Andrew had mentioned he would get in quite late, so Abby stopped at the grocery on her way home. She was looking forward to making a home cooked meal, and relaxing with a glass of wine until Andrew arrived. When she got in, she made a point of not turning on her laptop. She did not want to read any of those articles before he arrived. He deserved to have his chance. The more she thought of it, the more she believed it was the right thing to do.
Had they been seeing each other for months and months, it would have been a different story. It had been just over a week, and no reasonable person should expect a love interest to lay everything on the line in that short amount of time. She needed to hold on to what she felt for him before Becky had jumped the gun.
Abby decided on a simple chicken casserole. She changed out of her clothes and put on an oversized T-shirt and sweat pants, found her apron and got to work in the kitchen. When everything was ready she placed it in the oven, turned on the timer, and opened a bottle of wine.
She looked around her apartment as she sat on the couch. She had barely spent a few hours in the place over the last three weeks. She smiled when she remembered her time with Andrew on the sofa, kissing him, making love to him in the bedroom, and that walk they had taken so late that night on their way to the diner. Her body reacted, warming her from her core. She couldn’t wait to see him. She took a breath. She needed these memories to ground her. This was what Andrew was really like. She took a sip of her wine, closed her eyes and waited for him to arrive.
Abby woke up to the sound of the doorbell. Andrew was finally here and she was nervous as hell. Oh God, please don’t let him be an axe murderer.
Chapter 3
ANDREW smiled at Abby when she opened the front door.
“Hi Andrew. Come in,” she said, moving aside from the door to give him room to enter.
“Hi Abby,” he said softly, lifting the flowers in his hands toward her. “These are for you.”
“They’re beautiful,” she said as she took them, lowering her nose for a whiff of their fragrance. “I love carnations. They’re all gorgeous. Thank you so much. Hold on, let me get them in water.”
“Glad you like them. Thanks for seeing me this late, Abby. I know you have things to do tomorrow.”
Before she moved off, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. She tensed up. He pulled back and looked at her. She seemed somewhat distant. She had a right to be, after he was so curt with her back at the cottage.
“It’s okay,” she answered, walking back to the kitchen. “You’re just in time. Dinner should be ready anytime now.”
“Oh. That’s great. It smells really nice in here.”
“I made a chicken casserole. I haven’t used my stove in ages.” She turned to him. “Have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“I just opened a bottle. It’s nothing like the expensive ones you have at the cottage, but it does the job.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Andrew sat on the sofa, and looked over at her in the kitchen. He was already jittery, contemplating what he would tell her. From her body language, he was certain that waiting had already made it worse.
“Can you sit and have a glass with me?” He asked. “I think we should talk now, before I lose my nerve.”
“Sounds good.”
She walked over with the two full glasses, handed one to him, and sat on the other end of the sofa. She was keeping her distance. He wondered why. All he wanted to do was hold her, touch her. He couldn’t wait to finish what he needed to say, so she could be herself again.
They both took a sip of their glasses. He turned towards her. It was the moment of truth.
“Abby. I honestly don’t know where to start, but before I leave here tonight, I will tell you everything, without holding anything back. And I apologize if not telling you has caused you any pain.”
She nodded and looked into his eyes. “Just start from the beginning,” she said, “and tell me what makes sense. I won’t interrupt. I’ll just listen, no matter how bad everything sounds. The truth is, we all have a past, and I know yours has been difficult, and probably traumatic. I understand that. I think we’ll both feel better once you tell me about how Emma died.”
Andrew was caught off guard by her last comment. He knew she had heard him call out Emma’s name during a nightmare, and he remembered he had told her the person he was in love with had died. Hearing the words come from her lips however, felt so presumptuous. He wondered if she’d been trying to piece things together herself, or if she knew more.
He had to ask. “Can I ask you something before I start?”
“Definitely.”
“Do you know more about this than I’ve told you?”
She looked at him like she wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “Just tell me, Andrew. I want to hear it from you.”
“Are you telling me that you already know?” He heard the tension in his voice when he said it. He couldn’t help that it might have come across as anger or hostility. He just knew there was something she was holding back.
“It’s the age of the internet, Andrew. I can’t say that I know what you want to tell me, until you tell me. But what I can say, is I want to hear what happened from you.”
Andrew placed his glass on the small table at his side of the sofa. He stood up and began to pace the floor in front of them. This was not going the way he had planned. It seemed like she knew. He had a feeling she knew. And she mentioned the internet. She must have looked him up and found out on her own. He raked a nervous hand through his hair and turned toward her.
“If you’re talking about the internet, I take it you’ve seen the articles?”
“I haven’t read them, but I know about them.”
“Abby, I…I can’t believe you. I just don’t know what to say.” He looked down at her. Her body language was closed off from him. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, her arms were crossed, and she looked so nervous. “I can’t believe you would do that. Couldn’t you wait until I got here to explain everything to you? It’s been a week. Now all you have is this one-sided view of what the media said about me. And look at you now. You’re shrinking away from me right now. I could sense the distance from the time I walked in the door.”
