Guilt wraps around me so quickly I don’t even have time to prepare for its onslaught.
You should be grieving Kyle, not thinking about Abbott’s scent, a voice in the back of my head reprimands.
But even when I was with Kyle, I loved Abbott. I’d just been smart enough to know that he’d never love me back. Not the way I needed or deserved. So why am I letting my thoughts betray me now - betray Kyle.
I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, closing my eyes and feeling the child inside of me stir.
Kyle’s child.
Be honest with yourself, London. There’s only one reason you let Abbott move in here. You want him. I’m not sure where the thought comes from, but I push it away quickly.
Even if it is the truth, I can’t let myself think it.
Me and Abbott will never happen. Not unless I want to lose him for good. That’s my biggest fear.
Abbott is still in the kitchen when I get out of the shower and I go straight to my bedroom, shutting the door. Exhaustion overwhelms me, and as soon as I’m in my pajamas, I fall into bed.
There’s a missed call from my mom when I check my phone. The last thing I need right now is another lecture from her, but I’ve been ignoring her calls for weeks now. Abbott isn’t the only one with family issues.
Bracing myself for the disappointment and judgment I know is about to come, I call her back.
“Hi, Mom,” I say when she answers.
There’s sniffling on the other end, and before she says a word, I know she’s probably halfway through the box of wine that is always readily available in her fridge. She never used to drink, but after my dad died, it’s the only thing that gave her comfort. That and using scripture to make me feel like the worst daughter ever.
“You’re ignoring me.” Her words are slurred, and I can tell she’s been crying. “I’m all alone here, and my only child doesn’t care enough to come see me, or even call me back.”
I close my eyes and inhale slowly. The last time I called, she ended the conversation telling me not to call her back because she was ashamed to have a daughter who was pregnant out of wedlock. But she’d been drunk, and I doubt she’d even remember saying the words to me.
So I just say, “Sorry, Mom, I’ve been busy with work.”
“A job you have because of me. I paid for your education, and look how you treat me. I can barely afford to pay the heating bill this month.” The last words are slurred on a sob.
What I want to say is that I alone paid my way through nursing school, that I already paid her back tenfold the two hundred dollars she’d given me my first semester to help with books. But I don’t have enough energy to fight. Not tonight.
“How much do you need?” I ask.
“I don’t need your charity, London.”
So we’re playing this game tonight. She wants the money but doesn’t want it to look like I’m giving it to her. I’m so damn exhausted. I just can’t do this tonight.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll call you next week.”
She starts sobbing again, this time louder, mumbling words I can’t understand.
“Mom—”
“After what you did...you took him from me...and I’m all alone...”
I swallow over the anger that grows hot in my throat, forming a ball of that threatens to choke me.
“I’m not doing this tonight,” I say before ending the call, and turning the phone off so she can’t call back.
I shiver even though the apartment is warm, and I know even as I snuggle under the comforter and close my eyes that ghosts will haunt my dreams. Because my mom might be a drunk, and manipulative, but she’s not wrong about one thing...in a way my father is dead because of me.
Chapter 7
Abbott
Fourteen years old
“I hate him.” London is curled up beside me, an old quilt pulled up to her chin. “He can’t make me not see you again.”
My arms tighten around her shoulder, the musty smell of the old church basement mixing with the strawberry scent of her shampoo. I breathe her in, wishing I could make everything right.
But London’s parents have disliked me from the moment they met me, and after Liam and I got caught taking Mrs. Boyd’s car out for a joyride last weekend, one of Pastor McClain’s parishioners, he’d made it clear that his daughter was not to be seen with me again.
“He can’t tell me who I can be friends with,” London says, snuggling closer. “I’ll just...run away.”
“You can’t leave Port Clover.”
She sniffs. “Why not?”
I place my thumb under her chin and tilt her face so she’s looking at me. “Because you’d be leaving me.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Would you miss me?”
More than she could ever know. My body aches for her, but I would never tell her that. We’re friends, and she’s...London. Sweet, innocent. I’d hurt anyone who touched her, including myself. Because as much as I see the need shining in her own eyes, I know she’s not ready. And I’m not willing to throw our friendship away for anything.
Not even the kiss I’ve been dreaming about giving her.
“Yeah,” I answer, tapping her nose with my index finger. “I’d miss you.”
She gives a happy sigh then snuggles closer to me. “Promise me something.”
“Anything,” I say, meaning it.
“Promise me we’ll always be friends. No matter what.”
Friends. Is it terrible that I want so much more?
“Yeah. Of course.”
Her fingers twine with mine, and I can’t help the way my cock responds to her touch.
“You should go home,” I say, feeling my self-control unraveling. A few more minutes of her in my arms, and I may just give her that kiss.
“I don’t want to. I want to stay here...with you.”
I press my lips to the top of her head. “You’re going to be in more trouble if you don’t. And think about what your dad will do if he finds you here with me.”
