by Nalini Singh
Choked up by the love inherent in that gentle order, Sarah couldn't reply with anything but a wordless sound.
The ring of the doorbell a second after she and Lola ended their conversation had her jumping. No one should've been able to get past the gate. She must've forgotten to lock it. That should've worried her. The fact that it didn't worried her.
Flossie woofed as the doorbell rang again.
Ignoring it because she didn't want to deal with anyone, and if it was Jeremy, she might just be tempted to walk out and knee him in the gonads, she picked up her mug, took a drink, then put it back down. She had to get up and out of this chair, start doing all the things that needed to be done. She couldn't do this every single month, couldn't X out the fourteenth in her diary because she knew she'd be a wreck unfit for company.
Her business hadn't yet felt the impact, but it would if she didn't find a way to deal.
Because Sarah was no longer a nobody. She had a small but thriving business, had employees who relied on her and clients who did the same.
A flash in her peripheral vision.
Giving a short yelp, she scrambled out of the armchair... to stare frozen at the big, muscular man on the other side of the glass of the solarium. Abe raised a hand, said something that didn't penetrate the glass; his eyebrow piercing glinted in the noon sunlight, the metal cool against the warm, dark brown of his skin. That piercing and his unexpectedly clean-shaven head put all the attention on the harsh but gorgeous lines of his face. Sarah felt her own skin flush, her heart thunder. She hadn't seen him since that terrible night at the Zenith Music Festival fourteen days ago--the night Jeremy hit her.
The blow had come after she told Jeremy their relationship was over. She'd known it for a while, had stayed only because of residual loyalty from when they'd first met and he'd been so kind to her. In truth, it had been months since they'd even really touched. And nothing, nothing in Jeremy's behavior to that point had suggested he'd ever get physically violent with her; she'd never have broken up with him alone in the dark otherwise.
On the other side of the glass, Abe pointed toward the back door.
Sarah shook her head, her heart thumping.
Abe was the one who'd hauled Jeremy off her. She hadn't even known he was nearby until he grabbed Jeremy with an enraged roar and slammed the other man up against the side of one of the heavy-duty buses the band had been using as their living quarters while at the outdoor festival. She and Abe had spoken earlier in the night, too, after Abe came up to her during the party to celebrate that day's performances.
She hadn't expected him to track her down, had expected what he'd said to her even less: I'm sorry, Sarah. I should've said that a long time ago--no excuse as to why I didn't except that I'm an asshole.
That, she could've borne. As he'd admitted, the apology had come far too late. It had no power to worm its way under her defenses. Then he'd said: You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Given that Abe had just seen Sarah talking to Oscar-nominated Kathleen Devigny, a woman who was heartbreakingly beautiful even when she was dressed down, the words had hit her hard. The cynical part of her might've accused him of laying on the charm, but Abe wasn't charming. He'd never been charming. He was just Abe. Blunt and honest and violently talented.
And a man, she'd realized that night, who still held the power to hurt her.
Today, on the other side of the glass, Abe folded his arms and spread his feet on the soft grass she babied all year around and mourned when water restrictions kicked in. Jaw set, he locked the deep brown of his eyes with her own.
He wasn't going to leave.
Eyebrows drawing together as years of withheld fury roared past her grief, Sarah gave him the finger and mouthed, "Fuck you," before turning on her heel to leave the solarium.
She roared out of her internally accessible garage ten minutes later, leaving Abe waiting on the lawn.
CHAPTER 4
SARAH HAD GIVEN HIM THE FINGER.
Abe shook his head, still not quite able to believe it, even though the incident had occurred several hours earlier. His wife... ex-wife, he reminded himself, didn't indulge in public displays of affection, didn't swear, and she definitely didn't make vulgar gestures. The entire time he'd known Sarah, she'd been elegant and ladylike and contained.
Even when she was trying to convince him to kick the drugs, even when she was frustrated to tears by his behavior, she'd never once used a four-letter word. In his worst moments, he'd tried to push her to it, but Sarah hadn't ever snapped and told him to fuck off or called him a son of a bitch.
