Twenty-seven years of marriage later and Dad still looked at Mom like he was the luckiest man in the world. I used to know what that felt like, but it’d been a long time since I’d had anything worth holding onto like that. When I had it, I let go, and when I got close again, I blew it. Maybe chances like that didn’t come around twice for guys like me.
I started plucking away at the strings as I heard the notes in my head until I had an intricate melody. When I stopped, both Mom and Dad were watching me.
“That something new?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” I scratched my head. “It just sort of came to me.”
“You got anything else to go with it?”
“Just a few lines. I haven’t played around with them yet. Like I said, they just sort of popped into my head.”
He picked up the notebook and tossed it at me. “Write ‘em down before they slip away.”
I grabbed one of his pens, scribbling down the line that had come to me, adding a couple more to it. It was shit, but that’s usually how it started. I handed the notebook over to Dad, but he set it down without reading it. “Let’s hear it.” He settled his guitar onto his lap again and waited.
“Okay,” I cleared my throat and then plucked out the same chords, this time adding the words.
“I hung your love in the sky
To light my way,
Like a falling star in the night
It came crashing down and I lost my way
I lost your love when I said goodbye
Baby why didn’t I stay.”
Dad nodded, and I could see his brain working. He picked up the notebook, reading over what I’d written for a few quiet minutes, and then tossed it back down. “What about this?” He started strumming almost the same notes, with a few chord progression changes.
“I hung your love in the sky
To light my way,
But I lost faith, I lost sight
And I lost my way
I left your love and I said goodbye
Baby why didn’t I stay”
I was bobbing my head, “Yeah, yeah, that’s good.” I picked it back up and added another verse, stopping after a few lines.
“I like that. I think you’ve got something here.” Dad was still picking at his guitar, playing with our melody.
“Well, it looks like you two are going to be busy for a while,” Mom commented knowingly. “I’ll bring lunch in a couple hours if you haven’t come up for air yet.” She backed out of the room and Dad and I continued to work and refine the piece of music until it actually started to resemble a song.
Playing and working with my Dad eased something deep in my soul. I felt lighter than I had in a long time, and the music felt better than it had in a long time. Dad was buzzing with energy and excitement and pride as we worked together. It re-lit a fire in me that had been missing lately. With all the issues the band had been struggling through, and dealing with Kat, I’d lost sight of what it was all supposed to be about. The music and saying the things I needed to say in the only way I knew how.
“I like what we’ve got,” Dad mumbled as he finished penning the lyrics we’d worked out. His notebook was a mess of crossed out lines and scribbles on the page, but we had a song.
“Good, you might have to record it. I don’t know if I’m going to have a band much longer.”
Dad dropped the pen and sat up straighter. “Alex from the label called me this morning.”
If they were calling my dad, they weren’t fucking around. “Yeah, I guess I better pick up a replacement phone for the one I smashed last night and call him back.”
“Probably a good idea. Talk to the label. Talk to your band. Work it out, or don’t, but don’t avoid the problem.”
I sighed, “I just wish I knew what I wanted right now.”
Dad stood and picked up the notebook. He palmed it against my chest. “I think you do know.”
I grabbed it as he let go, and looked down at the messy scrawl on the page.
“The music, the record deals, the albums, the tours, they aren’t everything,” Dad said when I lifted my gaze up to his and then he strolled from the room.
I eyed the lyrics again. Dad was right.
I had all the money, accolades, platinum records, sold out concerts, endorsement deals, and success one could dare dream of, but it was nothing compared to what I lost. It all meant very little when the biggest thing was missing.
I just didn’t know how to get it back.
I thumbed the band on my finger. Tiny piece of metal, and yet it may as well have been a steel cage.
Four
Abbi
“Ms. Cross!” One of my students threw up his hand for a high-five as he ascended the stands past my row. I smiled and smacked his hand.
“Go Panthers!” His buddy shouted right behind him and they continued up before I could identify the student beneath the layer of blue and black face paint.
“Go panthers,” I echoed with a chuckle. The energy level of the crowd as we waited for the players to take the field was already at eleven. First home game of the season, the Panthers were optimistic that this was our year, in large part because of our star quarterback, whose parents sat just on the other side of mine.
I surreptitiously scanned my eyes over the line of students and families still streaming into the stadium. He wasn’t among them. Yet.
Maybe he wouldn’t show.
Maybe the Boston PD had locked him up and lost the damn key.
That was too much to hope for.
The buzz of the crowd announced his arrival before I ever laid eyes on him.
“Oh my gosh,” gushed the girl directly behind me, “Jenny just texted me and said she saw Abel McCabe in the ticket line.”
“No friggin way!”
I craned my neck, forgetting discretion altogether.
“Do you think he’ll let us take pictures?”
Slowly the news spread through the stands and there was a mass exodus of teenage girls from their seats.
“I think our son is finally here,” Aunt Jax noted with some humor. “I remember when they used to react to you that way.”