“I know.” She sighs and sits up. “I just hate the way my parents treat you.”
“I’m a Savage, London,” I say with a wink. “I’m used to people thinking the worst of me.”
She keeps frowning. “I just wish they’d see you like I do.”
“And how’s that?”
“Kind, sweet—”
“You’re making me sound like a girl.” I laugh.
Her eyes scan my body, and I see the hunger there. “Trust me, no one would ever make that mistake.”
I groan and place my hands on her shoulder, struggling not to pull her soft body against mine. Instead, I turn her around and give her a small shove toward the old rickety stairs. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“I’ll go out through the basement window. Don’t want anyone seeing us together and you getting in more trouble.”
She frowns at me. “I hate this.”
I lean against the wall and pull out a pack of smokes, lighting one and taking a deep drag. “Yeah, me too.” I can’t think of anything worse than not being with her.
“Friends?” she asks from the top of the stairs.
“Always,” I promise.
After she’s gone, I take another drag of my cigarette and try to figure out how I’m going to convince her parents that I’m not the scum they think I am. I get in trouble - a lot. But it’s all in good fun. No one’s ever gotten hurt, unless you count Liam’s broken arm last summer when we tried to make our own version of a parasail on the back of my brother’s boat.
Not my greatest idea.
But for London, I’m willing to try and be good. Maybe even show up for one of her dad’s sermons some Sunday.
I chuckle, knowing that’ll never happen.
My phone pings with a text message.
London: My dad is here, you need to get out.
Shit. I toss my cigarette on the ground and text her back.
There are ellipses, and then they stop, but not before I hear shouting above me. I open the small window next to the furnace and use the crates to lift myself through it.
I’m a couple of blocks away when I hear it. A sound that will change my life.
An explosion. It rumbles through my entire body, and I jump, spinning around, my heart stopping in my chest when I see orange and yellow flames burst through the old church window.
London.
I’m paralyzed. My feet glued to the ground, a scream stuck in my throat. And then it’s like a thousand volts of electricity slam into my body, and I’m running toward the church.
Desperate.
Frantic.
I don’t know what I’m doing, I just know I have to get to London. Have to save her.
Oh God. This can’t be happening.
She’s not in there, my head screams. She can’t be.
But her dad’s old Cadillac is still parked outside, multi-colored glass from the windows covering it.
I race up the steps, ready to pry the door open when I hear someone screaming.
“Abbott,” London sobs my name, running toward me from the opposite direction I’d come. Her eyes are wide, her face white.
I grab her, pulling her to my chest, but she fights against me.
“My dad. He’s in there.” She tries to rush up the steps.
I rush after her, the heat of the fire licking my skin, and thick smoke burning my eyes and lungs.
She reaches for the door and lets out a scream of pain.
“London, you can’t go in there.” I grab her waist, pulling her back to safety, but she struggles against me the entire time.
“My dad is in there,” she keeps screaming, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, no, no. Let me go. I need to...” She gulps over a sob. “Need to help him.”
But it’s already too late. The entire building is engulfed in flames. Minutes pass by the time the fire truck and volunteer firefighters arrive. London is a mess, her screams reaching into the depth of my soul and breaking something vital.
We’re ushered back while the emergency crew works, trying to control the fire.
I don’t know how much time passes, but it’s long enough for a crowd of people to fill the street. Even my own parents are there. And London’s mom. It isn’t until she arrives that I let London go.
“What the hell happened?” my brother Damon asks, and the way he says the words I know he thinks I’m somehow responsible.
“I...I don’t know,” I mutter, walking away from him when I see one of the firefighters approach London and her mom.
“We don’t know the cause yet,” he says. “But our men have recovered a body—”
Mrs. McClain lets out a wail, but it’s London’s quieter sob that continues to gut me. I want to go to her, but she’s comforting her mom, and I don’t want to get in the way. So I step back, and sit down on the curb, watching as the last of the flames are put out, the stone walls charred and damp, glistening black in the moonlight.
“If I had to guess, I’d say the fire started in the basement...” One of the firefighters is speaking to the police chief.
“Anything suggest foul play?” the chief asks.
“Pretty sure it was a gas leak. That furnace should have been replaced twenty years ago. A single match could have...”
I don’t hear the rest of the statement because all I can see is the match in my hand as I lit my cigarette. The cigarette I’d tossed on the floor beside the furnace.
My stomach twists and I start to retch.
Oh God.
My fault.
“You okay?” Damon is beside me.
“No.” I stumble to my feet, looking for London, but she and her mother have been ushered somewhere else.
“Abbott.” Damon follows me, but I’m faster, and it isn’t long before I’m alone, my lungs still burning from the smoke I inhaled, and my vision blurred, like the flames are burned in my retinas.
I run until I can’t breathe. Run until I’m sick. Run until I’m dropping to my knees in the cool sand by the lake.
