Page 22 of Sam's Salvation

Her brows knit together. She shrugged off his hands and fluttered hers. “Don’t be logical on me. It’s not helpful.”

He barked a short laugh. “What?”

She sighed and ran her hands over her face. “Sorry. I just feel very—out of sorts. Part of it is not knowing who I can trust and part of it is I feel like my brain is scrambled.”

“That’s your concussion.” He stepped closer and reached out to push a lock of her hair back. His fingers traced the soft skin of her cheek. A pang of longing shot through him. He’d missed her. It had been ten years, but everything they’d had, everything they’d experienced, all rushed back. “Do you want to rest? I can make my phone calls outside so you can sleep.”

“No. I’ll sleep better knowing we have a solid plan in place. And you might have questions for me.”

“Does that mean I can call my friends and get them up to speed?”

She rolled her lips in and sucked in a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes. I hope I don’t regret it, but I don’t know what else to do. Something’s not right.”

Sam reached for her hand and squeezed it briefly, then let go and took his phone from his pocket.

Finding Dean’s name in his contacts, he called him.

“Where are you?” Dean didn’t even bother with a greeting.

Sam winced. He should have called sooner.

“Martina said you sent her a message in the middle of the night asking her to cover for you, then you never answered my texts or calls,” his friend continued.

“I’m in Vegas.”

A short pause came over the line. “Why?”

“It’s a bit of a long story. Can you get the others rounded up and call me back?”

Dean groaned. “We’re going to get shot at again, aren’t we?”

Sam chuckled. “I hope not. Round everyone up and call me back.”

“Fine.” Dean hung up without saying goodbye.

Audra huffed as he lowered the phone. “That’s it?”

“For now. It’s easier to explain it all at once.”

She grunted. “True, I guess. Does that mean we have time to find me some more clothes? As comfortable as my I Love Vegas sweats are, I’d rather not look like a tourist who partied too hard and was forced to buy the first available clothing she could find because she vomited all over herself.”

Sam barked a laugh. “I see your concussion hasn’t dulled your sense of humor.”

“It’s enhanced my sarcasm. I’m not in the mood for anyone’s bullshit.”

“Noted. Why don’t you take a—” He broke off, the word getting stuck in his brain. An image of her showering had crossed the wires and held up the word he wanted to say. He clenched his teeth and rolled his hand. “Go bathe. I’ll get you some clothes.”

A tiny frown formed between her brows. Sam could see the question in her eyes, but she didn’t voice it. He was glad. He didn’t feel like explaining his brain injury. He preferred she remember him the way he used to be, and not as a man who occasionally struggled to vocalize his thoughts. Eventually, he knew she’d ask. But he was glad it wasn’t now.

Stepping around her, he headed for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t you want to know what size I wear?”

“I can… guess.” The words “figure it out” stuck, so he went with the simpler term.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” He turned the door handle and left, eager to escape before his mind locked up on him again.