And in bed, when he'd lost himself in her, he'd had a tendency to get very dirty with his mouth. Sarah had never told him to stop, had, in fact, reacted with molten heat, but she'd blush and go quiet if he asked her to say dirty things in return.
He'd always found that cute--and it had given him a challenge. One day, he'd thought, he'd get his wife to whisper naughty, naughty words to him in bed.
His smile faded.
Running his fingers over the piano keys, he picked out a melody that had been humming in the back of his mind for hours. He didn't know where he'd heard it but it would bug him until he played it out. So he played, and he thought again about the night he'd fucked up his life with Sarah. She'd done nothing but try to love him, and he'd done his best to wound her beyond repair.
"You were a goddamn asshole, Abe," he gritted out, the melody turning hard and angry under his fingers.
That he'd been on a cocktail of drugs, his body so used to them that he'd showed little outward effect, didn't matter. He'd made a mess of things, kept doing it in the days, then weeks that followed after she left him. For some fucked-up, drugged-up reason, he'd been angry at her for leaving him when he'd done his best to push her away. He'd woken up each day expecting to see Sarah back beside him in bed, and when she wasn't there, he'd gotten angry all over again, hit the booze and the drugs.
David, Fox, Noah, they'd have slapped him to his senses if they'd known he'd fallen into the abyss, but all three had been out of town for reasons he couldn't now remember. As a result, Abe had been free to attempt to drug and drink away his demons. In the fleeting moments of coherence, he'd been glad Sarah wasn't there to see what he'd become. He never wanted her to see him like that.
Noah was the one who'd finally caught on to what was happening. He'd walked into their favorite bar a couple of days after all three men returned home, to find Abe partying with a dozen groupies, white powder scattered openly on a glass table in front of the sofa where Abe was seated. Noah had known he couldn't make Abe move, not in the belligerent mood Abe had been in at the time.
So the guitarist had gritted his teeth and just kept an eye on him.
Later, Noah told him he'd kept shouting, "She sent me fucking divorce papers!" As if he was the injured party. Eventually, sometime during the night, the drugs and the alcohol had done their work. He'd passed out... to wake the next day and discover his three closest friends had hauled him physically into rehab.
Eight weeks later, he'd come out sober and angry. Always so angry. At fate. At God. At Sarah. She'd left him, wanted to divorce him. Even then, he hadn't realized he should be begging and crawling on his knees to make up for what he'd done, how he'd abandoned her.
No, he'd fallen back on anger, the emotion that made it easier not to feel pain, not to feel panic, not to feel the staggering sense of loss that would've rocked him had he stopped for a second and thought about what those divorce papers actually meant. Anger was a great insulator. Furious, he'd gone to get his wife, to remind her she'd taken vows with him that he wasn't about to allow her to forget, but he'd been months too late.
His demons had awakened with a vengeance when he pulled up and saw Jeremy Vance kissing her on the doorstep to her apartment.
He hadn't been sober for most of their divorce battle.
He was stone-cold sober now. But while he'd gone through rehab and stuck to it this time, stuck
hard, there was one thing he'd never done until Zenith: apologized to Sarah. Not because he didn't think she deserved it. No, it was because he hadn't been able to face her. Sarah's opinion of him meant everything--and he'd screwed that up beyond redemption.
He'd known seeing disgust or hate in her eyes would kill him.
Even more, he'd thought she was happy with Vance, was painfully aware he didn't have the right to push himself into that happiness. He'd given up all such rights. The fact he missed her each and every day didn't change that.
But the moment at the music festival when he'd realized Sarah was bare feet away, he couldn't have kept his distance if his life depended on it. He'd barely breathed until she met his gaze... and he saw no hate in her, only a guarded wariness that was a thousand times worse.
The apology he'd given her that night was nowhere near enough to make up even a tiny bit for the monumental bastard he'd been to her. Part of him said it was selfish to push himself back into her life, even if it was to say sorry a thousand times over.
