away from her. The hairs on the back of his arms and neck stood on end.

“Well, I’m Eloise, the head nurse here. Call me if you need anything. Dr. Waaban is off for the rest of the day—hopefully. Poor thing needs his rest.”

She shuffled out and he waited for the click of the door before releasing a breath. He shivered, rubbing his arms. What was she getting at? Did she know? The last time he was admitted to the infirmary, it was four years ago. He didn’t remember her.

But then, he didn’t remember much of anything beyond Cameron, Luna, and Alpha. He always kept his head down, never meeting anyone’s gaze. Could she have been there and he never noticed?

Rubbing his arms, he couldn’t shake the shame that gripped him now. Whether she knew or not, he didn’t want to think about it again.

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