Uncle Ky grunted unintelligibly, and a moment later added, “Looks like your dad made it too.”
I’d yet to spot Abel, but the second Uncle Ky said it, my eyes landed on him, and then the man trailing after him. Tonight was really going to be a night for stirring up the crowd.
Between the McCabe fame and the Malloy infamy, their family couldn’t escape the spotlight if they tried. Abel’s grandpa didn’t scare me, but maybe that was because I’d only ever known him as Abel’s Grandpa Jack who brought us kids sweets and toys, and never as Jack Malloy, the head of the Irish mob that terrorized and controlled Boston for years. The rest of the city had longer memories and were less forgiving of Jax’s dad than she was.
Even that had taken time. We might have been just children back then, but even children could pick up on the tension that existed every time his grandfather came to visit. Eventually we figured out how to Google and discovered for ourselves the tidbits the parents left out. Let me just say it wasn’t pretty, and if the man hadn’t always spoiled us with toys and candy, I might have peed myself a little.
The two of them slowly shouldered their way through the crowd, stopping more than once for selfies and autographs. Abel’s, not Jack’s. They both got stares, but the way everyone eyed the two of them was very different. They looked at Abel with awe, and they looked away from Jack quickly as if he might get a hankering for busting kneecaps again if they stared too long. Didn’t matter that he was an old man now—not running anything besides legitimate businesses—he was a big man who still carried himself like he was the head of the mob.
It took them several minutes to reach us, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Abel’s charming grin or confident swagger. He’d yet to look up, but the closer he drew, the faster my heart thudded inside my chest.
He tussled a hand through his messy ha
ir and flashed a swoon-inducing grin at a young girl as he signed something for her. He was every bit a rock star, the years and his blessed genes had been more than good to him. Made him even more irresistible. The way he wore a simple pair of jeans was either a miracle or should’ve been illegal. I couldn’t decide which.
And I would be lying if I said that the sight of him in his brother’s jersey didn’t fulfill some decade old fantasy of mine leftover from high school. I was the cheerleader, but Abel was never the jock, not that it mattered because he was still the most desirable boy in school. And all mine.
I tore my eyes away. Not mine. Not anymore. Not ever again.
Fool me once, shame on him. Fool me—what were we on now? I didn’t even know at this point, but shame on me. And that shame ran deep. Haunted me in the mirror.
Heartbreak wasn’t the worst thing you could feel.
I sensed my father’s eyes on me. Did he and Mom think that Abel’s recent marriage was bringing back all that old heartbreak and disappointment? I’d be embarrassed at how pathetic it seemed except that the truth was even worse. I kept my gaze forward, on the flashing scoreboard that indicated the game was about to begin. I didn’t realize I was wringing tonight’s program in my hands until I caught my dad watching me. I cast him a sidelong glance. He offered a smile, and I forced myself to return it and relax my grip on the program.
“It’s going to be a good game tonight. It’s good that Abel is here to watch his brother.” Was Dad fishing to see how I felt toward Abel? Either way, the reminder that it wasn’t all about me was what I needed. It was good that Abel was here, even if it wasn’t good for me.
I nodded and released the pent-up tension with a deep exhale. “Yeah, it will be a good game.”
I swung my gaze forward again, chancing another peek just as Abel and his grandfather stopped in front of our section. He looked up and our gazes collided. I always forgot how green his eyes were, how intense, until they were staring at me. Boring into me. Prickling my skin and searing my soul.
Just three rows down.
The eyes were familiar. The man was not. The boy I’d loved all my young life was not the person standing in front of me, though my heart beat to the contrary. I think that was the problem, I’d been hanging on to who he was so hard that I didn’t notice when he turned into someone else. This man was a stranger, I had to remind myself. He wore the face of my best friend, though with features more defined and rugged than the younger version, but I really didn’t know who he was anymore.
He’d proved that over and over.
The moment broke, and Abel looked away. He and his grandfather crossed to the other side of our row and took up seats at the end, next to his mom. I bit my lip and cast a wary look to the side. Up close, he looked tired. Gorgeous as ever, but tired. And stressed around the eyes, and a little on edge. How bad was it?
Nope. You don’t get to care.
I couldn’t do it again. Get sucked in by him. Every time it ended badly. He made his choice and there was no going back for us.
I peeled my eyes from him and forced them in front of me, to the cheerleaders who were beginning to get the crowd going in anticipation of the players’ arrival on the field.
The stands erupted with thunderous noise when the band broke into Darlington’s fight song, prompting everyone to stand to their feet. Yells and cheers exploded into the air as a stream of boys in blue and black came pouring onto the field, led by quarterback Aiden McCabe.
The announcers started in on the stats for the Panthers and the opposing Wildcats, while the teams took up their positions on opposite sides. Coaches shouted, players ran around, and within minutes both teams took to the field and the game began.
