Break Me Down (The Breaking Trilogy, #2)

by M. Mabie

  His eyes were closed when I pulled back. When they opened, they trained on me with an intensity that made tingles dance across the tops of my shoulders and I trembled as if I were chilled. But I wasn’t. Far from it. I was warmed, from the inside out.

  17

  Abe

  She’d changed the game again.

  Deep down, I’d craved the feel of her. Hoping there might be a right time at the end of the night to give her a chaste kiss. Then she beat me to it before appetizers.

  I couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it the wine already going to her head? She’d only had a few sips and her glass was still half full. Had she read to do that somewhere? It didn’t seem that calculated. Or was there something still harbored inside Myra, reminding her she had to please me?

  I could have easily speculated, but the truth was right there. I only had to ask for it.

  “Thank me for what?”

  Her hand fell from my cheek and she smoothed her palms under herself as she sat. Setting her bag on the paver beside her chair, she answered, “For everything.” Her shoulder closest to me lifted, and I took my seat waiting for her to go on. “We aren’t what they were—or what I thought we were—but still I wouldn’t have anything I do now if you would have left me there.” A musician was tuning her guitar not far away, and Myra watched her while she spoke.

  What had changed the most about the woman beside me was her perspective. It wasn’t going to happen overnight, but she was going to thrive. Only get braver. Stronger.

  Regardless, she didn’t need to thank me. It had been the right thing to do and the evidence was in her posture, the new way she carried herself. Her subtle, yet fresh air of confidence.

  “I want you to be happy, Myra.” In every way possible, that was true. It was the root of how it all began, and I doubted—regardless of where that left me when it was all said and done—it would ever change.

  A waitress stopped at our table, breaking Myra’s attention on the musician.

  “Hi, guys. I’m Emmy and I’ll be your server.” Noticing what Myra was looking at, she glanced over her shoulder. “Have you heard Rosha play before? So good. She’s only doing a small dinner set, but I’m obsessed.” The pert young woman handed us single-sheet menus, folded her hands in front of herself, and bounced once on her toes. “I see you already have the blush, so I’ll let you look at tonight’s dinner options. Matteo ordered a complimentary antipasti board for your table. So, I’ll give you a minute and be back with that.” She waved and bound over to another nearby table.

  “What’s an antipasti board?” I asked Myra because I had no clue.

  Reading the page in her hands, she gleefully answered, “Oh, right here,” she began and then read verbatim the list of meats, cheeses, and other things that came with the appetizer.

  “Sounds pretty good actually.” It was hard to go wrong with that kind of line up.

  Again, when it came time to order, Myra relied on the staff for a recommendation, but I didn’t think of it so much as her not having an option, but an open mind to trying something new. I wasn’t as brave and got the house lasagna.

  Leisurely, we ate from the plate of starters.

  “This one.” Myra pointed at a hunk of cheese, her eyes bright as ever. “It doesn’t look like much, but wow. It’s strong.” Then she snatched a piece of bread and ran it through the oil mixture at the edge of the spread.

  “I’m going to be full by the time our meal comes,” I replied and tried the piece she suggested. She was right. It was small, but mighty. Undiscerning yet bold. A lot like her.

  Over the mic, a raspy voice said, “Hello, this first song is by Ray LaMontagne. I hope you like it.”

  The food was some of the best I’d ever had, and it was hard to believe there was a place like that in our small town. There wasn’t a crumb left between our plates when we finished.

  The sun was going down, and although I’d opted for water after my first glass of wine, Myra chose to have a second. She didn’t appear drunk or too buzzed, but, as we listened to the talented Rosha play, she swayed in her seat and couples around us danced.

  Every so often, she’d look my way and beam. Several times I considered asking her to dance, but instead, I appreciated the moment.

  During a particularly slow song, the dance floor filled, and she leaned over.

  “Can we go?” she asked.

  I was taken aback, off guard. Had it been too much?

  The check and tip had long been paid, but I pulled some extra bills from my wallet since we’d stayed longer than expected, and quickly stood. Myra collected her bag and got to her feet. In a matter of a few seconds, we were waving to Matteo and Travis from across the busy room in front and headed to the truck.

  Yet another thing, I hadn’t gone in depth about during our conversations when she was with me at the cabin.

  We’d been told from a young age that dancing was immoral behavior. That it was too suggestive and vulgar to move our bodies and hips in public. That even banded couples shouldn’t dance. Dancing was something non-believers did with other non-believers.

  Dancing led to sin. Sinning led to Hell.

  It had been drilled into me, by my father and the church, that only women who were made of loose moral fiber tempted men in those ways. There was no need for seduction. Godly women were submissive and eager to grow families for Him.

  It didn’t fit into their agenda—along with countless other forms of self-expression—so it was forbidden.

  Watching so many people do something we’d been taught was immoral must have been uncomfortable.

  Before we got to the end of the block, I asked, “Did the dancing bother you?”

  “No,” she answered without missing a beat. At the stop sign, I glanced her way to check for traffic and caught sight of her face in the street light.

  Her quiet chuckle was a relief because maybe the night wasn’t spoiled.