Broken, I fall, gasping for breath. Night consumes me, birthing some ugly darkness in the deepest part of my soul. A beast that consumes everything I am, everything I was.
A destroyer created from my own sins.
Guilt twists in my gut.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.
I killed a man.
Not just any man - London’s father.
I lay there for hours, the horror of what I did etching itself into the very fabric of my being. The sun finally rises, but in my world, there is no more light.
Numb. Shattered. Alone. I finally emerge from the darkness, no longer the boy I was, and never to be the man I could’ve become.
Because from this day forward, I am the Beast.
Chapter 8
London
Pain wraps around me, choking me, leaving me unable to breathe. Flames lick at my skin, burning as my world collapses in ashes and smoke.
“Daddy,” I scream into the cold night air, but he’s already gone. His body consumed by the inferno. Agony and remorse twist with guilt. I’d yelled at him before I’d run from the church. Told him I hated him, that he was ruining my life. Tears had blurred my vision as I’d sprinted toward home.
And then I’d heard it. Like a bomb going off inside my soul. I’d known where it came from, even before I saw the flames blasting through the old stain glass windows.
“No,” I scream again. “No, no, no.”
Then hands are on me, shaking, shaking, shaking...
“London, wake up.” Abbott’s voice is gruff, demanding.
Sweat pours off me as I push away the blankets that are tangled around my limbs. “I’m...I’m okay.”
“What the hell?” He looks even more shaken up than I feel.
I take a steadying breath. “I had a bad dream.”
“No shit.” He roughs his palms over his face then back through his dark hair, tugging at it and causing it to stand on end.
“Sorry.” I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room is dark, the only light coming from the open door. “It’s the pregnancy hormones. I’ve been having some crazy dreams lately.” I can feel him frowning at me as I stand and walk to my closet.
“About what?”
“Can’t remember,” I lie, not wanting to relive it. Abbott was there that night. We’ve never talked about it, my feelings of guilt, knowing that my father wouldn’t have been at the church if I hadn’t run away. And then there was the moment of fear when I thought that Abbott was in the building. The guilt when I’d realized he wasn’t and felt relieved that it was my father and not him inside.
God, I’m an awful person.
A cold shiver rushes down my spine. I’m not sure I would have survived losing Abbott. I know I wouldn’t have survived losing them both.
I grab my robe and put it on, feeling Abbott’s gaze on me. Fierce. Possessive. Wanting to banish everything evil from my world, but so consumed by his own darkness that he can’t see it’s only him that I’ve ever wanted.
“Sorry for waking you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” He follows me into the living room and sits on the couch beside me when I turn on the TV.
One of the Avengers movies is playing, and even though I’m not a fan, I know he is, so I leave it on.
Abbott doesn’t touch me, just sits on the far edge of the couch, one arm resting on the back, long legs stretched in front of him.
“You don’t have to stay up with me.”
“It’s fine.” He takes my feet and puts them on his lap, then starts massaging the sole. He doesn’t pull his gaze away from the television.
I know he cares about me. There’s a fierceness to it the way he is with me. I’m not even sure he understands his own feelings. He pushes his emotions down, shoving them into a tiny box. And not just with me.
With everyone and everything. It scares me to think what will happen if he ever opens it.
“Your toes are ice,” he says, pulling the blanket over my feet, then lifting his arm and motioning me to come closer.
My heart speeds up as I shift and curl into him.
Just friends, I remind myself.
It doesn’t mean anything, but it feels good...and dangerous. But I don’t want to move. Can’t move. Abbott is strength and fire, and I need a tiny bit of both right now.
“I like having you here,” I murmur sleepily, reveling in the steady beating of his heart, the warmth and roughness of his breath against the top of my head.
“Good.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Love you,” I murmur, regretting the words as soon as they’re out. I feel him tense, and I quickly add, “As a friend.”
He inhales, then releases it. “Yeah. I know what you meant.” His large, calloused hand is still wrapped around mine. “Love you, too.” He presses his mouth against the top of my head and adds, “As a friend.”
My chest squeezes painfully, like it always does when I let reality sink in. That’s all he’ll ever be. All I can ever expect from him.
And I know it’s for the best.
Sure, it hurts like hell to love someone who can never be yours. But I also know, it would hurt a lot more to not have him at all.
Chapter 9
Abbott
My fist slams into the man’s jaw, but his counterpunch hits me straight in the solar plexus and I stagger backward, winded.
“You’re rushing in,” Moody says, sidestepping my left hook. “Slow it down. You’re tiring yourself out too quickly. You can’t keep up that pace for three to five rounds.”
I take his advice, taking a deep breath and circling him. We’ve been training for an hour and my shoulder hurts like a motherfucker, but I’ve fought through worse, and I won’t let Moody Brock see any weakness in me.
Beast: Savages and Saints Page 5
