She didn’t wait for my answer and walked over to Abby’s door.
Dad shook his head. “We’re too old for this.”
They were too old, but they were also one of the best couples in the foster care system. About twenty-five kids had stayed in the house since Mom decided to open her heart and her doors to kids like Abigail and myself. I was one of the lucky ones who got to stay with them forever.
Before I could say anything to Dad about his age or reassure them that they were the best parents a foster kid could have, I spotted Mom approaching us.
“Abigail likes cereal and popcorn,” she said quietly. “Could you please go to the pantry and make sure that we have enough. We’re changing the menu for tonight.”
Dad sighed and looked at me.
“She told you that’s what she likes?” I frowned.
“She only nodded when I said cereal and popcorn.” Mom twisted her mouth. “She scrunched her nose at the mention of peanut butter.”
“We should feed her something else, Linda,” Dad proposed.
“Hmm …” She tapped her chin. “Maybe we can give her a little of everything. We can order Chinese, Thai, Mexican, Greek, Italian … what else?”
“Sushi?” I suggested. “Why don’t you order it, get directions of the places that don’t deliver, and I’ll go and pick up the food?”
“That sounds like a great idea,” she said excitedly.
“Where is she?” Dad peered around us.
“Taking a shower. We have time.”
When I came back with the food, Abigail was eating a bowl of cereal. Mom and Dad helped me open the bags and cartons. As soon as she was done with her food, she continued with what I brought. She was hungry. Mom and Dad tried to ignore the amount of food she devoured, but I couldn’t help but watch her in amazement. When she was finished, she smiled at Mom and mouthed “Thank you.”
That night, after everyone went to sleep, I stayed in the studio to finish a few proposals for Dad. But I ran upstairs as fast as I could the moment I heard her scream.
“No, please don’t,” she begged.
Mom and Dad were already there when I reached her room.
“It’s okay, sweetie, no one is going to hurt you,” Mom assured her, holding Abby in her arms.
The girl flung her arms and legs, begging, yelling, and crying. When Dad spoke, her shrill cries became painful to my ears.
“Leave, Will,” Mom ordered him. “Actually, bring me some warm milk.”
“Abby, sweetie, you’re safe,” Mom repeated several times as she caressed her arm.
Finally, the cries became sobs, and Abigail opened her eyes.
“You woke us up,” Mom said calmly.
Terrified, Abigail jumped out of the bed and fled to the corner of the room. She reminded me of a little mouse trapped among feral cats ready to shred her.
“I don’t want to leave,” she cried again. “I’m sorry. Give me another chance.”
“You’ll stay with us for as long as you want,” Mom said quietly. “We just want to help you.”
“You can’t. Nobody can help me. They’ll find me.” She hugged herself.
“The guy who killed your sister is dead, sweetie. You’re safe.”
Abigail closed her eyes, sliding down the wall against her back and hugging her legs.
I crawled to where she sat and whispered. “No one can get in this house. It’s secured. But if they try, I’ll be here, protecting you.”
“He’ll find me,” she mumbled.
I rose from the floor and pulled her up with me.
“What if I stay on the couch to guard you?” I offered. “At least for tonight.”
“Wes?” Mom questioned me.
“It’ll be fine, Mom. Let me help you.”
“Thank you, darling. You’re the best son a mother could ask for.”
“Don’t let Sterling hear you or he’ll give you hell,” I warned her. My little brother was jealous of everyone, even the pets.
I kept the lights on while Abigail tried to fall asleep. Her eyes remained wide open and she stared at the chandelier. I took her hand and began to count the crystal drops out loud. After twenty-five she joined me. By the time we hit eighty-nine, her eyes were heavy. By one-hundred-and-thirty-four, she was fast asleep. Over several months, that became our nightly routine, and Abby became my companion. She helped me look for my first apartment, but I didn’t move out of my parents’ house until Abigail left for Berkeley.
11
Abby
The bedsprings squeak. She screams. I shrink under my bed. He’s here. Now I’m sitting in the corner of the room, he’s running the cold metal along my jaw. I close my eyes, but I hear his intoxicated laughter, her screams pleading for it to end. His gaze finds mine—his smile mocking.
Boom!
The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears and the smell of gunpowder suffocates me.
“Abby girl, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Wes’ voice pulls me away from my old house and back to reality.
When I wake up, my cheeks are damp. The room’s lit with the soft glow from the night-light next to the door. Wes is right beside me. His blue eyes are filled with worry, and his fingers tap my arm lightly with the same tempo he’s used since my second or third night at his parents’ house. One. Two. Three. Four. Pause. One. Two …
I breathe deeply, trying to catch my breath, and order myself to stop crying.
“Where are you?” He asks the same question he’s asked since my second nightmare.
With you. I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find my voice. I freeze, my hands clutching the sheets.
“Abby,” he repeats my name louder. “Come back to me.”
His blue eyes filled with tenderness call out to my soul, soothing it. He’s so close to me that I could reach out and run my fingers along his rough jaw.
