“I don’t talk about it often,” she says, closing her eyes briefly. Her lower lip quivers. She’s holding back the tears and the pain. “He wanted me to suffer what his sister suffered because of me. They planned to cut my body into tiny pieces, so no one could ever claim me.”
I breathe a few times, letting the anger slip through every exhale. I remind myself the fucking asshole is gone. He can’t hurt her. Corbin is paying, and Abby is still alive. I try to stay focused on her because she needs me to understand her and understand that there was more to that night. I’m grateful that she’s sharing even if she intends to push me away later. She might not believe it, but my need for her is stronger than anything else in this world. I wasn’t sure about it myself until I saw her last night.
She’s the center of my universe.
My sun.
“I’m thankful that you’re here.” I stop myself from taking her into my arms. It seems too forward, a million steps from where we’re at right now.
“Somedays I didn’t want to be. Even before Shaun kidnapped me.”
She takes a step away from me. I draw a sharp breath, hating the distance, but I don’t say a word.
“It took me a long time to come to terms with what I want and who I am. To understand that I deserve to breathe as much as the next person. Taking my life back was hard, but it’s mine, and I decide what to do with it.”
“Is there something I can do?”
“No, Wes.” She shakes her head while fixing the buttons on her shirt. “I’m showing you this so you can see half of what I deal with daily, the other half is inside my head. Usually, when a guy asks me to go out with him, I simply say: I’m not interested. If they insist, I casually show them my hands.”
She extends her hands, opening her palms. “Most times, that’s all I need to push them away, but you need to know more to convince you that this isn’t something you’d like to pursue. Your friendship meant everything to me, but I can’t be friends with a man I loved. It might work for some, but I just can’t see it happening. Not between us.”
“I still want to be your best friend, but also more.” I pause, watching her take my words and continue. “Everything.”
“Wes,” I barely hear my name coming out of her lips.
“We’re not starting from zero, we’re starting from minus infinity. I’ll regain your trust, show you who I am, become your friend, and conquer your heart.”
I plate her breakfast and set it on the small kitchen table. “You weren’t around to tell me what you wanted so I made you your favorites.”
I kiss her cheek and call Oakley who is in the backyard playing with Chester.
“I hope you’re ready, Lyons.”
“For what?” She looks confused as hell.
“I’m planning on showing you that we belong together,” I say firmly.
“We don’t,” she insists. “That’s why we ended it three years ago.”
“No, we ended things because I was a clueless, immature idiot. This time, I know who I am, and what I want. And don’t forget that I work hard to pursue my dreams.” I take her hands and kiss them. “You’re my biggest and most important dream.”
She stares at me, mouth agape.
“See you soon, Abby girl.”
16
Wes
On my way to the penthouse, I stop at the flower shop where I buy a bouquet of red roses for Abby. I sign the card and instruct them to deliver them after six.
I can’t wait to see you again.
W
At home, I make a few calls to ensure that every day she receives something from me. Tonight, it’s chocolate covered strawberries. I create a list of treats and trinkets I’d like to give her so I can search for the right vendors around town.
By eight o’clock, I’m in San Jose, at home. I stare at the phone waiting for her next move. The ball is in her court. Is she going to call? I’m now pacing back and forth around my home office wondering if I’m coming on too strong. The knots in my stomach have knots. I’ve never felt this nervous before. Not even when I asked Suzy Thomas to go to the fifth-grade dance with me.
When the phone rings, my heart beats out of control, and suddenly I’m unsure if I want to answer. But it’s just Mom.
“Is it Sunday?” I ask, taking several deep breaths to calm myself.
“How are you, darling?” She ignores my question.
It’s legit. She only calls me on Sundays.
“I’m doing well, Mom. Are you okay?”
“Can’t a mother call her son just to say hello?” she asks. Her tone is low, and she sounds a little sleepy.
“Any other mother, sure. You aren’t that kind anymore. These days, you have a schedule set and too little time to fuss around with us,” I explain. “What’s going on?”
“I was on the phone with Sterling,” she says, annoyed with my comment.
“My little brother gets Wednesday nights?” I joke.
“You're ridiculous. Of course not. Since I missed the opening of his gallery, I called him to congratulate him.”
“I understand you have a life, but how could you miss the opening?”
Mom used to travel to any corner of the world if she learned that Sterling’s pieces were on display. Even at an obscure café in Croatia where they had his painting on the wall. He’d gifted it to the owner of the establishment after they’d spent the weekend together. Mom doesn’t know that part though.
“We received the invitation with such short notice. I can’t just cancel my vacation. We’re already in Greece.”
I agree with that. What was up with that last-minute invite? Sterling told me about the party just a couple of weekends ago. Did he do it because of Abby?
“How long are you staying in Greece?” I change the subject. This is an issue between her and Slugger.
“At least until September. We might stay until next year if I get my way. It’s beautiful here. You should come over. Rest.”
“I’ve rested enough, Mom.” And I’m just reconnecting with Abby.
