Love in the Dark

by 12 Book Boxed Set (epub)

  “Mom,” I mumble.

  “William spent all his life building that company. I felt so lonely that I decided to foster children because we didn’t have enough money or time to have children of our own,” she pauses, but I hear a sob on the end of the line. “He lived for the company—not for us, or even himself.”

  What is she talking about?

  “For years I felt alone,” she continues. “You were a godsend, and Sterling is my little miracle. You can’t live your entire life trying to please someone who didn’t even know how to live fully when he was alive. I loved him with all my heart, but I hope that you stop following in his footsteps.”

  I’m speechless at the revelation. He was an extraordinary man, a visionary, and an icon. He was a good father, but it was Mom who attended our baseball practices. She’s the one who cheered for us during football games and made sure we practiced our music lessons every single day. Mom never missed an event, a graduation, or a recital. Dad had too much to do at work to spend any time with us.

  I hear a roaring in my ears, making me lose track of what she’s saying. My chest squeezes when I remember our last conversation. He was angry and disappointed in me. I had told him that his company wasn’t my dream nor what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. He built something from scratch and wanted his ungrateful sons to continue his legacy. My palm stings from digging my fingernails into it. I’m angry at myself, at him. Fuck, I only want to make him happy, and I will never know if what I do is enough to make up for the last days of his life—the fights and trying to quit Ahern Inc.

  “If Abby doesn’t love you, make her fall in love with you,” Mom’s voice is loud and clear, yet it doesn’t make sense.

  “You say that as if it’s possible.”

  “It’s that simple, darling boy.”

  — — —

  Nothing is simple. I take a deep breath before knocking on Abby’s door. Mom’s words continue to ring in my head.

  Make her fall in love with you.

  “Hey,” she opens the door slightly, staring at the rose I’m holding.

  “Are you on your way out?” She switches her gaze from the flower to my face several times. “I thought you texted me inviting me to dinner.”

  “Dinner is ready,” I announce, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

  “What’s going on, Wes?” She eyes me suspiciously.

  I hand her the rose and pull out the blindfold I have in my pocket. “Do you trust me?”

  She nods and closes her eyes.

  “Hold onto my hand and walk with me,” I whisper in her ear, kissing the back of it.

  She shudders and sighs. I’ve got no idea how to gauge her reaction. I should’ve started with something simpler—a simple date, like a movie and some pizza. We walk toward my place, and I direct her as we go up the stairs and out onto the terrace.

  “This is exciting. It reminds me of the last time you took me bungee jumping,” she says with a laugh. “I feel like we’re back in China and Sterling is begging for his mommy.”

  “He’s such a baby,” I say as I take off the blindfold, kissing her bare shoulder.

  “This is so much better than Macau.” Abby smiles at the table but then frowns and looks at me. “But as lovely as it is, I’d prefer to eat in the kitchen.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe you don’t see it, Wes, but this—” she points at the table. “—is a romantic gesture. A dinner for someone you’re dating. Not for—”

  “Not for a woman who I’m hoping will give me a chance to show her that I like her more than as a friend?”

  Her eyes open wide, her lips part, and I’m almost sure she’s holding her breath.

  “Look, maybe this is too straight forward, but constantly keeping in how I truly feel about you is hard. Too hard. Every night I go to bed wishing that I was with you.” I bare my soul.

  “You do?” she whispers, her brown eyes shining.

  I caress her cheek, and she closes her eyes, breathing deeply. She opens her eyes and stares at me for a few beats. Then she moves her mouth, but only a soft whimper comes out.

  “What are you thinking?” I press my thumb over her creased forehead.

  She’s unsure about something. My words? My feelings? What can I say or do to convince her that I’m serious—that I want more with her.

  Only her.

  “I mean every word that I just said, Abby.” I cup her face with my hands lowering my head.

  “Wes,” she says with a sigh, her arms encircling my waist.

  “Shh,” I murmur, covering her mouth with mine.

  A spike of electrified excitement rushes through my body the moment her mouth opens for me. I stroke her tongue, discovering her mouth, tasting her for the first time. I drink from her, sucking the shaky moans coming from her throat. She shivers as I press her closer to my body.

  “God, you taste like an angel,” I mumble against her sweet mouth.

  I nip at her lip, sliding my hands down her back.

  “Is this real?” She finally finds her voice.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “It seems too easy, Ahern. I come back, and you sweep me off my feet proclaiming that you want more.”

  “Well, it was time to own up to my feelings,” I confess giving her a quick peck. “Ready to eat, my lady?”

  I release her and pull out one of the chairs for her. As she sits down, I catch her hesitation. Did I imagine the intensity of our kiss?

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know … it’s this feeling of dread thumping along with my heart.” She shrugs. “I guess I’ve never dated before. There’s this uneasiness inside my stomach, like something is whispering: ‘enjoy this because it might be the last time you smile.’”

  “Abby, please don’t be pessimistic. Trust me.”

  She nods, but I can see the doubt etched in her face. What is she afraid of?

  15

  Wes

  “This is delicious.” Abby takes a bite of the miso-ginger glazed salmon.