“I haven’t read them, Andrew. I had no intention of reading them. I wanted to hear everything from you, but it seems the universe conspired against you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Please, just tell me. Please, just sit down here, and let’s talk it through.”
“No. I can see it in your eyes, Abby. You’ve already drawn your conclusions. You’ve already judged me.” Andrew walked towards her front door. “I have to get out of here. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. Goodbye, Abby. ”
“Andrew, no,” she said, putting down her drink so she could stand. “Please don’t leave yet. I don’t know anything about…”
Andrew fumbled with the lock, pulled the door open and hurried away without saying another word. He jumped in the back seat of the limousine and told his driver to take him back to the hotel right away. It was too late. She had already made up her mind, and from her cold disposition, and her hesitation to get close to him, he was certain her decision was to let him go. It felt like tonight, her request to hear it directly from him—well it sounded like it was just a formality. Her body language told him the feelings she had for him were no more.
On the way back to the hotel, his phone vibrated with two text messages. He looked at them. They were both from Abby. She asked him to come back and talk to her. He had no doubt it was too late, and she was just being polite. In a way, this was the outcome he had subconsciously expected. It was the only logical decision. He had killed two people. And now she knew. What more could he expect from her? He was a fool for believing he could actually have any happiness after all of that pain and torment.
He turned his phone to silent
and did not reply to either of her messages. Andrew was not going to drag Abby any further into his tortured life. He had hurt her enough. Turning the limo around and going back was not going to serve either of them. It was best for him to accept it. What they had was not meant to be. Not in this life. The sooner they both moved on, the easier it would be to get past it.
Soon, he was back at his hotel and in his room. He put his phone to charge and saw she had not left any more messages. As much as he was hurting, he had some relief she could let it go. It was for the best, and soon the pain he caused her would be a distant memory for her. He hoped she would find happiness sooner or later. He had no illusions or naiveté about expecting any happiness for himself. Not anymore.
At least he had their memories. Her smile, her touch, the way she made him feel; and all their time together. That alone could probably carry him through for a year or more. He stripped down to his boxers and got into bed. He turned off the lights and noticed his stomach was growling. He was starving. And that chicken casserole had smelled so good. Maybe you should’ve had dinner before you told her, Andy. You missed out on the last meal.
No attempts of humor would add any levity to what happened. He had lost her. But the truth was, he probably never had her. He would get some sleep and return to the cottage in the morning. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Time would help steady them again.
Chapter 4
ABBY locked her front door, still incredulous. She wasn’t sure what she had said to make him rush off. He seemed to lose it, and then he left. How could he be certain she knew anything at all from the few words she had said? She slumped down in the chair and picked up her glass of wine. She wasn’t hungry anymore, and she could barely manage a couple of sips.
She sent him two short texts after his limousine drove off, hopeful he would calm down and come back. He didn’t reply. He didn’t come back. What on earth did she say? All she said was she knew about the articles. She was honest. She told him she hadn’t read them. It didn’t make sense. None of his behavior made sense. But then again, why did she expect anything different?
She had suspected at one point he might have a mild case of PTSD. Adding that to the equation, and to the tidbits she had about his past, his erratic behavior made perfect sense. The PTSD patients she had worked with at the veterans’ hospital were like this sometimes. Little things would set them off, and often no one around them knew their triggers, which made it more difficult to understand the cause of their outbursts. They also had very little patience explaining themselves, or rehashing anything that remotely related to their traumatic events.
Andrew had not lost his temper tonight, but he was clearly upset. The way he got up and paced the floor, and repeatedly asked her if she knew… Knew what? For the life of her, she still didn’t know. She was tempted to turn on her laptop and check Becky’s messages. It was late. She was tired, and she still did not want to learn about Andrew that way.
Abby decided not to beat herself up about it anymore. She had not done anything wrong. It was his problem. It was his life story. The onus was on him to do the telling. She didn’t have any clue what she had said to make him leave that way. And he still hasn’t told me anything! Maybe when he calmed down, he would understand that all he needed to do was talk to her.
Sighing, she took the half-empty wine glasses to the kitchen and emptied them. She washed them, covered the casserole dish and put it in the fridge. They’d have to figure this out in the morning, or whenever he came around. She returned to her room, changed into her pajamas and crawled in between the sheets. She set her alarm and closed her eyes. Immediately, she remembered how handsome he looked when he had walked in. And he had smelled so good when he leaned down to kiss her. Her body ached for him. She hoped he would come around soon.
Abby woke up in the morning. She checked her phone right away. There were no messages from Andrew. He was probably still upset. She got out of bed and got dressed for her morning run. She had seminars on campus. It was a nice break from the long day at the hospital. Her seminars and weekly meetings with her independent project supervisor were on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. She was pleased she had been able to fit the hospital placement into her schedule by working Mondays and Thursdays. It left her Fridays and weekends free.