Another part of him said she deserved a pound of his flesh.
Pushing back the piano stool, he stood, grabbed his keys. Sarah wouldn't expect him to show his face again so quickly after she'd flipped him off--and he knew where he was most likely to find her if she wasn't at home.
He swung by her neat little house first; the gate was locked, the windows all closed, and no one human responded to his long press of the gate buzzer--but he did hear a canine woof or two from the fenced-off backyard. He'd jumped the gate earlier today, but given that he was much bigger and stronger than the asshole who'd hit Sarah during Zenith, he wasn't worried that Jeremy Vance would do the same. Still, he'd make it a point to tell her about the possible security vulnerability.
If she didn't punch him in the face the first second she saw him.
Getting back into the rugged black SUV that was the only vehicle in which he felt truly comfortable, he drove out to the Los Angeles County Arboretum. He wouldn't even know the place existed but for Sarah--and he'd lived in LA far longer than her. One day soon after their wedding, she'd disappeared without warning; when he'd called to check that she was okay, she'd told him she'd discovered "the most amazing garden" within easy travel distance of the city.
Abe had gone with her during the good times, enjoyed the peace of the serene landscapes. Enjoyed even more how bright and bubbly and happy his wife was as she told him about the flowers, his sexy nerd who fooled people into thinking she was a party girl without a brain. Abe had always known different, always known Sarah had one hell of a mind to go along with that knockout body.
He'd figured she'd study further once they settled in, get herself a bunch of letters after her name. It had given him a proud kick that his wife was so intelligent. The only thing he hadn't factored in was his own assholishness. How the fuck was Sarah supposed to study when he was off his head half the time?
"Kick yourself later, Abe," he said. "Today, you get on your knees and apologize to her."
Arriving at the arboretum about an hour later courtesy of LA traffic, he discovered the parking lot comparatively empty thanks to the fact it was only about a half hour from closing time as well as being a weekday. He pulled into a spot next to a little red MINI Cooper, then paid for admission and walked straight to Sarah's favorite spot in the arboretum: a wooden bench that overlooked Baldwin Lake, with the graceful presence of the Queen Anne Cottage on the other side.
And then there she was, standing on the edge of the lake, looking at the mirror-still water, a faraway expression on her face. Beautiful didn't describe her, wasn't good enough a word for her. She was Sarah.
Unique and stunning.
Her African-American, Puerto Rican, and Japanese ancestors had left their mark on her in different ways--that glorious, deep brown skin that glowed under the kiss of the late-afternoon sun, the thickly lashed brown eyes that had a feline edge to them, the sharp cheekbones and masses of curling black hair.
He'd always loved her hair, but Sarah insisted on straightening it more often than not.
Today, however, it ran wild around her head and over her shoulders, the sunlight picking up reddish glints in the glory of it.
His fingers curled into his palms, skin tingling with the urge to touch.
It was then that she saw him. It was as if a steel rebar had replaced her spine, shutters slamming down hard to wipe the expression off her face.
CHAPTER 5
AS HE CLOSED THE DISTANCE between them, she tugged the dark gray of her shawl tighter around her body before turning to face him.
Her legs were exposed by the knee-length sundress of cool blue with white flowers that covered her body, and those legs were as phenomenal as always. Sarah loved to dance, and it showed in the fluid muscles of her body. But she wasn't all muscle over bone like some dancers became. No, Sarah had serious, dangerous curves along with all that tone. And when she stood straight up as she was doing now, she came to just below his chin.
It made her very tall for a woman.
It made her the perfect height for Abe.
Coming to a halt a couple of feet from her, he looked at her face, specifically the spot where that bastard had punched her. "The bruise is gone." Fury rumbled in his gut regardless. If he ever saw Vance again, the man would lose that smug face of his, become unrecognizable even to his own fucking mother.
Sarah tugged the shawl even tighter around herself. "What do you want, Abe?" The words were harsh, holding none of the innate gentleness that had first drawn him to his wife... but her body, it trembled.