  “It made me want to be alone with you.” A second later, her fingers covered her mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just, you have to work tomorrow, and I have a big day, and I’d like to kiss you for a while before the end of the night.”

  Bench chisels. Tang chisels. Socket chisels. Paring chisels. Mortise chisels.

  18

  Myra

  I couldn’t say for sure or not if the wine had any hand in what I’d said at the stop sign. I assumed so, but I wouldn’t take it back.

  Not when it was true.

  Not when—after weeks of wondering if I’d ever seen it again, weeks where I thought maybe I’d imagined it—the purest affection I’d ever been shown was back in his eyes.

  His breath fell out and he guffawed. “You do?” Abraham righted himself and faced the road again as we drove through the intersection.

  “It’s all I can think about.”

  How could I expect people be to honest with me if I wasn’t honest with myself? Honest with them?

  Back and forth, his focus darted to me and then forward again all the way to the Griers’ house. It wasn’t late, but the lights were off, and Ted and Dori were probably in bed watching television like usual.

  He didn’t say anything until the truck was parked and turned off in the drive.

  Maybe men truly didn’t appreciate when women spoke up, like I’d done. He knew I didn’t have any experience with dating and that I didn’t know how to do it, going into the night.

  “You have a way of catching me off guard,” he admitted. “I just need to know something.” His hands flexed around the steering wheel, and his head slightly bobbed as he wrestled with his words.

  I waited, hoping I’d have an answer he’d like.

  “Why do want to be alone? Trust me. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing right now than touching you, kissing you. Know that. But...” he paused and swiveled to face me in the bench seat. His large hand raking through his hair while he tipped his head to the ceiling of the cab. “Why do you want that?”

 
“I just do.” My neck felt weak from the pressure to explain. It barely made sense to me sometimes. “It feels good when we touch. It’s like a hot bath. When I’m around you, I want to dip my toes and see if I can take it, and then I want more.” I zoned out on the teal numbers of the digital clock on the dashboard. “You always look good to me, always attractive. The way you look at me. How you had your arm across the back of my chair tonight. How I feel your smiles in my chest.” My ears were hot, and my face was flushed, but I was being myself like Ashley suggested. I swallowed and added, “I guess I don’t know why I like being close to you. I just do.”

  His face was somber, hard to read. A pair of green eyes, only inches away, looked black in the twilight, and there were no other sounds in the truck, aside from our breathing.

  I bet there weren’t many first dates between married couples, or whatever we were. But he was my husband, for all the state and Lancaster knew. And if for some wild reason I couldn’t even conjure up at the moment, everything we’d ever learned in that town was true, being with him was what I should be doing anyway.

  Then again, maybe it was just like the BuzzFeed quiz said: I was a thot who was DTF—a term which admittedly took me ten minutes to decode after taking the What Kind of Ho Are You quiz. They encouraged women to own their sexuality, demand respect, and to ask for what they wanted for the best results.

  It didn’t matter how I thought about it, I wanted Abraham.

  Then his palms framed my face, they were cool and warm and rough in spots just like him, but gentle just the same. His thumbs rubbed over my cheekbones and my eyes threatened to shut.

  “It’s our first date and the biggest part of me wants to be a gentleman just kiss you and let you go in, but there’s another part of me that wants to take you home and touch every part of you with my lips. Consume you until whatever it is that craves you day and night is satisfied.”

  I wanted that too.

  I’d wanted to be his, from our very first day together. Being with Abraham was the only thing that felt right then and the only thing that felt completely right now. But I’d come too far in the past few weeks to run back to the safety of the cabin just to scratch a wild itch. Regardless of how desperately it begged me to.

  When the time was right for me to go back, I wouldn’t second guess it. It would be for the right reasons. Not just for me, but for both of us.

  “I’ll take the gentleman tonight,” I replied.

  And the gentleman didn’t disappoint. His mouth closed in on mine and swept me up into a frenzy. I inched forward needing closer, aching to feel his hold around me, and I fumbled with the seatbelt latch. After struggling longer than I should, his hand wandered to my hip, freed me, and then in one quick motion drug me across the bench seat. With my legs between his thighs, I reclined into the seat with his arms around me.

  He chased shivers up my skin with hot kisses and sounds that convinced me I was delicious.

  “I’ve missed you,” he breathed against my neck.

  My toes flexed in my flats and my hands roamed his back into his thick hair. “I missed you too.”

  His fingers gripped my hip, and I bucked into is touch.

  “You’re still my girl, Myra.”

  Our mouths found each other again and I hummed my reply.

  I loved being his girl. I didn’t know if I’d ever pass the GED. It was hard to say if I’d get a job at Hobby Lobby or anywhere else in Fairview. It was yet to be seen if I was a good friend to the new people in my life. My status as a daughter was gray, since both of my parents were basically gone. And I was a sister no one noticed gone, it seemed.

  But Abraham had missed me, and I was his girl and that was enough for now.

  19

  Abe

  We made out like teenagers in movies did in my boss’s driveway. Having Myra in my arms again was incredible. She may have been inexperienced, but she naturally responded in ways that had me wondering who was showing who the ropes.