If I could talk, I’d beg him to hold me in his arms—to promise me that my nightmares are only bad dreams and not memories. To make me believe that I’m safe. That nothing will happen to me. I turn my head away and look out the window. It’s too open—unsafe. We’re so high, there’s no way he can climb and break in without being noticed.
“Where are you?” Wes asks, caressing my cheek with the back of his finger.
“I’m home, with you.” I finally find my voice, and with conviction, say the exact words he needs to hear.
The brave woman responded exactly how she should after a stupid nightmare. But the girl inside me still shakes in fear. Nothing has changed. I’m the same trembling girl afraid of the monsters that live in her house. The ghosts are back. It’s because I can feel him, near me. He can find me and …
Please, never let me go, I want to beg Wes. Stay with me, forever.
That’s too much to ask from one man, a man who has already put his life on pause for a long time because of everyone else. His dad, mom, brother—me. I can’t believe he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor next to my bed or on the couch after all these years.
As I’m about to get out of bed to take a shower, he hands me two granola bars.
“You were ready.” I smile.
When I first started living with the Aherns, I had a strange ritual. Before going to bed, I made sure to have plenty of food at home. Then, I’d hide two snacks under my pillow. I don’t hide them anymore, but I do make sure to have plenty of food inside my nightstand. My disorder is so much different from any other. My food insecurity pushes me to store food everywhere.
After a nightmare, I would get upset. Emotionally agitated is how Linda described it. I’ve finally stopped eating large quantities of food in one sitting—but I eat more than many people. That’s the one thing I can control, what I eat—and when I eat. The second is how much I exercise my body—until I’m exhausted.
“I was prepared but hoping I wouldn’t have to use them.”
This hasn’t happened in so long.
Since I moved away from Denver, I’ve been so much better. Instead of c
oming home for the holidays, I’d meet with the Aherns somewhere else in the world. We’d go to Vancouver, Switzerland, Australia … there was always a place where we could travel to and celebrate Thanksgiving, Christmas, or spend summer vacation without having to come back to Denver.
Linda was the one who realized that I was doing a lot better once I left the hellhole where I was born. A fact Wes didn’t want to acknowledge even when I spelled it out clearly for him. Now, I’m here, back at the gates of the underworld. A part of me knows that I’m not that kid anymore, but another part, the one filled with fear, can’t seem to grasp that I’m free.
Am I free?
“I should’ve left the light on,” I excuse my lapse.
There must be a way to stop them. I was able to let it go for five years. Why would I let the memories take over my life now?
Why would I let them threaten my present and my future?
Because here, he’s closer. If he sees me again, he might drag me back to that house.
“Didn’t I suggest that before we fell asleep?” Wes says closing his eyes. “You didn’t want to count either.”
I did it—in my head. It was embarrassing enough to hold on to the teddy bear that Will brought me the day after my first night with them. I’m twenty-three and still hugging a bear like a toddler and needing the lights on to keep the monsters away.
As I unwrap my granola bar, I shrug. “It’s been almost a year since I slept with the lights on; I only use my nightlights.”
Will gifted me a set of nightlights for my twenty-second birthday. They’re shaped like princess crowns. He always said that I was their princess. Like his son, he worked hard to make sure I felt safe. He was an amazing man and father figure.
“Tomorrow we’ll make sure they’re on.” Wes climbs on my bed and takes my free hand, counting my fingers from one to five several times.
“Why are you so good to me, Wes Ahern?”
“Just because …” he shrugs and kisses my hand.
Sometimes, I wish things between us were different. There are nights when I pretend I’m someone else and that we’re together. I close my eyes, and for a brief moment, I imagine his arms around me—his lips on my mouth kissing me senseless until I forget every bad thing that’s happened to me.
Some days I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to be touched with the tenderness that I imagine he’s capable of.
He wouldn’t hurt me.
He’d love me.
Wouldn’t he?
But how could that be when he’s so perfect, and I’m … me.
“You should go home,” I say getting out of the bed, trying to keep my distance from him. “Get some sleep.”
“That’s it? You’re going to give up and stop sleeping? Next thing you know you’ll be sporting dark circles under those pretty eyes.”
“There’s always concealer,” I wink at him.
He jumps out of the bed and takes me in his arms. Wes kisses the top of my head and rocks me from side to side. I want to push him away and ask for more all at the same time. This man is my best friend in the world. He’s understanding, tender, and protective. And, with his dark blue eyes, jet black hair, his hawkish nose and that concrete jaw, I can’t help but be attracted to him.
I’m enamored with his prince charming charisma and his protective heart.
Every time he’s around, I pretend not to feel anything for him. Like right now, while he holds me. My barely covered breasts press against his soft, warm, sculpted torso. I can feel his muscular ridges. I itch to trace every line, kiss every inch of him. It’s these moments when my blood roars through my veins, awakening the woman inside me.
What would it be like to be reckless and just kiss his bare skin?
“I wish, …” I mumble closing my eyes.
“What do you wish?”
I wish I could kiss you. I want to feel your lips on my skin and your hands sliding down my body.
“Nothing,” I say sobering up from the fantasy.
