I cry, recoiling into a small ball.
“Where are you, Abby?” Wes asks, studying my face.
His thumb moves, caressing the delicate skin of my inner wrist.
“I’ll bring some water, sir,” I hear Lucian’s voice.
This time I can differentiate that it’s not Corbin.
“You’re here with me,” he says with a calm voice. “Safe. Always safe.”
“Safe,” I repeat but I don’t believe it.
“You’re safe with me. It’s us. Always us,” he kisses my palm.
It’s a casual gesture, one he’s done many times. Except today it feels different. Intense. It sends ripples of pleasure awakening every nerve in me. I can feel the stroke from the kiss all over my body. Deep inside my soul. This doesn’t make sense. Each and every emotion inside of me seems to be focusing on Wes. They press against my chest in the same way I wish he’d press his body against mine.
Hug me. Take me in your arms, I want to beg.
I don’t know if I speak out loud or if he reads my mind, but the next thing I know he’s sitting on the couch, taking me in his arms. His warm hold, his earthy scent mixed with clean skin create an ache in my chest that expands all the way down to my core. I begin to cry. The tears are for Ava, for Abby, and for everything I lost in that room.
But I also mourn my heart. Weston Ahern and I are the kind of people who share a friendship that will never become romantic love.
We remain in the same position for a long time. I can’t stop the tears from falling. Lucian isn’t my stepfather. His resemblance to what still torments me to this day was just too close. The voice, the way he looked at me as if I were his next meal was too much, and it pushed me into a panic attack.
When my stepfather, Corbin, came into our lives, he seemed like a dream—or at least he appeared that way to my mother.
He played the single father who’d lost his wife in a tragic accident. A man who was left to grieve and be the sole caretaker of his two children.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Wes asks when I finally calm down.
I don’t answer. There are things I can’t say. I know what could happen if I were to reveal his secrets.
— — —
Wes canceled all his meetings and took me home. We shopped for my furniture online from the comfort of his house. The man who can move heaven and earth made sure that what we purchased would arrive at my apartment the same day. Once the stuff was in place, I excused myself and took a shower to wash away the memories.
Wes said that he’d be going back home to make a few calls. I took him away from the office for an entire day—while he’s trying to show the board that his only priority is the company. This was what I was afraid of and wanted to avoid—losing my mind in the middle of the day. Shit like this never happened in Berkeley.
Without giving it a second thought, I turn on my laptop and begin updating my resume. I don’t have much experience, but there must be a company out there searching for an accountant. My degree and skills are practical and necessary. I could get a job anywhere in the country. Wes might be upset at first, but he’ll eventually understand that it’s for the best. What’s the point of living here when neither one of us can find peace?
I hate myself for being so weak. Should I go to therapy? And then what? How is anyone going to help me?
Linda took me to a few different therapists. None of them worked out. They wanted to know what had happened to me, not give me the tools I needed to cope. Neither of them could understand that I wasn’t going to talk—ever.
No one will never know what happened that night. They can never know. I should leave, just run away tonight.
He’s going to find you and when he finds you … he’ll take you back to the room.
I run to the kitchen and hide inside the pantry. He’ll never find me here. At least, not tonight.
14
Wes
“Hey, Mom,” I answer the phone before it even rings.
“Weston, darling,” she says with the exasperated voice she used when we were younger and she had to play bad cop in Dad’s absence.
It wasn’t often, as Dad was only out of town maybe two or three times a year.
“How are you, Mom?”
“I feel a migraine coming on.”
Migraines are headaches, Mom. I imagine her holding her back and slumping her shoulders. It’s the same line she’s been using ever since I can remember. Our behavior was the root of those aches she complained about so much while I was growing up. Sadly, she couldn’t say to Dad, “Will, they’re all yours to deal with.”
A pang of pain hits me in the middle of the chest. If Dad were here, he’d know what to do with the company. Mom wouldn’t feel lonely, and I would’ve started my own company, the way I’d planned to before he died.