She let out a painful sigh. The pain hurt all the way to her stomach. She had been looking forward to being with Andrew that weekend. If he didn’t reach out to her soon, she would forget about it and make other plans—and these days, other plans meant staying home alone, or going on campus to do her readings.
She slipped on her running shoes, grabbed her keys and phone. The run this morning would do her good. She locked up and was on her way.
Abby returned from her extra-long run. She had gone for an entire hour. She did her stretches on the steps outside. This felt better. Her mind was more settled, her muscles ached, and she was drenched in sweat. It was perfect. The run also helped to calm her sexual need for Andrew. She had a shower and got ready to start the day. She wondered how he was doing when she locked up, hoping he would call soon.
All day long, she could think of little else. As she sat in her seminar, she found herself distracted, but only in moments. It was because of the subject matter. This week, there was a long discussion on the initial findings of the cancer immune targeting project. She and Andrew had talked about it not two weeks before. Her professor asked the small group of students for their impressions on the project, and what questions they might add to the scope. The group discussed the project’s potential, how it could extend the literature and improve treatment plans, both in theory and practice.
Normally she would be the first one to engage and offer some suggestions. Today she was hesitant. Today she wanted to listen more than to share. She was not herself. She couldn’t claim to be as excited as she would normally be. At the end of the session, she packed up quickly and went home.
Her father phoned later that evening.
“Abby, sweetheart. How are you doing?”
“Hi Dad. Doing well.” She kept it to casual conversation. “I started my new placement at the hospital yesterday.”
“That’s great, honey. How did it go?”
“I enjoyed it a lot. Exactly what I see myself doing.”
“I’m happy to hear, love.”
“Is everything okay, Dad?”
“Yes, love. All is well here. I phoned to tell you about the car. The insurance company has approved your replacement vehicle.”
“That’s good. Do I need to come back to Sparks for it?”
“No, honey. I made arrangements for you to pick it up at a dealership close to you. You can take the rental back anytime this week. Just get there before five in the evening.”
“Okay. I’ll do that. Probably on my day off on Friday.”
“Great, honey.” Her father paused, listening to the silence. “Are you sure everything is okay with you? You sound a little down compared to the last time we spoke.”
“Things are fine, Dad. I shouldn’t complain. School is going well. I’m enjoying my hospital placement. Everything’s good.”
“Okay honey.”
“Can I ask you something, Dad?”
“Of course. Go ahead. What would you like to know?”
“Have you met someone? During the blizzard? ”
Her father laughed softly into the phone. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Yes I did. I met a nice lady from the Tupperware group. She happens to live a few towns east of here.”
“That’s great, Dad. I’m so happy for you.”
“It’s very early, though, Abby. We’re getting to know each other. We’re not like you young folks. Everything takes more time with us. So far, she’s nice. I promise I’ll let you know if things get serious.”
“I hope it works out for you, Dad. Do you mind if I ask what her name is?”
“Carol. Carol Barts.”
“I hope it works out for you and C
arol, Dad.”
“We’ll see, honey. Give it some time, and I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good. Glad to hear your voice. I’ll pick up the car by Friday. Love you, Dad.”
“I love you, Abby. Keep that chin up. Talk to you soon, love.”
Abby hung up. She was pleased her father had found someone. He deserved to be happy. She went to bed, hopeful for him, and tried her best not to dwell on Andrew.
Chapter 5
ANDREW woke up the next morning. He was filled with regret. He caused all of it. He wished he go back and fix something, so the outcome didn’t have to be so catastrophic. Again, his past had a hold on his future. His mind drifted to Abby. He could still feel her touch on his chest, see the look in her eyes, and hear her sweet and sultry voice. All he had left was the memory of her. It was like one would imagine a ghost—there, but not really, something he could sense, but not touch.
Closing his eyes, he immersed in the fantasy of being with her. His hand reached down into his boxers. It was Abby’s tiny hands wrapped around his cock. She was whispering in his ear and telling him she wanted him. She told him she loved him. He inhaled and imagined her sweet smell. The botanicals of her shampoo, the perfume she had sprayed on her neck that night they were at dinner, and her own unique smell.
He could feel her lips kissing his neck, moving down with a trail of kisses on his chest, and further still, until her plump, juicy lips wrapped around his shaft. She was stroking his shaft and licking the cockhead, swirling her tongue around before she relaxed her jaw and took most of him inside her mouth.
His body tensed. He would put his hands in her hair. She would relax her jaw even more so he could thrust his hips until his cock hit the back of her throat. His hands stroked quickly now. He could see Abby’s eyes looking up at him as he lost control. And when his eyes rolled back into his head, and he came, it was in her mouth, with Abby smiling as she swallowed every drop.
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