He’s the only guy I’ve been attracted to. No other man holds a candle to him. Maybe it’s just gratitude toward him and there aren’t any real feelings.
I try to fight his hold. This shouldn’t be happening. Nothing can ever happen between the two of us. If only I weren’t so messed up. My legs shake as my heartbeat accelerates. I bite the inside of my cheek hard to stop myself from having an anxiety attack, stopping only when I taste copper in my saliva.
My body, my mind, and my mouth are about to betray me. At least one of them is ready to take a leap of faith and kiss him or tell him how I feel.
I huff, annoyed at my stupidity and myself. Without saying a word, I walk away from him, deciding that another shower is in order. I enter the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
“Abby, let’s talk,” he knocks on the door.
“Go back home, Wes,” I encourage him to leave me. “I have to unpack the boxes, and you need to rest.”
“Do you think I can go back to sleep knowing you’re having an anxiety attack?”
“I’m not having one,” I lie.
This is a combination of panic and desire—a lust that runs deep inside my core and which I can’t allow myself to act on. Most likely, I’d lose my shit if I tried.
Abby, stop fantasizing. Love isn’t possible for someone like you.
12
Wes
With a frustrated sigh, I press the bridge of my nose and stare at the latest email from the board. I’ve been taking too much shit from these assholes.
“Good morning, brother dearest,” Sterling opens the heavy oak door to my office without announcing himself—or knocking for that matter.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
His dark blonde hair is tussled, and he’s wearing a raggedy t-shirt with a pair of worn out jeans. Did he just come from working? No, he probably rolled out of bed and decided to ask me for money. Not that he needs it, but he hates to contact his financial advisor. He feels like it’s asking permission from Dad even though that’s not the case. The guy is there to serve him, and Dad is no longer with us.
“Goody, you’re in a great mood today.” He grins, pleased that he’s gotten a reaction out of me.
“Sterling,” I warn him.
“Have you thought about getting laid?” His lazy smile matches the tone of his voice. “It might take the edge off.”
He walks around the office, stops in front of the bookcase grabbing one of the frames. “I heard Abigail is back in town. You should finally tap that.”
My gut churns, and I swear if we weren’t at the office … I sigh because I wouldn’t hit him even when he makes me want to murder him.
“Are you just turning in?” I check my watch. It’s eight o’clock in the morning.
My brother works at night—after partying. He sleeps all morning, sometimes he doesn’t wake up until the sun has set.
“As a matter of fact, I started early today.” He yawns.
“Anita,” he calls my assistant. “Would you mind bringing me a latte, please?”
He turns to me, arching an eyebrow. “Do you want some coffee?”
I show him my mug. “We don’t have lattes in this office.”
“You wouldn’t mind running to the coffee shop, would you, beautiful?” He walks toward Anita’s desk, handing her a bill. “Make sure it has three shots of espresso.”
Anita smiles at my brother as if he were a god and she’s happy to serve him. She promptly leaves her post without a word.
“She’s my assistant,” I growl, closing my eyes.
Fuck. I need to shed the frustration before I choke someone. I look at him and smirk, maybe I’ll choke my own brother.
“Why are you so happy today, Weston?” His sarcastic remark elevates my blood pressure.
I rise from my seat and walk around the office to settle my temper.
“What do you want, Sterling?” I stop by the window admiring the mountains and wishing I were in Tahoe, just progr
amming without any distraction—except for Abby.
“The board requested my presence,” he sighs.
I turn around and watch him plop down on the leather couch.
“They want you at the emergency meeting?” I crook an eyebrow at him, before going back to my desk to reread the memo.
It clearly states that they’d like to meet with the members of the family. I wonder if Mom received it and if she’s planning on coming too, but that’s impossible, considering they sent it less than an hour ago. They should know that Mom lives in Phoenix and she can’t just fly in whenever they decide to hold a meeting. Dad gave the board members too much power.
“I don’t plan on attending.” He swings his legs up on the couch and rests his head back on the arm. “You have to explain to these assholes that I don’t work for the company. Actually, I’d be happy to sell you my part of the company if that would get them off my back.”
When Dad died he left the company to Mom, Sterling and me in equal parts. The board doesn’t own anything—yet. They’re pushing to go public and grab more shares than Dad originally promised. I’m just doing this because it was his last wish. If I did things my way … but I stopped thinking about that long ago. My father left me his legacy, and I must carry it.
“Good morning, Wes,” I hear Abby’s voice before I see she’s creeping into my office. “You don’t look well.”
Like you, I didn’t sleep, I don’t say. There were too many reasons why I couldn’t just close my eyes. How could I rest while I knew she was alone and hurting? She’s always let me comfort her. But not last night. Does she hate me now that she’s back —and so are the nightmares? Then, there are the unanswered questions about her past. Thinking about it kept me awake. It wasn’t only her state of mind that had me distracted, but my attraction to her too. Visions of her delicious, naked body under the shower were about the only thing I could concentrate on. The woman has me tied into knots.
This morning isn’t any different.
Love in the Dark Page 133
