by B. B. Miller
No more words are needed as he brushes past Tucker and into the hallway, the door closing firmly behind him.
“Fuck.” Cam rakes a shaky hand through his hair, and I push up from my slouched position on the chair. Even though I’m numb, I take my role once more. Make the hard decisions, rev them up when all they want to do is disappear.
“We’re going to do this one for him.” Matt shoots me a wary glance, but I don’t back down. “Not because of who he was at the end, but because of who he was when we met him. Remember that? He thought we could do anything. He never doubted us once, and he never held back. So tonight, we won’t either.”
Sean slips his arm around my shoulder. “Fucking right. Let’s do this!” Tucker opens the door and the three of them file out, quickly encased by the security team.
“You need another minute?” Tucker asks, waiting at the door.
I give him a nod, and he slips out, letting the door close quietly. Feeling the frenetic energy of the crowd riot through me, I try to calm the chaos currently rattling around in my head.
How did this fucking happen? I just walked away from Brodie in France. Who did he have outside of us? Who was there to help him when he couldn’t help himself? Why didn’t he call? You told him to stay away.
I’m pacing a hole in the floor, my mouth dry as my gaze hits the drink table. There’s a kaleidoscope of energy drinks as far as the eye can see. Not a drop of alcohol in sight as specifically instructed by me. How fucking ironic is that?
I fumble for my phone and dial Abby. She’s the only thing I need. I need her voice and her strength. I need to hear her tell me it’s going to be okay. That I can do this. She’s the reason I can do this.
But when the call connects, her voice is off. My heart drops when I hear her voice crack, and I know immediately something’s wrong.
Abigail
“Ready?” I stop in front of Tessa’s desk; I’ve asked her to join me for a late lunch, wanting to discuss my hopes regarding Nadia’s replacement.
She finishes typing something on her keyboard and gives me a smile as she reaches for her coat. “All set.”
We make our way downstairs and outside, enjoying the clean air coming off the bay. Fall is right around the corner, and you can almost feel summer loosening its grip. We stride briskly to a small café on Geary and quickly find seats near the window. Once we’ve received our salads, Tess gives me a curious smile.
“You’ve seemed distracted this morning. Is there anything wrong?”
“Not wrong, just busy. Nadia’s leaving left a big hole.”
She scowls, her usual response to any mention of our former co-worker. “I still can’t believe she did that—said those things to you.” She stabs a cherry tomato as if she wished it was Nadia. “What a bitch.”
I stifle a laugh. One of the things I love about Tess is her sense of loyalty. “If she truly felt that way, then it’s good she left. I look at it as an opportunity.”
“How many candidates do you have lined up for her position? Are you going to poach someone from Make-A-Wish?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I lean forward and dump some sweetener in my iced tea. “How would you like to toss your hat in the ring?”
She freezes and stares at me, her fork suspended halfway to her mouth. “Seriously?” At my nod, she sets her fork down and sits up straighter. “I think I would love to. But, Abby, what about someone who’s already on the Giving team?” She frowns. “Wouldn’t that make more sense?”
I sip my tea, meeting her gaze over the rim of my glass. “We haven’t announced it yet, but two of Nadia’s senior people are following her to her new job. Those that remain aren’t ready to take on the manager position.”
“But you think I am?” A myriad of emotions flicker on her face; excitement, pride, worry, and a little bit of fear.
“I think you may be. I’d hate to lose you as an assistant, Tess, but I don’t want to hold you back, either.”
She tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “I don’t have any management experience.”
“Not formally, no. But think about everything you’ve done since you’ve been with us. Plus, all the charity work you were involved in at Stanford.”
“But you’ll look like you’re playing favorites.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m not the only one making the decision. Ralph, April, and Duane will weigh in, too. Just think about it, Tess. I promise I won’t think poorly of you if you decide you don’t want to apply.”
We let the conversation drift to some of the current dream projects. Tess is bubbling with ideas, which is the very reason I wanted to plant the seed. Capable doesn’t begin to describe her. In addition to being the perfect assistant, she’s always right there on the front lines, providing sage advice and insight to every dream fulfillment. She’s so busy, I’m not sure she ever takes a step back to realize how integral she is to what we do.
Eventually, we need to head back to the office. Tess excuses herself to the restroom while I pay the check, and I tell her I’ll meet her outside.
I gaze up at the cloudy sky for a moment and enjoy the fresh air. But my moment ends with the shrill ringing of my phone.
I root around in my purse for a moment and finally locate it. “Abigail Walker,” I answer easily, but there’s no reply. Damn it! Frowning, I’m about hang up when I hear it.
“Abby.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I know that voice. I still dream of it occasionally when I’m stressed or upset. Dreams of terror, violence, and blood. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“You’re looking good, babe.” My eyes shoot open. I turn and my breath leaves me in a whoosh, my eyes disbelieving when I spy him standing a few feet away.
Lucas.
Although he’s shorter than Kennedy by a couple inches, he makes up for it in musculature. He’s obviously made good use of the prison weight room. Everything about him looks hard. His once shaggy dark brown locks are now buzzed close to his scalp. His face is leaner, his jaw sticking out pugnaciously. And his eyes . . . those soft hazel eyes I used to get lost in have turned to flint. There’s no spark, no life in those eyes.
