I try to hum in my head, pushing their words out, but it’s impossible. Those stupid tears that I’d been holding back spill over my cheek and shame rises inside of me like a flame.
I love my dad, but I hate him at the same time. Hate that we’re constantly moving, that he did what people say he did, that no church wants him, that every other month we’re packing our old Cadillac and heading to the next town looking for somewhere he can spread his message.
“God will provide,” my mama always says. “Your daddy is called to do his work. You just have to trust him. This is where we’re supposed to be.”
Apparently where we’re supposed to be this month is some little hick town called Port Clover.
With the last of our money, my father bought a rundown little church here, a building that looks like it was built hundreds of years ago. It’s cold and creepy and after school, it’s my job to help Mama clean the spider webs off the old pews and set the mousetraps in the basement. I already hate it here.
I sniff, my shoulders sagging as I stare blankly at the yellowed pages of my book, the kid’s taunts growing louder. Cruel laughter floats around me, and I let out a small yelp when something sharp jabs into my side.
“Leave her alone.” A flash of red blurs in the corner of my vision as two of the boys who were teasing me go sprawling backward across the tarmac.
Kids scatter around me, all except the boy in a red t-shirt who has the two boys who had started the teasing, pinned beneath him.
“Get off me, Savage,” the one with orange hair yells.
“Not until you say sorry to her.” The boy they called Savage has his fist back ready to strike.
“So-sorry,” is the whimpered response.
“Say it to her.” Savage grips both the boys’ shirt collars and makes them stand and face me. It’s funny, because he’s not much bigger than the other two, but they’re like rag dolls, doing what he says.
“We’re sorry,” the one who’d been the ring leader sniffles out.
“Sorry,” the other one says.
Savage whispers something to them, and I see their eyes widen with fear. Then he releases them with a shove, and they run away, glancing back over their shoulders like he might come after them.
He turns to me then, big, dark, almost black eyes meeting mine. And I can’t help but think that he’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. Light brown hair falls over his tanned forehead, and he runs his fingers through it, pushing it back, exposing a white scar that cuts through one brow.
I know I should be scared of him, but I’m not.
“You okay?” he asks, stepping toward me.
I nod, unable to get any words out.
“I’m Abbott,” he says, then nods to another boy who I didn’t notice. “That’s Liam.”
Liam gives a timid smile, one of his blue eyes circled with a multi-colored bruise.
“I’m Lon...” I swallow. “London.”
Abbott nods. “Those guys won’t bother you again.”
“Tha-thank you.”
“You’re new here,” he says.
He grins at me when I nod, and it feels like a hundred butterflies take flight in my chest.
A woman’s sharp voice echoes across the schoolyard. “Abbott Savage, Liam St. James, come here this instant.”
Liam cringes, but Abbott just rolls his eyes.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” I say, feeling guilty that they might get punished for sticking up for me. No one has ever done that before. Ever.
Abbott laughs and shrugs. “I’m a Savage we’re either causing trouble or getting blamed for someone else's.”
I wouldn’t know how true his words were until years later. But one thing I knew after that day, was that with one single act, Abbott Savage had stolen my heart.
Chapter 3
Abbott
I lean back in the passenger seat of London’s Kia, holding the cool metal container in my lap and close my eyes. This is what Kyle would have wanted, one last goodbye from the two people he cared the most about in the world. But it still sucks.
All of this sucks.
Especially the sappy music that London insists we listen to as we drive toward Port Clover.
“Of all the beaches in the world,” I mutter, feeling my stomach clench the closer we get to my hometown. “Why Port Clover?”
“It’s where he...” Her gaze is focused on the icy highway in front of us. “Where he first kissed me. Where he asked me to be his girlfriend...” Her words get broken up on a small sob she swallows.
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, hating the jealousy that stirs inside me.
It was our beach. London and mine. She was mine long before she was Kyle’s. A time before I’d hurt her, before I’d pushed her away, before I’d done the unthinkable...before the beast had consumed me.
“It’s not your fault,” she says.
Except it is. All of it.
She cranks the volume of the radio, and I inwardly cringe when she starts humming along to the latest Wild Irish single.
Since my cousin married one of the band members and moved to Ireland a few years back, the already ridiculously popular band has gathered a cult-like following around these parts. You can’t turn on the damn radio without hearing one of their songs.
“...I’ll be here waiting in this labyrinth of ice, until your heart melts, and you accept my price...”
“God, that music is depressing,” I mutter, itching to turn the channel, but knowing I’d just get my hand slapped. “I don’t know why you like listening to that crap.”
“Kyle loved them.”
And that about sums up my best friend. He was the romantic, the guy who brought his girlfriend flowers, and remembered anniversaries and birthdays. I grunt, and say lightly, “Always said he had shit taste in music.”
“Yeah.” She turns the volume up more, and I see a grin tug at the corner of her lips. “He did. But I don’t mind these guys.”
“...Loving you was never a choice. We stand in a room pretending not to see, but to everyone else, you clearly belong to me...”