  She smirks, taking a second bite. “You cooked?”

  Abby watches me in amusement as I open my mouth and close it. I never said I made dinner for her. There’s no way I could’ve driven to Cherry Creek to buy her a present, cook, and be ready for dinner.

  “What gave it away?”

  “The rice,” she answers, taking a fork full of it.

  I arch an eyebrow and eat some myself. “It’s perfect,” I claim.

  “Exactly,” she says, drinking some wine. “This rice is fluffy and flavorful. It’s not easy to achieve the texture. You don’t cook that often.”

  “I take it that you like it,” I confirm.

  “Of course, and I love that you brought my favorite dish. Though, you could’ve given me a sandwich and I’d have loved that too.”

  “Well, I had to run an errand and decided to just bring something for our first meal—together.” I pull out the box and hand it to her. “And this is for you, to remind you of today.”

  “Oh my God, Wes,” she gasps, staring at the open box.

  It’s a set of bracelets. The first bracelet has pink, orange, and clear crystals while the second has an anchor charm.

  “This is beautiful,” she says, caressing the trinket. “Perfect.”

  She smiles, rising from her seat and kissing me. This time the peck is on the lips.

  “You’re perfect, you know?”

  “I’m far from it,” I remind her. “And you of all people are aware of my faults.”

  “I am, and I love each and every one of those flaws.” She sits back down putting on the bracelet.

  Abby glances at me, then back at her wrist. “You need a compass.”

  “So, you know why I gave it to you.”

  “You’re my anchor, just like I’m your compass.” She shakes her head, laughing. “Always, right? Even if this ends?”

  I take her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. “Baby, this will never end, I
swear.”

  “Says the guy who can’t hold onto a girl for longer than a week,” she says, her eyes studying me.

  “Why would I when I have you?”

  She gasps, her eyes open wide. “What does that mean?”

  Before Abby, I was too busy at school. I didn’t care if any relationship lasted just a day or a few weeks. My sole purpose was to keep Dad happy, so he wouldn’t tell me that I was taking too many credits and that many of them weren’t related to my degree. Afterwards, Abby was all I needed.

  “I was busy with school—”

  “And then I disrupted your life,” she says, scrunching her nose.

  “Of course not, afterward I was busy trying to please Dad.”

  Her smile falls. “I’m sorry. You must miss him a lot.”

  I shrug. After my call with Mom, my feelings are a fucking mess. Of course, I miss my father. The man was my hero for years. I stopped looking at him like that once I understood that the company was his everything and I couldn’t keep up with him. I hated him when we fought about my future and … he was gone before we could solve our differences.

  “My experience is a bit rusty, but I’m sure this isn’t the kind of conversation people have during their first date.”

  She chuckles. “You’re right. Where should I start?” She finishes the last bite. “Color. What is your favorite color?”

  “Lilac,” I answer.

  “Liar, that’s mine,” she protests. “Yours is green, but you use blue a lot because your mother used to dress you in blue all the time.”

  “Because of my eyes,” I remind her. “And I know that your favorite candy is gummy bears.”

  I stand up, gathering the plates. “But you could eat your weight in crème brûlée or chocolate cheesecake.”

  “What are you saying, Ahern?” She grins, grabbing the glasses and the empty bottle of wine. “Did you make me chocolate cheesecake so I’d put out tonight?”

  Her face becomes stern. “Not that I would. I’m not easy.” Those dark eyes sweep my body from head to toe. “Though for you, one day I might make an exception.”

  She walks away, laughing all the way to the kitchen.

  “You’re impossible, Lyons.” I set the stuff on the counter.

  “Yet, you still like me,” she says leaning against the counter.

  I walk to her, cupping her face. Our gazes lock. Her eyes shine brightly. I hope it’s because of me. I pull her into my arms, covering her mouth with mine and kissing her hard. Professing all my love for her without saying a word. She might like me enough to go out with me, to love me as her friend, but I swear that I’ll make it my mission to make her fall madly in love with me, just like I am with her.

  16

  Abby

  Some days start off looking hopeful. Others, like today, are just perfect. It’s late June, the sun is out but it’s not scorching hot, and people are smiling. Or maybe it’s just me, since I’ve moved from Denver to cloud nine. That’s where I’ve been since last night when Wes told me that he has feelings for me. He didn’t say that he loved me, but the way he kissed me made it seem so. The same rush of heat I felt while he kissed me burns through my body just at the memory alone. His mouth was firm but gentle. At first, he was hesitant, but that last kiss of the night … I close my eyes remembering the spark that it ignited in me.

  Coffee. You must concentrate on the coffee and sandwich you’re planning on buying. Not on the hot, tall, dark man who … and there I go again. It’s so hard not to think of him or what happened last night.

  He said he wants more. And that goodnight kiss … it was demanding, giving. It felt as if he was making love to my mouth. His tongue pierced and stroked my mouth, his hands gliding across my body. My nerves jolted at his touch. I wanted him to do so much more than just kiss me. I wanted him to tug my hair down, kiss my neck and …

  “Are you okay?” Wes asks.