From the very first play, it was an intense battle between the two sides. Panthers’ Coach Richards and his staff barked at our players from the sidelines, and the cheerleaders led us in cheers of defense and offense as the ball went back and forth between the two sides. Both teams eked out a touchdown in the first quarter, and then as halftime neared, the Panthers were able to score again and pull ahead. When the whistle sounded they were up fourteen to six.
“Aiden’s killing it. I can’t believe I didn’t make it to a single game last year,” Abel commented regretfully.
“You’re here for this one,” Aunt Jax said cheerily.
“I should be here more.” Frustration leaked from his words.
“It’s okay, he understands.”
I eyed my dad who was watching me closely as I listened in on the conversation. “I think I need nachos,” I said, standing. “Anybody else want anything?” I avoided Abel’s gaze and mentally jotted down the requests for bottled water, chocolate, and a hot dog, and then joined the throng of people all heading for the concessions. The students were buzzing with excited chatter. Panthers were up, but Abel McCabe was still the main topic. His name was on every tongue as I was jostled along until I finally turned the corner and the walkway opened up.
“Abbi, wait!”
I couldn’t escape him. For even a few minutes.
I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned. Abel was shouldering his way through the crowd toward me. People were staring and everything in me wanted to spin around and bolt, but I didn’t.
I folded my arms across my chest and fixed a bored expression on my face.
“I thought you could use help carrying everything,” he said when he stopped in front of me, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“You thought I needed help? Carrying things? That’s what you’re going with?” Without waiting for him to respond, I turned on my heel and continued toward the concessions.
“Abbi, please.” He was right on my heels, but I didn’t spare him a single glance as we joined the line.
I felt his heat at my back as he leaned in close, “Is this how it’s going to be? You not looking at me, or speaking to me at all?” He said in a low voice.
I clenched my jaw against the urge to snap a biting remark. What did he honestly expect?
“Abbi,” he sighed, “it doesn’t have to be like this.”
I bit down harder. Was he serious?
“I can explain everything, if you’ll just give me the chance to.”
That was it.
I spun around, grabbed him by the jersey, and dragged him away from the line of people and listening ears. “Give you a chance?” I ripped my hand away from his shirt. “To explain? Explain what exactly?”
Our gazes locked, it felt like ripping my chest wide open all over again. “I gave you your chance. I let myself believe you were still the Abel I loved, still my best friend. That you and I were still us, that we could come back from what we became.” He looked away and it hurt as much as anything. He couldn’t even meet my eyes and admit the truth.
“I believed you,” I whispered hoarsely. His green eyes found mine again and I had to ignore what I saw in them. If I let myself look too hard, my resolve might have wavered, and I couldn’t let him get to me again. “Like an idiot.”
“Abbi,”
“Don’t,” I snarled. “It’s true. I thought I was special because of our history. I thought you were finally ready to quit screwing around and playing this damn game we’ve been playing the last eight years. You swore to me Abel, you swore to me that if I trusted you, you were going to make everything right. A few days was all you needed and then you’d come home to me. So imagine my shock when I got that apology text with no explanation attached, and then had to find out from a celebrity gossip site days later that you were married in a hush hush ceremony. There is no apology or explanation that makes it okay, that makes anything we’ve done okay. So now we both just have to live with it.”
“Abbi, I’m so fucking sorry,” he choked.
I shook my head. “Save it. Whatever excuse you have, I don’t think I can hear it. I should have known better. But I do now. And I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting for the guy I loved to come back, and letting this one I don’t even rec
ognize use me. You changed, and I didn’t see it, or didn’t want to see it, but my eyes are wide open now. And I don’t think I want to know you anymore.” Hurt, as powerful as the hurt I felt, flickered in his gaze, but it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t possibly feel half of what I felt. If he did, another woman wouldn’t be wearing the ring I always thought would be mine. I turned and rejoined the line that had grown even longer.
He didn’t follow me, and was back in his seat when I returned, arms laden with food and drinks. The second half of the game started, and I didn’t once look over at Abel. I cheered on his brother, and joined in conversation with our parents, but did my best to pretend he wasn’t there.
The first home game of the season ended with a twelve-point victory for the Panthers, and Aiden proved to everyone why a sophomore was the starting quarterback. Between him and Rodney Creswell, Darlington’s star running back, it was shaping up to be a great season for the Panthers, and still it was all I could do to keep a smile on my face as the crowd around me erupted into celebrations.
Students packed the field, others filed out of the stadium, and those of us waiting on players, made our way down toward the tunnel that led to the locker rooms. My stomach grew queasy when Abel followed, not that I’d expected any differently. Hoped, yes.
It wasn’t long before one by one, sweaty players, stripped of their pads and jerseys, started to emerge. The seconds ticked by while we waited, and my dread swelled. Abel could ruin everything.
Last out of the locker room, Aiden appeared with Coach Richards. Coach slapped Aiden on the shoulder and then he was swept up in congratulations from our families. My dad reached out and shook Coach’s hand and congratulated him as well, and then Coach found me with his eyes. His face broke into an even wider grin.
Finding Abel (Rebel Hearts Book 1) Page 4