“Sure, if you’re wanting something to hang yourself to.”
She gives a soft chuckle, eyes going misty with memory. “Kyle used to say that it wasn’t just music, but poetry...that the lyrics could teach you what’s really in your soul by the songs that you cling to.”
“Sounds like something he’d say.” He was always spouting philosophical bullshit that I never really understood.
Unlike me, the guy was brilliant. Which is why I still can’t believe he would take such a stupid risk...a risk that got him killed. But I know the truth. Kyle would never have gotten mixed up with Bence Farkas if it weren’t for me. I was the one who introduced him to the bastard.
I needed some quick cash after I crashed some random stranger’s car into the side of my brother’s bar. Hell, I didn’t even know that I was working for Farkas until it was too late.
Kyle had begged me to get him in on the deal. I should have said no. But it was only supposed to be a one-time job, unloading some packages.
And it was, at least for me. It wasn’t until I’d been called to identify Kyle’s lifeless body, London beside me, sobbing, clutching my arm, that I’d realized he’d taken on other jobs. And I’d found the reason why in his wallet, a receipt for an engagement ring he’d never have been able to afford with all his student loans.
Even when he was being an idiot, his intentions had been good.
I rub my temple where the throbbing has turned into a constant, dull pain, and sit in silence as we drive the remaining way.
The sky is a light purple when we park on the dunes overlooking Lake Erie. There’s no sound but the crashing of waves and the squawk of gulls overhead to interrupt our thoughts as we walk to the beach.
It’s relatively warm for February, but it’s still cold as fuck, and the sand is covered in a thin layer of snow.
London shivers and pulls the zipper of her coat as
high as it can go.
“We should have waited until spring,” I mumble.
“No. Today’s a good day,” she says, like I don’t know what day it is - Kyle’s birthday. Or would be if the guy was still alive.
I sit down in the cold sand, all too aware of London who sits beside me, her shoulder touching mine, our focus on the horizon where the sun will start to peek up soon.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” I place the urn in front of us.
“Yes.” Her gloved fingers find my hand and she rests her head on my shoulder so casually, I know she has no clue how fucked up my thoughts have become lately.
Lately. Another damn lie. I grunt, all too aware of the lascivious thoughts that have tormented me for years. I’ve craved her, wanted her, needed her since we were just dumb kids running around these dunes not realizing that darkness was just around the corner waiting to swallow us whole.
Unlike me, she never let that darkness infiltrate her. The sun still shines every time she smiles. But maybe that’s because she doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know that I’m to blame for all of her misery.
“It’s time,” she says when a golden stream of light stretches across the horizon.
I stand up, and we walk to the edge of the lake, the water lapping at our boots, and I open the urn, then hand it to her.
“We should say something,” she says.
I’m not good at emotional shit, or words, and I clench my jaw on what I really want to say, that if life were fair, if the good really won, then it would be me in that fucking urn and not him.
“What do you want me to say?” I shove my hands in my pocket and glare out at the rising sun.
“I don’t know. I guess...” Her shoulders lift and fall. “Just whatever you’re feeling.”
My throat clenches and emotions twist in my chest. I shove them down, deep into the dark pit where my heart should be, and mutter, “Fine, if you can hear me, asshole, I don’t forgive you for—”
“Abbott.” London hugs the urn to her chest, like he’s actually in there.
I heave out a sigh and drag a calloused hand over my face.
She deserves more from me, but I’ll be the first to admit I have the emotional IQ of an orangutan. Still when I see the tears gather in her eyes, I can’t help but gather her against my chest and bury my face in her hair, the urn and her baby bump between us.
“Okay,” I mumble, placing one palm on her back, the other on the metal pot that holds my friend’s ashes, and say the words I think she wants to hear. “He was a good guy. He should have had more time, and it’s fucked—” I swallow hard. “It’s messed up that we have to stand here doing this.”
I wish I could be the strength I know she needs. Wish I could be everything she needs. But I lost the right to want anything from her a long time ago.
We stand there like that long enough for the sun to rise fully in the sky before London finally pulls away and takes a few more steps closer to the lake so that icy waves roll over her boots. Slowly, she pours the ashes into the water.
She mumbles something that I can’t hear, but the words aren’t meant for me, and I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment.
With a shaky breath, London recaps the urn, then turns and gives me a small smile through her tears. “He would have liked this. Us, here, saying a final goodbye.”
“Sure,” I say, taking the urn from her.
She rests a hand on my arm for a moment before turning and walking back to the car.
I don’t follow her right away. Lost in my own thoughts and knowing she probably needs a moment alone. I know I do. I stand there and watch as each small wave claims the last remains of my friend.
Brutal.
Unfair.
Bullshit.
“I meant what I said, dickhead. I still don’t forgive you,” I mutter into the wind. But the truth I won’t admit out loud is it’s myself I’ll never forgive.
Chapter 4
London
I watch Abbott from the car, my heart breaking for the man who stands there, shoulders slumped like they carry the weight of the world. He turns and starts heading up the dunes toward me, and I catch his gaze, dark and swirling with emotions.