  He shouldn’t be asking, when he’s the one who seems to have put me under some spell. Wes kisses me on the corner of my mouth. My eyes drift closed at the heady sensation of his warm lips caressing me and kissing the scar right above my chin.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I was five, maybe seven, and tripped in my skates bumping onto the coffee table that was made out of glass.”

  “Ouch,” he says, kissing it again.

  “It’s okay. Grandma gave me a teddy bear after the doctor stitched me.” I slump my shoulders remembering the bear that I loved so much.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Someone clapping like an anxious cheerleader interrupts me.

  “It’s you, Abigail Lyons!” The woman on the other side of the counter squeals, staring at me. “It’s been years.”

  “Sorry. Do I know you?”

  Her blonde hair is tied into a bun and covered by a hairnet. Her eyes are light brown, and she’s just as tall as me. I don’t recognize her at all. Maybe she’s one of those girls I met during my senior year of high school. They liked to hang out with me in hopes that I’d introduce them to Sterling. He graduated a couple of years before I started Brighton Academy, but everyone in that place knew I was living with the Aherns. Stupid girls. They really thought I’d be their link to a guy who lived thousands of miles away from Colorado.

  “It’s me, Peyton. Peyton Seymour,” she says.

  I take a step back, hugging myself because the name feels like a tub of ice water being dumped over my head. Her grandmother lived across the street from us. Our grandmothers were close friends. We used to play together when she came to visit in the summers or while her grandma was watching her.

  “Peyton?” I repeat, not believing it. “I think the last time I saw you was before we started the fourth grade.”

  “It’s been so long,” she agrees. “My parents split. Mom and I moved to Pueblo, and Dad never brought me back to Grandma’s.”

  Grandma mentioned something like that, but I don’t recall the exact words. The explanation turned into a long walk down memory lane where she talked about my grandfather. He died of a heart attack just one year before I was born.

  “I’m sorry about … everything, I guess.” She sounds remorseful.

  What is she talking about? I don’t understand her little demonstration of sympathy.

  “So, you’re working here?” I change the subject.

  “This is one of my many jobs,” she says, excitedly. “I’m putting myself through school.”

  “Peyton, what have I told you about the line?”

  “Sorry Gil,” she apologizes to her manager and then turns back to me. “We have to catch up soon, but for now, what would you like?”

  We place our order, then she hands me a number and the cups for our drinks and begins to chat with the next customer.

  “Are you okay?” Wes kisses my cheek. “You look pale.”

  Pale is right. It’s been a long time since I last saw Peyton. When things got bad, I wondered if she would help me escape. But then I realized it could’ve put her in danger too. My heart continues beating fast.

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  “You’re not. What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine. Really,” I repeat, following him to one of the available tables.

  After his big gesture and declaration, I forgot all about my plans— of escaping Denver. How can I leave when his kisses are all I think about and his presence is all I need in my life? But seeing Peyton sobers me up from the haze that took over my brain last night.

  What if someone else sees me?

  What if he finds me?

  He wouldn’t care anymore. I’m not a kid.

  “Hey, girly!” Peyton comes to our table with a tray.

  “This is so amazing. Wait until I get home and tell Grandma about you,” she continues chatting.

  “Your grandma moved?”

  “No, I moved in with her.” She pats me on the shoulder giving me a look of pity. “I’m so sorry about what happened to … well it was a lot in such a short time. Your g
randmother, then your mother … You know, they never caught the burglar who killed that girl. My grandma thought the police would bring you back. What actually happened?”

  God had mercy and the authorities decided to put me into foster care. Away from that hellhole.

  “It’s classified information, Miss,” Wes responds taking the food off the tray and handing me my latte. “Thank you for the food.”

  “Oh. Well, look for me on Facebook. We need to catch up.”

  “I don’t have an account,” I say, controlling my breathing.

  “Well, do you have a phone? What’s your number?” She hands me a pen and a napkin. I scribble my cellphone and wave at her as she walks away. Then regret it because I don’t want to talk to her.

  What if he finds me?

  Wes arches an eyebrow, staring at her in horror.

  “She talks …”

  “A lot,” I nod in agreement.

  “What girl was she talking about?”

  “Ava,” I mumble before taking a bite of my food.

  “Ava was your sister, wasn’t she?”

  The Aherns only know what social services told them. Obviously, social services only learned one version of what happened —his version.

  My sister died. My stepfather was heartbroken. We didn’t know who broke into the house and shot her.

  I’ve never confirmed or denied his story. They don’t know what went on inside my house, or what truly happened that night.

  Only we know; we just can’t talk.

  Ava is dead, and I should be running away before he finds me and I end up like her too.

  17

  Abby

  Abby Age Fifteen

  “Wear those clothes, but don’t stain them,” Mom ordered.

  I stared at the beautiful pink dress on top of her freshly made bed. It had been so long since I’d worn brand new clothes. The last time was on my tenth birthday. Grandma bought me a blue dress with a pair of black, shiny Mary Janes and a headband. I wore it for her funeral, but later Mom took it away and I could wear it only during special occasions—like when she brought a new boyfriend home and wanted me to play the happy daughter.