  Every whimper. Every tug of my hair to get closer. How she moved against me in all the right places. Arching to press her chest against mine. The way her bare leg hooked around mine to get closer.

  It was nearly impossible to pull away, but she’d chosen to spend some time with a gentleman and I was losing my credentials kiss by kiss.

  Mercy, she could kiss a man back to life.

  “Myra,” I said, slowing our mouths.

  Her lips felt smooth and puffy.

  Oh my God. With another peck, they suddenly felt swollen against mine. I shot up and pressed the dome light to make it glow.

  She was red and scratched up from my beard. But aside from that, her eyes were lazy, and she had a beautiful glow.

  “Does that hurt?”

  “What?”

  I hunched down closer to her again and traced her lip with my finger. “Your mouth. My beard got you.” She puckered around my index finger, and I gently replaced it with my lips. Her purr rumbled against my chest.

  “If that’s the case, your beard also got me here.” Her chin fell to the side, baring her neck to me. “Better kiss that spot again too.”

  The skin there was unblemished and fine, clear of any trace of my rough facial hair’s abuse.

  Was she teasing me?

  “Right there,” I confirmed and skimmed it with my finger.

  “That’s the spot, go ahead. Kiss it, Abe.”

  I was done for. Putty in her hands.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, totally on to her game. “Does it hurt?”

  Her side eye caught, challenging me to keep playing.

  “I would feel better if you’d just kiss it a little.”

  Baring my teeth, I went at her neck until she squealed and squirmed.

  “No. It’s fine. It’s fine,” she pleaded and swatted at my shoulder, laughing.

  With a palm against the seat, I lifted myself off her and offered her a hand to sit up. Her shirt was twisted, and she’d lost a shoe, but wasn’t that part of the make-out-in-a-truck experience?

  Honestly, I wouldn’t know because it was my first time doing it too.

  She wiped at her mouth and sorted herself. “Are you going to call me tomorrow?” she asked.

  Without thinking much of it, I lifted my ass off the seat and adjusted the painful erection in my pants. Shoving it to a better location than it was currently in without twisting anything else wasn’t easy. I noticed her watching until I stopped when it was better, but not great.

  “Sorry, I had to do something about that,” I explained, enjoying her expression. If she liked kissing as much as I suspected she did, she’d have to get used to it. I couldn’t hide what she did to me. “But, yes, I will definitely call you tomorrow.”

  “Good, that’s how you can tell if it was a good date. The guy will call.” She used her slender finger to hook her shoe around her heel and her silky hair cascaded over her shoulder.

  I was a lucky man.

  “Did you have fun?” I asked.

  Her head bobbed side to side and her lip poked out just a bit as she thought. “Yes, I see why people do it.” She found the handle to the door, and I watched her hop down while I smiled like a fool.

  “Think you’ll do it again?”

  “No, I hope that was my only one.” In the faint light, she set her shoulders back and showed me again how confidence was finding her. “I can’t have more than one first date with you, but I’m looking forward to the next one.” Myra’s voice wavered, but ever so slightly, when she added, “If you’re asking.”

  Nice and easy, she shut the door, probably trying not to wake her roommates like she’d been told.

  “I’m asking,” I said.

  Her nose wrinkled when she smiled, before reigning it in. “I’ll check my schedule.”

  I didn’t know what articles she’d been reading or maybe it was just being around the crazy Griers and their kids, but she was becoming witty and quick.

  Funny even.

  I’d have to be on my t
oes from then on.

  SOMEHOW, I’D BEEN SO distracted the night before that I’d totally forgotten to give Myra the present in the back of my truck. I’d stashed it in my toolbox, hoping for a good time to give it to her, and then totally forgot when we got back to Ted and Dori’s.

  It wasn’t until the next morning when I was getting my gloves out when it hit me, and since I’d told her I’d call anyway, before I knew it I was dialing her phone.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. I didn’t think you’d call this early.”

  I hadn’t either, but I was glad I did and headed to the lumber yard with my phone to my ear.

  “Did I wake you up?” It wasn’t even seven yet.

  “No, I’ve been awake a while.”

  I wondered if she slept as good as I had. Although it was nearly as good as when she was there with me, it had been the first night in recent memory when I didn’t toss and turn.

  “Up early. Making room for me in your busy schedule, I hope.”

  She chuckled. “I think I do have a little room somewhere.”

  “Work on it.” I waved at Chris as he pulled in. “What are you doing today?” I asked.

  “Um. Some laundry. I need to go get an oil change in the car, according to Ted. Then I have class tonight.”

  My boot kicked at the door of the shop as I stood outside, and I paced, not familiar with talking on the phone much. I usually preferred text to call, but hearing her voice in the morning was a good way to start the day.

  “I have something for you, but you might want it before this evening.”

  “My class isn’t until six.”

  “I’ll bring it—”

  She interrupted, “I can meet you at the cabin when you get off work.”

  Two hours. Privacy. I liked her suggestion better.

  “Okay.”

  “It’ll be around dinner time. Would you like me to bring something from town?”

  She’d never suggested takeout before, but it too was a good idea. As long as one thing was clear.