Chapter 29 – My Voice Betrays Me
Sam's POV
The bang at the door was just the wind. At least that’s what Elias muttered after checking, rubbing a hand through his hair like he wasn’t rattled at all. Me? My heart was still trying to punch its way out of my chest. That knock had ruined everything—thank God it had, and damn it, why did it have to?
When he came back, he didn’t even hesitate. He dropped right back into my bed, stretching like it was his by birthright.
“You seriously can’t sleep in your own bed?” I hissed.
“Too cold,” he said, tugging at the blanket until I let out a frustrated groan.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And warm,” he added smugly, tucking half the blanket around himself.
I shoved his shoulder, but he didn’t budge. Instead, his weight sank into the mattress beside me, closer than before. And in the dark, with no hum of electricity, no distraction, it was impossible not to notice the sound of his breathing.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”
He chuckled. “Noted.”
For a while, silence. Then Elias said, “You ever notice how weird it feels when the power’s out? Like the whole building’s holding its breath.”
I laughed softly in spite of myself. “That’s literally what I just said before you called me creepy.”
“Oh. Right.” His grin was audible. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
“Lucky you.”
He shifted, propping his head on his hand. “You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like everything’s… deeper. You don’t just say something’s quiet, you make it sound like a scene in a movie. The other guys don’t talk like that.”
“They don’t think like that either,” I said before I could stop myself.
He studied me, even in the shadows. I could feel his eyes. “You’re different, Hale.”
My pulse jumped. Dangerous word.
I forced a shrug. “Guess I’m just not as brain-dead as the rest of them.”
“Not just that.” He leaned in slightly, and his voice softened. “It’s the way you say things. Your voice doesn’t match the act. It’s not sharp, not hard like you want it to be. There’s… softness there.”
That word. My throat clenched.
I smirked to cover it. “You calling me soft, Cross? Should I punch a wall to prove otherwise?”
He laughed quietly. “You’d probably break your hand.”
“Shows what you know.”
But even as I tried to deflect, I could feel it slipping—my voice, my mask, everything I’d built to survive in this dorm. And he was the one catching it, every crack.
“Seriously though,” Elias said, softer now. “Why do you hide it? The softness?”
I froze. I hadn’t realized how my last words had sounded—gentle, unguarded. More Samantha than Sam.
So I covered fast. “You’re imagining things.”
“No.” His tone was steady, certain. “I heard it. You let your guard down for a second. And it didn’t sound like any guy I’ve ever met.”
My stomach lurched. I forced out a laugh, but it came out shaky. “Maybe you’re just used to cavemen like Declan. Not everyone has to grunt their feelings.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, but his gaze lingered. “Still doesn’t explain why you feel like you’re hiding something.”
That hit too close. My fingers curled into the blanket, knuckles white under the fabric. “You always this nosy?”
“Only with people I care about.”
I turned sharply, trying to cover my reaction. “You care about me?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.” He smirked, but there was something real under it. “I don’t trust people easily, Hale. But you—I don’t know. You’re different. I feel like I can trust you.”
The words rattled inside me like a secret I wasn’t supposed to hear. Trust. If only he knew.
“Bad idea,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
He blinked. “What?”
I shook my head quickly. “I mean—it’s a bad idea to trust anyone in this dorm. You never know who’ll stab you in the back.”
“Maybe.” He tilted his head. “But I don’t think you would.”
His confidence was like a knife in my gut. Because he was wrong. I would. I was lying to him every day, and worse—I needed to.
I rolled away, giving him my back before the weight of his stare could pin me down. “Go to sleep, Cross. We’ve got classes tomorrow.”
There was a pause. Then a quiet sigh. “One day, Hale, I’m gonna figure you out.”
The words sank deep. My chest tightened, and my breathing came uneven. My walls were cracking, and he was the one making the cracks bigger.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Good luck with that.”
He chuckled softly, but it faded quick.
And then silence. Not empty silence—tense, electric, full of the things neither of us dared to say.
When I finally felt my body giving in to exhaustion, his last words replayed in my head, over and over: softness, different, trust.
He wasn’t supposed to notice those things. He wasn’t supposed to notice me.
But he did.
And if I wasn’t careful, my voice wouldn’t be the only thing that betrayed me.