As if she'd shatter if she didn't physically hold herself together.
"To apologize properly." He barely restrained the urge to take her into his arms. He wasn't used to Sarah looking fragile. Gentle or not, Sarah never looked fragile. Sarah was tough enough to kick his ass and tear him a new one.
It was exactly what she'd done the times she'd found him with drugs.
"For the things I said the night you left me"--God, what the fuck had been wrong with him--"and for the bastard I was during our marriage."
Sarah stared at him before turning to face the lake once more. "Fine." The word was flat. "Good-bye."
Abe flinched. He'd known this wouldn't be easy. He didn't want it to be easy. He wanted her to be angry with him, wanted her to be full of fire... wanted to know he hadn't doused that wild, rare fire with his ugliness. "I don't expect forgiveness," he began, "but--"
"But what?" Sarah turned on her heel. "This is part of some twelve-step program you have to complete to lay your demons to rest?" She shoved at his chest with her hands, the shawl dropping unnoticed to the soft green grass. "How damn noble of you!"
Her touch rocked him to the core. It always had. "Sarah--"
"I don't want your apologies! In fact, I don't want to see your face ever again!" Each word was punctuated by fists pounding against his chest. "Go. Away!"
Abe was a big man. He could take Sarah's fury. What he couldn't take was the shimmer of tears he glimpsed the moment before she spun away. "Sarah." He pulled her into his arms without thinking about it.
"Go away." A whisper this time, her voice wet and her body no longer of the valkyrie who'd launched into him. "Please go away and let me grieve in peace."
It hit him then. Today's date. Eighteen months to the day since Sarah's baby had been born, a painful fact Abe knew because he'd never been able to stop himself from listening for anything to do with her. The little guy had never taken a breath outside the womb, never known his mother's smile or her love. Because Sarah would've loved her child with a fierce will. It was what she did: love so deeply that she didn't hold anything back, didn't protect herself.
Sarah had no walls or shields when she loved.
And that was when Abe knew he was wrong. The baby had known Sarah's love--she would've loved him from the day she first learned of his existence.
"Ah, sweetheart." He didn't release her, couldn't release her when she was so very hurt. He ju
st held her as the sun inched lower in the sky, and at some point, she began to talk about her baby, about her boy.
"I named him Aaron," she said in a voice husky with withheld tears. "I always liked that name, but originally I planned to call him Luther, one of my other favorite names." She stared out at the water, her cheek against his chest and her arms folded up between them. "But he looked like an Aaron when he came out."
She swallowed. "When I talked to him, I called him Baby Boots because of how he'd kick inside me... But it was important he have a proper grown-up name too, so officially I named him Aaron."
Speaking through her sobs, she described her baby boy with his perfect little nose and his tiny hands and his round belly. "Why didn't he breathe, Abe?" It was difficult to understand her now, she was crying so much. "Why couldn't I keep him alive? I tried so hard. I did everything the doctors said. I ate the right foods--"
And then there were no more words, only Sarah breaking in his arms.
Lost, helpless, Abe just held her and he wished to God that he could take her pain. He knew what it was to lose a young life, what it was to watch small hands go still and a small face stop smiling. But unlike Abe with his sister, Sarah didn't have any living memories of her baby, no echoes of joy to balance out the agony of loss.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so goddamned sorry." He rocked her in his arms, and when he saw a security guard heading toward them as if to say it was closing time, he gave the man a look that said his life was forfeit if he came any closer.
The guard went in another direction.
And Sarah, she just cried until he didn't think he could bear it... but he did, because no way in hell was he leaving her alone. Not this time. Not even if her tears tore him in two.
SARAH FELT WRUNG OUT, WORN AWAY. She didn't know how this had happened, how she came to be sitting in Abe's car, driving to the cemetery where she'd laid her baby to rest. "I hate seeing him there," she whispered, arms wrapped around her middle over the shawl Abe had picked up and put back around her shoulders. "I made sure he had the most beautiful white casket all lined in blue, but he shouldn't be there. My baby shouldn't be in the ground."