Wild, untamed, he uses his fists more than his words. And when he does speak, it’s usually for shock value rather than any meaningful conversation. At least with everyone else. With me, he’s different. Sometimes he opens up, a sliver here, a moment there, and I see the man I know he really is, the boy he used to be.
Good.
Loyal.
Protective.
But he carries his darkness around him like a shield, his damaged heart a sword that he uses to wound those he cares about.
“You okay?” I ask when he gets in the car.
He just grunts and looks out the window, a signature Abbott move.
“I wish I could get inside your head.” My words are laced with frustration.
“Trust me, there’s nothing in there you’d want to see.”
We drive in silence and I feel Abbott’s tension mounting. I know exactly what he’ll do when I drop him off - head straight for a bottle of liquor or pills.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “If you won’t talk to me, then you should talk to someone.” He’s self-destructive, and I have no idea how to help him.
“Don’t need to talk, just need...”
I can almost hear his thoughts. Anything that will dampen the pain, even momentarily.
Demons lurk in those dark eyes.
Sometimes my own heart hurts just looking at him.
I don’t know what started the spiral, or what’s behind the dance he does with me, pushing, pulling, always here, but never truly with me.
I place a hand on my stomach when I feel a small kick, and try not to let the tears I try to hold back whenever I’m with Abbott fall. But I’m a mess. This baby wasn’t planned. And with Kyle gone, I’m not sure how I’m going to raise a child by myself.
It’s like the universe keeps dealing me shitty cards, and this month has been one bad hand after the other. First, my roommate moved out, claiming she wasn’t ready to listen to a crying baby all hours of the night, and leaving me with a rental agreement that I have no idea how I’m going to pay alone.
My landlady has been hounding me for Stacey’s half of this month’s rent, which is why I’ve taken on extra shifts at the hospital. But I’m tired, all the freaking time, and I just want to curl in a ball and sleep for days.
And then there’s Abbott. I know he’s drowning in guilt, that he thinks Kyle’s death was his fault. But Kyle made his own choices, and instead of going to the police which he should have when he found out Farkas had kidnapped a child, he’d let fear rule his actions. And he’d paid the ultimate price for it.
“You doing okay?” Abbott asks, glancing over at me when I let out a heavy sigh. “Need anything?”
You, my heart hiccups, I need you. I’m not sure where the thought comes from, but I blame it on the pregnancy hormones and push it aside.
“I could use a hand setting up the crib and change table.”
“You got baby stuff already?”
I shrug. “One of the nurses I work with gave me a bunch of things. They’ve been sitting in my hallway the past few days. I just haven’t had the energy to tackle it. But if you’re too busy—”
“I can do it now.”
“You’re sure?”
He shrugs, expression still unreadable. “Might as well get it done.”
“Okay...” I chew on my bottom lip and stare back at the road in front of me. I’m not surprised by his offer. I can always count on Abbott for help. “Thanks.”
He gives me a half smile. “What are friends for.”
Friends. That’s all we’ve ever been. All he ever let me be, despite my multiple attempts when we were younger to make him see me as more.
God, I loved him.
Wanted him.
Would have done anything to be h
is.
At least until I’d seen the way he went through girls. The way he was with them.
Emotionless.
Carnal.
Sex was meaningless to him. It still is. So I’d become comfortable in the friend zone, knowing it was the safest place, letting my adolescent crush turn into a softer kind of love. Those other women could have had his body, but I know I’ll always have his heart.
And I’m content with that.
Liar, a voice in my head chides. And maybe I am lying to myself, but it’s for the best. Because I know if anything ever did happen between us, our friendship, and my heart would never survive it. So I allow him to keep an arm’s length between us. Even allowed him to set me up with his best friend.
Kyle had been so different from Abbott. Stable, kind, safe.
And I’d cared about him. Loved him, even. We had a future. And he’d been so excited when I’d told him I was pregnant, even though I’d been scared to death.
Then my whole world turned upside down.
A stupid tear slips over my cheek, and I’m not quick enough to wipe it away before Abbott sees.
“Shit, London.” He takes my hand, twining his fingers in mine as I pull to a stop in front of my apartment.
The warmth in my core, the way my heart skips and speeds up, even though it shouts a warning of danger at the same time, I can’t control it.
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. It pounds on my skull. The familiar emotion chokes me, reminds me to push down any feelings for the man who is both my closest friend and my greatest frustration.
Abbott is fire. Hot and unpredictable. Burning with life, able to destroy and yet impossible to look away from.
Why I torture myself watching him destroy his life one fight, one drink, one random hook-up at a time, I don’t know.
Because you love him.
Because he was always the one.
Because even when you were with Kyle, you wanted him.
God, I’m a horrible person.
“London.” My name is strained on Abbot’s lips.
“I’m fine.” I force a fake smile, one that I’ve become good at giving lately.
Beast: Savages and Saints Page 2