Wrecked

by Shiloh Walker

  A fist seized her heart and Abigale closed her eyes. “I don’t plan on it. I just . . . hell. What if I’m reading this wrong? What if you all are off base?”

  “We’re not.” Marin chuckled. “Trust me. We’re not.”

  Abigale blew out a breath. “Man, I hope not.” She plucked her shirt from her chest and eyed the new tattoo on her chest. It was covered by the dressing, angry and red and not at all the sexy little surprise she’d hoped to present him with, but he’d get the sentiment, she knew.

  “He has an A on his chest,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Marin glanced over her. “We’ve only had a hundred get-togethers a year, Abby. I see him without his shirt all the time. I asked him once what he was going to say when you finally noticed.”

  Abigale arched a brow, waited.

  “He told me that you never did notice all that much about him, so it wasn’t an issue.”

  Abigale winced. “That’s not . . . completely true.” She’d noticed plenty about Zach. When she let herself look. She just hadn’t always let herself look. And now she couldn’t not look. “Marin, this is insane.”

  “No. It’s completely sane, and it’s completely right. What’s insane is that it took you this long to notice. Any idea what you’re going to say to him?”

  Abigale focused on the clock. “No. And the way traffic is going, I’ve got a while to figure it out.”

  Time enough. Too long. Not long enough. Closing her eyes, she started to try to puzzle her way through everything that had to be said between them.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Make yourself findable.

  That was what Zane had said.

  Zach had spent half the day at home, but Abby hadn’t shown up.

  It was Tuesday. Tuesdays were a workday.

  So maybe he should do the smart thing and get his ass to the office.

  Of course, the last thing he wanted to do was work.

  Still, he stomped through the back door of Steel Ink, up to the front, and watched as the employees scattered. All but Javi. Javi looked at him with a sidelong glance. “You look pissed.”

  Zach didn’t respond to that. There wasn’t any point. “Has Abby called?”

  “Nope.” He shrugged and said, “But if she does, I’ll make sure you get the call, boss. Promise.”

  Zach grunted. As he turned around, he saw Keelie standing in the doorway to the hall. She held his gaze and he wanted to just push around her, but she had her tall, skinny frame planted there and unless he physically moved her, she wasn’t going to budge. He could tell that from the look in her eyes.

  “What?” he bit off.

  “Have you been able to talk to her?”

  Baring his teeth at her in a mockery of a smile, he replied, “No. She’s avoided my calls and me ever since Sunday. Happy?”

  “No.” Keelie looked away and took a deep breath. “I’ve tried to call her a few times, but she’s not answering the phone. Is she okay? Has anybody talked to her?”

  He debated on whether or not he should just avoid answering that to make her feel bad. Part of him wanted to make her feel bad, part of him figured she deserved it. But the bigger part of him felt guilty for thinking that way. He didn’t need to feel more guilty on top of everything else. When he could think without being pissed, worried, scared, he figured maybe Keelie hadn’t really meant any harm and maybe they could get past this. Maybe.

  “Oh, she’s talking to people,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at her lowered head. “She’s just not talking to me. She’s talking to Marin. She’s talking to Zane. But she won’t talk to me.”

  “Zane . . .” Her lashes flickered.

  Okay. Now he was ready to get mad at her again, all because of that look in her eyes. He didn’t want his brother feeling gutted the way he did. “Yeah. Zane. Do me a favor, Keelie. Leave him alone.”

  “Leave him alone?” Something flashed in her gaze.

  “He’s got a thing for you.” Zach crossed his arms over his chest. “Now he’s hurting. He’ll get over it, but since you don’t give a fuck about him, don’t keep acting like there might be something there when there’s not.”

  Keelie opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head like she wasn’t following the conversation. “What . . . you . . . damn it, Zach, I don’t know what in the hell you’re getting at here, but Zane and I are friends. I’m allowed to be friends with him.”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head. “Friends. That’s why he sounded like I’d sucker punched him when I told him what happened. He’s interested in you. You don’t feel the same and that’s fine. Look . . .” He blew out a breath and said, “I’m not ready to talk to you yet, but I might be. Later. Just don’t mess around with my brother, okay?”

  She gaped at him and, unwilling to stand there any longer, he nudged her aside and headed to his office. He couldn’t remember if he had any appointments scheduled that day or not. He didn’t want to be there. He needed to be out looking for Abby, but Zane had said she’d find him.

  So he had to be findable.

  The only place he ever was on Tuesdays was at his shop.

  So he’d stay at his shop.

  Until it was time to go. Shit. Then what did he do? Go home? Go to her place?

  Swearing, he pushed through the door and slammed it shut. He headed for the desk but he hadn’t been there any more than a minute before he found himself remembering that day. Forty-eight fucking hours ago. How could life go straight to hell in forty-eight hours?

  Groaning, he closed his hands around his skull and tried to shove those thoughts out of his head. Tried and failed. Rubbing the heel of his hand over his chest, he bent over his desk and decided he’d deal with work. Work would keep him occupied for a little.

  * * *

  “His car is here.”

  Swiping her hands down the sides of the slim-fitting skirt of her dress, Abigale nodded.