“How are you?” His deep voice has an edge that speaks of too many cigarettes. I keep staring, as my hand holding my phone falls limply down to my side.
“What . . .” I swallow thickly, my mouth suddenly parched. Then realization hits me hard. “It’s been you—you’re the one who’s been calling and hanging up,” I accuse, my eyes narrowing.
“Guilty.” He gives me a half-smile that I used to find endearing, but now just pisses me off. “I’ve wanted to talk to you, but didn’t know what to say.”
“You’ve been hanging up on me for weeks! That’s not being tongue-tied,” I snap. “That’s harassment.”
“I’m sorry!” He holds his hands out and chuckles. “Yeah, I know. It’s kind of a joke?” he offers, with a shrug. “I wasn’t sure what you’d do when you saw me.”
“A joke. Great.” I cross my arms protectively. “What are you doing here, Lucas? Are you stalking me?” I take a step back, my flight mode definitely winning over fight at the moment.
“Not stalking,” he replies with a scowl. “I’ve just been trying to figure out the best way to approach you. I’ve thought about this a long time, Abby, and I don’t want to screw it up.”
“Screw what up?” My brain is finally beginning to function again, but I can’t think of a single thing that Lucas could screw up worse than he already did years ago. “What are you talking about?”
“I want to make amends,” he says with an odd formality. The phrase rings a bell somewhere in my memory, and I gape at him.
“You’re working a recovery program?” I’m astonished. It’s never occurred to me that he’d join AA, or NA or whatever-A, and get help. He always used to scorn the idea.
“Yeah. I’m in NA. The list of people I’ve wronged is pretty long, but besides my parents,
you’re at the top of it. You and Frank.”
I suck in a harsh breath. “Stay away from my father. You’re the reason he had to leave the force, the reason he has trouble reaching up with his left arm. You’re the reason he was almost killed. Stay away from him!” I clench my fists, trying to get myself under control when I realize I’m almost yelling at him. We’re drawing curious looks from a few passersby, and I feel myself automatically adopt the passive expression I reserve for unpleasant work discussions.
“Okay, okay!” he says quickly, taking a step toward me. I immediately back up a step to maintain distance between us, but find myself bumped up against a short wrought iron fence that borders a small planter full of colorful geraniums. Shooting a look at the café, I wonder what the hell is keeping Tess. How long does it take to pee, anyway?
“I’ll leave Frank alone. But you’re another matter. I had to see you.” The hardness in his eyes lifts for a moment, replaced by a longing that I don’t want to see.
“Why?” The word escapes before I can stop it; I’m afraid of the answer.
“I loved you, Abby. I still do, despite everything that’s happened. I always have, ever since you first started tutoring me.” He looks at me, his distress clear on his face, and I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach.
“No—no, Lucas. You can’t. Not anymore,” I whisper, shaken. “It’s over. Long, long over.”
“I know we can’t be together anymore. I’m not stupid, our history aside,” he says with a hollow chuckle. “Shit. You never even came to see me in jail, never even wrote me a letter, and I still love you. Why didn’t you write to me? After everything we’d been through, I would have thought I at least rated a letter!”
“And say what?” I stare in exasperation, my gut roiling. “‘Gee, you almost got me and my dad killed by a crazed drug dealer, but come see me when you get out of the slammer?’ What the hell?” My chest heaves from the effort it takes to get the words out. “I only went to the apartment that day because you kept begging to see me, and I thought we could settle things between us once and for all. And look what happened!”
“I never meant for either of you to get hurt. It was an accident that you chose that moment finally to come over. If you’d seen me when I first asked you, it never would have happened!”
“Oh, so it’s my fault?” I ask incredulously, holding my arms out in amazement. “You have to be kidding me!”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and grits his teeth. “No, of course not,” he grates. He takes a deep breath, obviously trying to gain control of his emotions. “That’s not what I meant. I just . . . Look, this isn’t easy to say. Cut me some slack here. I’m trying to apologize.”
I can’t do this anymore. I have to get out of here. My skin is crawling, my heart is beating a mile a minute, and my stomach’s doing somersaults. A small part of me wonders if I’m having a panic attack.
“Fine. I accept your apology. Now, I have to get to a meeting, so if you’ll excuse me . . .” I want to leave, but I can’t make my feet move. I’m trembling all over, and I hate that he can see it.
He looks me over slowly. “Oh, that’s right. Working in a swanky office—executive director for some conglomerate, right? What’s that dream company about, anyway? Do you schedule dream vacations for rich clients?”
“Of course not.” I shake my head at the ridiculousness of his question. “It’s a charity for terminally ill children.”
He has the grace to look ashamed. “I should have figured you’d end up doing something like that. Well, you’re obviously doing well,” he snorts, his voice tinged with resentment. “All buttoned up and proper, wearing fancy clothes. Although, I miss the girl in jeans and one of my old Bears sweatshirts.”
“I’ve grown up,” I say coldly. “And I have my own Bears sweatshirts to wear. I don’t need yours.”