“Sterling mentioned his partner.” Her voice sounds warm and yet uncertain. “Did you know?”
“Why can’t you say her name, Mom?”
“Did you talk to her?” She ignores my question.
“Yes, I saw Abby last night, and again earlier today,” I answer. “What happened between the two of you?” I ask, hitting her with the question that’s been swirling inside my head for a long time.
Silence.
“You adored her, Mom,” I’m not letting it go—not this time. “You can’t just throw away five years of memories and love.”
Still nothing.
“How many trips did you two share? Abby was the daughter you’d always wished for and when she needed you the most …”
“I failed her.” The tightness in her voice and the pain laced through the words remind me of myself.
“I failed her when they brought her to us. I knew. It was so obvious. I ignored it. I thought that avoiding the subject would help her. If I didn’t acknowledge it, then it’d be fine. She’d be fine.”
“Mom, it wasn’t your fault,” I say with conviction. It took me a long time to understand it myself, but now it’s so clear.
“And then …” Mom continues, her voice lost. “When everything happened, I was in a terrible place, Wes. After Will died, my life felt like a lie. All those years I waited for him. I held onto the promise that soon it’d be the two of us traveling, enjoying the life he built. He lied to me. He knew he was sick and didn’t tell me. He spent his last days in his office.” She sobs. I hold onto the phone wishing I were near her. “I couldn’t just show up at the hospital and say: Hey, I’m here. My heart was weak and my soul nearly dead.”
“How about now? It might help you heal.” I don’t let it go. “You can’t just erase her from your life because you think you failed her. You didn’t. If it weren’t for you taking her to Europe after high school, or convincing her to travel around, she wouldn�
�t be here.”
“Wes, that’s all in the past. I have no idea how to get her back in my life.”
“You show up and open your arms, telling her how much you love her.”
“She’s not going to just let me in.”
“Mom, you’ve always told me to try. The worst thing that can happen to you is hearing a no. Which I doubt. Unless you judge Abby for what happened to her.”
“Wes, I don’t judge her. I admire her because of her courage. She’s a survivor.” Her voice breaks. “I love her.”
“Then, maybe you should tell her that, Mom.”
The line goes silent. I check to see if we’re still connected, which we are. I don’t say a word and wait. It’s taken me a long time to process the events, my feelings, and how I’ll move forward.
“What are you going to do?” She doesn’t say anything more about her relationship with Abby.
“Make her fall in love with me,” I repeat the words Mom said three years ago.
This time though, I say them with conviction, and my heart believes that it’s possible. Abby is worth the risk. I love her chaos and her passion. She’s my weakness and my strength; the only person I need for the rest of my life. I just have to remind her of how great we are together.
“You always loved her,” Mom says in a low voice. “The minute you walked into the room and saw her, I just knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask.
“That you two were meant for each other,” she offers with a smile in her voice. “It’s like your souls loved one another even before you met. I could feel the connection between you two and watched it grow as time passed.”
As she talks, I remember seeing Abby for the first time. Her big eyes, her shaky body, and my need to protect her. God, I wanted to suck the fear out of her system. I still do, with all my heart. Why did I believe that our love and bond were irreparably damaged?
“Why did you let her go?”
I don’t have an answer for that. I never thought that I let her go. Did I have a choice?
The shock at my own answer has me breathless. Of course, I did. Abby always did what I asked her to do. To please me, to be the person I needed at the moment I needed it. Maybe if I’d insisted, I could’ve convinced her to stay right by my side. But at what price? I had realized that I wasn’t strong enough to keep her together, let alone heal her.
She needed to do this by herself—for herself—not for me or my family. I take a breath, closing my eyes. This wasn’t the kind of conversation I needed tonight. I wanted to hear Abby’s voice, listen to her at least one more time before the day ended. Maybe I haven’t gotten any response from her because she’s not ready. My challenge was too forward. Maybe I should back off.
This time I’m going to be myself while following her lead. To be together, we have to be honest. And with that honesty, I answer Mom. “I did it for her. I did it for love. There’s nothing I can deny her.”
No matter how much we change and grow, one thing will stay the same: I’ll do whatever she needs.
“Abby required a lot more than I could give her. She needed the space. Like you, I wasn’t strong enough to be her rock.”
This conversation feels like therapy, like a confession between mother and son. We’ve never talked about this before. She avoided the subject, and I was too absorbed in my pain to even care about what was happening outside my head.
“Do you need me to fly back, Wes?”
“No, Mom. I’m perfectly fine, but I appreciate that you worry about me.”
“I do, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you after your father died or when you lost Abby.”
We talked about this a year ago, while I was recovering. I’m a grown man, but when I lost my dad, only Abby was there to hold me while I grieved.
“If you need me, you know where to find me,” she insists. “I’m here to listen to you, to hold you if things get heavy.”
“She needs you,” I bring the subject of Abby back up.
“She doesn’t,” Mom assures me, as if she’s aware of what Abigail needs or doesn’t need.
“Of course, she does, as much as you do her.” I hit her with the truth because I know how much Mom needs her children, including Abby.