  “You need to breathe a little before you puke, honey.” Marin poked her in the shoulder. “You look almost as rough as you used to before a press conference with she-who-shall-not-be-named.”

  “Blanche.” She slid Marin a glance and said, “It’s Blanche. I mean . . . I know you all know it and I know we were kids when we started that name, but it’s past time we stopped. She’s not the boogeyman.” She grimaced and said, “She’s not Voldemort. She’s just a shallow, selfish woman who never cared about anybody but herself. She called earlier, you know.”

  Marin laid a hand on her arm. Abigale smiled over at her. “It’s fine. That . . . well. It needed to be done. Ages ago. I told her not to call again. I don’t know if she’ll listen, but it’s done.”

  “And when she calls back?” Marin asked doubtfully.

  “Then I decide then. But I’m done ignoring or hiding from her.” She blew out a breath and stared at the shop.

  Marin squeezed her hand. “Are you going to go in the back?”

  She nodded.

  And just sat there.

  “Well.” Marin drew the word out slowly, studying the back of the building with pensive eyes. “I could be wrong here, but I think the best approach would be actually getting out of the car.”

  “I’m scared.”

  Marin reached over and caught her hand. “I can tell.” Then she turned her head and pinned Abigale with a level stare. “But this is the absolute last thing you need to be scared of. I know you don’t know what’s waiting for you inside there, honey, but I do. It’s somebody who’s loved you for your entire life . . . now go get him.”

  * * *

  Bills paid.

  That ate up an hour.

  Supplies ordered.

  That ate up another hour.

  He sketched out a couple of designs for a client who lived over at the army base. That took up forty-two minutes. The client was still debating out in the shop. Zach wished he’d make up his mind, because if he wanted the work, doing the tattoo would take up the next couple of hours and then
he could go home.

  But now, with his mind empty and his hands free, he found himself bent over his sketchbook and the image taking place wasn’t anything he could ever put on anybody.

  It was Abby.

  The way she’d been in that last portrait. Her gaze locked on him, eyes dark and full of love. Need. Like she was staring into the very soul of him.

  The curve of her lip. The line of her jaw.

  Her hair, the way it glinted in the light . . . even though it was just a pencil sketch, he could see the dark, rich auburn and his hands itched to feel the softness of it again.

  The door opened and he kept his gaze on the portrait. “Did the guy decide on which design he wanted?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  Dropping the pencil, he lifted his head.

  Abby stood in the door, her head cocked to the side, arms folded over her chest. It was a dangerous pose, because in that dress, her breasts looked like . . . whoa. Yeah. He thought that summed it up pretty much.

  As a matter of fact, the entire package was just whoa. She was wearing one of those pinup girl–styled dresses again: a formfitting black sheath that fit her form oh so nicely, all the way down to her knees. Against the black, her skin glowed like ivory and he was about ready to fall down and worship her.

  She had on a pair of red heels . . . fuck. Red heels. Had he ever seen her in a pair of red heels?

  He didn’t know, but now it was his life’s ambition to see her in just those heels . . . and nothing else. Assuming she wasn’t going to kick his ass to the curb. If she tried, his life’s ambition was going to be getting her to forgive him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted Keelie to kiss him. It had happened and . . .

  Focus, Zach. He dragged a hand over his face and swallowed the knot in his throat. “Abby.”

  And his voice cracked.

  This was going to go just fantastic. Clearing his throat, he pushed back from the desk, although he thought it might be wise to keep his distance for a minute, especially judging by the glint in her eyes.

  “Ah . . . I’ve been trying to call,” he said softly, eyeing her nervously as she came inside. He dodged a look at her hands. No sharp objects. No wooden bats. That was good . . . right? Very few people understood just how hot her temper burned. Zach was one of them and he respected that temper of hers.

  Abby lifted a brow. “Yes,” she murmured. “About fifty times. I noticed.” A smirk curved her lips and he swallowed back a groan as he realized she wasn’t just wearing a pair of red fuck me shoes. She’d slicked that pretty mouth of hers down with the same shade of red.

  Abby rarely wore makeup anymore, but she’d gone all out tonight, it seemed. He wasn’t quite certain he understood the reasoning. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he stared at her for a minute, trying to read the look on her face but he couldn’t.

  The glint in her eyes had him confused.

  She looked pissed. Very pissed. But then he thought about the pictures . . . shit, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d just painted that tattoo on her, he’d almost think she’d done those before the mess with Keelie.

  But that wasn’t the case. He knew it.

  “Saturday night wasn’t what it looked like,” he said, forcing the words out in a rush. “Keelie was the one behind that and I was pulling away even as she did it. I know it didn’t look like that but I don’t have any feelings for Keelie. I—”

  He stopped, clamping those words shut behind his teeth just in time. Abby arched a brow, that smirking little smile on her lips. She turned away and sauntered over to the door and despite his best intentions, his gaze zoomed down to lock on her ass. That dress . . . damn it, it ought to be illegal when the woman had a body like Abby’s.

  The door clicked shut and he jerked his head up just in time to see her lock it.

  “You what?” Abby said quietly, turning around to face him.

  He stared at her.