He kicks at a crumpled cup on the sidewalk. “Yeah, I can see that. You’ve definitely moved on.”
“Yes, I have. You should, too.” My tone is flat. “Now leave me alone. I have my own life, and you’re not a part of it anymore.”
“What if I want to be? Just as a friend?” He looks at me forlornly, but with an underlying frustration that frightens me.
“No, Lucas,” I say, shaking my head sadly. “You’ve done what you came here to do. Can’t you please leave it at that? What we had is long over. Just let it go. Please.”
“Abby . . .” He takes a quick step forward and grabs my arm, the anguish in his eyes ripping at my heart.
“What’s going on?” I sigh in relief at Tessa’s confused, but wary voice. Lucas releases my arm as if it burns him and backs away swiftly as Tess steps to my side. “Abby, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Lucas was . . . He’s someone I used to know in college. He was just leaving.” I can see the pain in his eyes at my words, and I’m sure it matches my own. It’s like my heart is breaking for him all over again.
“Yeah. Nice seeing you again, Abby. Take care of yourself.” He clenches his jaw, his eyes glistening, as he steps further away.
“Be happy, Lucas,” I whisper, squeezing my phone so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked.
His lips curl in a tight smile, and with a sharp nod, he turns and strides off down the street and around the corner.
It’s only after he’s out of sight that my body gives up. My trembling becomes a violent shaking, and my hands release my purse, the contents skittering across the pavement. “Holy shit—Abby!” Tess shouts in alarm as I double over. I manage to turn to the poor geraniums next to me just in time for my lunch to evacuate.
Tess quickly gathers my things as I retch into the planter. Luckily, my hair is up, so at least I don’t have to worry about it getting in the way. “Who was that guy? What did he do to you?” she begins, but I shake my head and wipe my mouth with a tissue from my pocket.
Poor Lucas. I had loved him, but my love wasn’t what he’d needed. My vision blurs as I choke on old regrets.
My phone begins ringing, and I close my eyes. There’s no way I can deal with anything else. But when I see that it’s Kennedy calling, I can’t answer fast enough. “Hello?” I have the wrought iron fence in a death grip, and I rest my forehead against the cold metal.
Kennedy’s concerned voice vibrates down the line. “Abby? Baby, what’s wrong? You don’t sound yourself.”
“I’m fine. I just felt a little sick after lunch.” Now was not the time to get into everything that had happened with Lucas, especially with Tess watching me like a mother hen. I hold the phone away and turn to my friend.
“Would you mind seeing if they have any bottles of water for sale in there?” I whisper.
“Of course. I’ll be right back,” she promises and then reenters the café, giving me a moment of privacy.
“Abby?” I can hear a thrumming in the background, like he’s in a tunnel or something; I glance at my watch, trying to work out the time change.
“Where are you? Aren’t you supposed to be on stage right now?” I ignore the curious glances of people who are probably wondering what a woman in a business suit is doing perched precariously on a planter of flowers that don’t smell that great now.
“We’re in Cologne. I need to get out there, but I had to talk to you first.” He sounds as wrung out as I feel, and I’m instantly alarmed, knowing he’s delaying a show for an arena-full of people just to talk to me.
My voice softens, full of worry. “Kennedy, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“It’s Brodie.” His hollow voice fills me with dread. “He’s dead. Killed himself. Said he couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe, blinking in disbelief. “When? Where?”
“I’m not sure when, but he arranged for us to get the note before our show.”
Anger surges through me. That asshole—did he intentionally time it to screw with their heads before a show? It wouldn’t surprise me. I take a deep breath—this isn�
�t what he needs now. I set my confrontation with Lucas and my anger toward Brodie aside and marshal my thoughts.
“What if there was something I could have done?” His voice heavy with regret. “I encouraged him to get help, but what if I hadn’t fired him? Not that I’d ever have him around you anymore after what he did.”
I close my eyes, trying to channel my strength over the nebulous cellular connection to the shaken man in Germany. “There’s nothing more you could have done. Brodie made his own path. This was his decision, and it had nothing to do with you. You know this.”
His defeated sigh makes my heart ache. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers. “I just feel responsible, somehow.”
“You listen to me,” I start firmly. “You are in no way responsible for his decisions—or anyone else’s decisions, you hear me? Brodie, Cam, Sean, whomever—they own whatever choices they make in this crazy life you all lead. You are only responsible for your own decisions, and you are a strong enough man to make the right ones.”
A soft groan of longing echoes down the line, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Fuck, baby, I wish you were with me right now.”
“Me, too,” I whisper, melting a little at the neediness in his voice. “But it’s going to be okay. I promise. You’re going to get through the rest of this tour so you can come home to me.”
“Can’t happen soon enough, gorgeous.” I can hear someone calling for him and his vague answer. And I know our time is up.
“I love you.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t know why.”
“Because under that bravado beats the heart of a truly not-so-bad-guy,” I quip and am rewarded by a more genuine laugh this time.
“I don’t deserve you—don’t reply to that,” he says quickly, his smile in his voice. “I don’t think I can stand anymore honesty right now.”