“Maybe one day I’ll be brave, and I’ll talk to her.”
“I hope you do,” I say, satisfied with what I accomplished today. “You miss her.”
“I do,” she accepts it. “It’s time for me to go. We’re going to visit the market.”
“Take care, Mom.”
When I hang up with my mom, I notice a text.
Abby: Thank you for the strawberries.
I respond immediately.
Wes: I hope you still like them.
Abby: Of course. They’re still my favorite along with gummy bears.
Wes: Do you have time to talk?
Abby: Sorry, I just got back from yoga. I have to shower and get ready for bed.
Wes: Have a good night, Abby girl.
Abby: You too, Wes.
“Progress,” I say putting down my phone. Oakley trots toward me holding her leash. She’s ready for her walk.
She wasn’t overly enthusiastic with Abby, and Abby shied away from her. I wonder if they’ll be able to get along and if Chester would accept another person in his life. Instead of overthinking the future, I head outside. As I spot the moon, I take a picture and send it to Abby with the caption: I hope we’re sharing the same view.
Abby: It’s cloudy here tonight. Thank you for sending me this pic.
Wes: Goodnight, Abby girl.
Abby: Goodnight.
17
Abby
Softly splashing water droplets hit the car windows as I drive north on University Boulevard. The skies are overcast with a blanket of grey. The rain usually calms me. I love to dance in the rain and let the raindrops touch my skin. But I can’t stand it when it’s raining and I’m on the road. The other drivers tend to behave like Armageddon has just begun, and it’s every man for themselves. Thankfully, I’m only a few blocks away from the gallery.
Once I stop at the light on First Avenue and University, I call my realtor. Her voicemail picks up right away.
“Erika, I’m sorry, but I didn’t love any of the properties that your assistant showed me. Keep sending me what you find.”
Chasing your dreams can be harder than finding a unicorn downtown. Fine, not quite as impossible. The special place I’m searching for doesn’t exists according to those real estate sites I visit nightly. My realtor hasn’t found them either. As the days pass, I feel it getting farther and farther out of reach.
It’s okay. You got this, girl.
In a couple of years, I should have my shelter up and running along with the rest of my plan. It feels like it was only yesterday when I was in Tahoe, sitting by the fire and talking with Wes about starting a place where young people could feel safe. After living in Esperanza’s Home, where I was allowed to hide, heal, and find myself, I wanted to open something similar. Not only a trauma center, but also a place where young women who didn’t feel safe at home could stay until they found themselves and their place in the world.
Luna, the woman who rescued me from Shaun, happens to be one of the founders of Esperanza’s Home. She’s been guiding me through the process. Her goal is to eventually open one in every state, but that’s a long shot. If I can open one or two, I’d be helping her cause. I promised to support her once I got mine running. Which, at this pace, I’m not sure if it’ll happen at all.
For the first stage of the project, I’ll use the money Will gave me for my twenty-first birthday. That’s if I find a lot big enough and far enough from the city. Afterward, I’m going to need multiple benefactors to help me support it. Sterling offered his help which I’ll graciously take. At the moment, I’m selling some of the paintings and sculptures he’s given me because he’s not in love with them.
Once I arrive at the gallery, I park the car and enter through Sterling’s st
udio. He’s working on a piece of marble. He says it’s going to be the next David or The Thinker. He’s making a self-portrait. I wish Wes knew about this. We’d be cracking jokes about it.
Who cares about the joke? I’d be staring at his chiseled face and enigmatic eyes. We’d be catching up and …
“Hey,” I greet Sterling and try to stop thinking about his brother.
“Did you find your dream lot?”
“Nope,” I stare at his desk where there’s an unopened box.
I roll my eyes. What did he order?
“Everything is either too small or too close to the penitentiary,” I complain about the last one I saw close to Morrison.
The spot was almost ideal, but there’s no concrete wall between the lot and the building next door. There were lines of wire fences and towers with guards. Not the view I’d want to offer the women who are running away from violence and criminals.
“You can check other areas, like Larkspur,” he suggests.
“It’s too south from Denver but a good option.”
“Colorado Springs?”
“Way too south. I’d have to move.”
“By the way, you got that.” He finally lifts his gaze and turns toward his desk.
My heart beats as I stare at the box as if it’s toxic. “What is it?”
“Open it.” He glares at me. “It’s not a snake.”
“I refuse to open it.” I cross my arms.
“Why?”
“It’s from your brother.” I don’t need to look at the label to know who sent me that box.
“You’re bluffing. There’s no way you can tell it’s from him just by standing close to it.”
“Wes warned me yesterday morning,” I say, as if that explains how I know.
Sterling lays the chisel and marble on his working table and crosses his arms giving me his full attention. “What did he threaten you with exactly?”
“Hey, I said warned not threatened. But if you must know, he is going to show me that we belong together.” I march to the desk and grab the small knife to open the parcel. “I already received a bouquet of roses and chocolate covered strawberries.”
Back to You (Chaotic Love Book 2) Page 11