  She leaned back against the door and waited.

  “I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t what it looked like. I swear.”

  “Oh . . . I believe you.” She waited a beat and then pushed off the door, swaying her way across the floor to him. Each click of her heels seemed to make his heart race even harder and he was almost certain the damn thing was going to leap right out of his chest by the time she reached him. She laid a hand against his chest and murmured, “I believe you . . . about Keelie. But Zach, there’s something you’re not being honest about and I think it’s time we just get this out in the open.”

  * * *

  A storm fired in his eyes.

  Abigale watched it play out as her heart raced and her hands went all damp and sweaty again. Fear and terror, frustration and desire, they all tangled inside her and beneath it all was a love that all but stole her breath away.

  All this time, Zach had been right here.

  And part of her realized she’d known. Some part of her had known. But she hadn’t wanted to look at that because it scared her. If it fell apart, if it didn’t last, so many ifs . . . if she lost Zach . . .

  He was her everything and losing him would rip the soul out of her.

  But she couldn’t hide from this anymore. She couldn’t, and she didn’t want to.

  As he continued to stare at her, she fisted her hand in his shirt, thought about the tattoo she’d seen so many times before, but had never really noticed. Thought about the tattoo she had on her chest—the one that still itched and hurt, healing already under the dressing she wore.

  “Anything to say, Zach?” she whispered, looking up into his eyes.

  His lashes flickered and for a second, she thought he was going to make this easy, but all he did was reach up and cup her cheek. “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about, Abby.” He stroked his thumb over her lower lip.

  She sighed, swaying closer so she could rest her head against his chest.

  Okay, then.

  It’s somebody who’s loved you your entire life . . .

  Breathing in the sexy, warm scent that was Zach, she steadied herself again. She had to go through with this, because she had to know. That was all there was to it. Mentally squaring her shoulders, she lifted her head and stared up at him.

  He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt for once. It was a black button-down, the tails hanging out, the sleeves rolled up. Holding his gaze, she reached for the buttons and watched his eyes as she slid the first button free.

  The blue of his eyes darkened to near black and his chest rose on a harsh, unsteady breath as she moved onto the second button. “Abby . . .”

  “Did you get anything from Zane today?” she asked softly.

  His lids drooped and the look on his face was almost as seductive as a kiss, as intimate as if he’d stripped her bare. “Yes.” He reached up and pushed a hand into her hair, but when he tried to tug her head back for a kiss, she turned away so that his lips glanced off her cheek.

  “I went to Albuquerque,” she said quietly. She’d reached the final button and now she slid her hands up, pushing the shirt back and off his shoulders as she went.

  He sighed and released his grip from her hair, rolling his shoulders back, letting her push the shirt off. “I figured as much. Abby, why are we talking about this? Don’t you want to yell at me about Saturday?”

  Smiling a little, she leaned and pressed her lips to the heart branded on his skin, just above his heart. “Oh, we’ll get to that, although I can’t really blame Keelie for having a thing for you. She touches you again, then that woman and I are going to have a problem. But that’s not my main concern right now,” she murmured.

  * * *

  As Abby reached up and traced the tip of her finger over the heart tattoo, blood roared in his ears. So loud, so fucking loud, he almost didn’t hear the warning firing in his brain. And it was a damn loud warning.

  She tipped her head back and once more, her dark brown eyes glinted with challenge. “You think maybe there’s something you need to
tell me, Zach?” she whispered, her voice husky and raw.

  He reached for her, curved his arm around her waist as he dragged her against him. His legs felt too new, awkward beneath him even though he’d been walking on them for more than thirty years now. Stumbling back, he settled his weight against the edge of his desk and studied her face.

  She didn’t give him much chance to think anything through, though. A few seconds passed and then she lowered her gaze back to the tattoo on his chest. She didn’t touch the heart, though. Or the dagger. Her fingers sought out the A that he’d designed to hide in plain sight. The lines and curves of it were part of the design and if you looked at it, the right way, you’d see it. But if you weren’t looking, it was easy to miss.

  Kind of like the way things were with him and Abby. She’d never seen it . . . because she hadn’t looked.

  But so many others had seen it. He hadn’t been as able to hide it from them.

  Swallowing the knot in his throat, he opened his mouth to try and force the words out as she trailed the tip of her nail along the A. “You’ve had this tattoo for a decade, Zach,” she murmured. “Ten years.”

  She flicked a glance at him. “Walking around with a scarlet A on your chest for a long time there, pal. Somehow I don’t think it stands for adulterer,” she drawled.

  He caught her wrist in one hand, twisted it back behind her as he searched her face. He saw something in her eyes, damn it. He knew he did. Under that glint of anger, yeah, he saw something. He thought he also saw uncertainty and nerves, but it was more than that.

  The pictures, damn it.

  “You know what it stands for,” he rasped, stroking his hand up her back and tangling it in her hair.

  “Do I?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, tried to figure out just what he was supposed to say here. Damn it. This . . . damn it. He’d tried to picture this moment, but it hadn’t come because she’d sprung the damn thing on him. He’d planned it out. Practiced it. Had a nice, pretty little set of lines all laid out.