“I’m sorry that you’re not feeling well. How can I help to make it better?”
“The board dear,” she says with resignation. “Why can’t we just sell the company and forget about them? That’s your father’s business. Neither one of us is invested, darling boy.”
“Mom, I can take care of it.”
“Well, they don’t think so,” she states in a bitter voice. “Of course, they don’t know anything about you. They called upset that I didn’t show up yesterday. That the entire family in fact, disregarded their request.”
I run a hand through my hair.
Before I can say anything, she asks, “What was the medical emergency that took you away from the office?”
“Abby,” I breathe out her name. “She had a panic attack.”
Mom remains silent for a few seconds. I walk outside on the terrace, leaning against the railing and staring at the horizon. The sun is setting in the west, the moon rising as it goes down. I wish Abby were with me, admiring the view. Abby, who’s as fragile as a crystal figurine. Or maybe she’s stronger than we think and what she survived is worse than we imagined.
“Wes, sweetheart. She should be anywhere but in Denver.”
“Some days, I think that what happened to her is bigger than what we know, Mom.”
“The trauma of witnessing …” Mom pauses. “Sweetheart, her sister was killed in front of her,” she reminds me.
“Mom,” I sigh with frustration.
My guess is that she wasn’t a just witness but also a victim. She’s always begging for someone to stop, as if she were being tortured.
What happened to you, Abby?
“What do you mean, Wes?”
“Forget it, Mom.” Sometimes I feel like she knows more but chooses to suppress it.
I promised Abby that I’d never reveal what I’ve heard her saying.
Should I keep my word?
I guess I can keep it secret for now. I doubt Abby would appreciate it if I told Mom what I heard last night—or today for that matter. She begged for food, for him to stop, for him to leave Ava alone. She wanted him to kill her.
My heart stopped when I heard her plea, “Kill me. Just let me die.”
I had no idea if she was talking to me or to the ghosts from her past. Either way, I held her tightly because I couldn’t imagine life without my girl. Not that she’s a girl anymore, or actually mine.
“Have you told her how you feel?”
“Mom, please don’t start,” I warn her.
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re in love, or if you’re just trying to save her.”
“Can it be both?”
“Have you asked yourself if maybe saving isn’t what she needs? Maybe she doesn’t need to be saved, but loved.”
How can she doubt the way I feel about Abby? I would die for that girl. She fills my thoughts before I sleep. I dream that she’s with me, safe in my arms. In the morning, she’s on my mind again as soon as I wake up. I have given her my heart without regret, for my heart’s sake. The mere thought of losing her makes me sick. It would break me.
“I love her.”
“But she doesn’t know that,”
Mom says sternly. “I noticed that you keep her close, yet still at arm’s length. What is it you’re afraid of?”
I close my eyes as her question sinks in. What is it I’m afraid of? There’s nothing that scares me. I survived the first years of my life by eating what I could find in trashcans or what the adults gave us when they remembered to feed the children who lived among them. For a moment I’m frozen with fear, remembering the house where I grew up. But I snap out of the trance right away.
That’s not where I belong. I have a family and a home. I’m old enough to care for myself—to defend myself.
“She’s been away,” I explain. “Why would I want to have a long-distance relationship?”
“You’re telling me that now that she’s close, you plan on changing your relationship with her?”
I hesitate to answer for several breaths. How can I when she’s so breakable, so fragile?
“Maybe you’re confusing your feelings for her, Wes,” Mom insists.
There’s no confusion when it comes to my feelings for her. Abigail Lyons is the only woman who not only makes me crave her sexually, but who also holds my heart in her hands. She’s vulnerable, fun, witty, and smart. She’s not afraid of climbing mountains, scuba diving, or skydiving. She yearns to help others whenever she can.
She’s perfect in so many ways, yet still stubborn at times, and elusive whenever faced with her past. I sigh. If only she were willing to share that part she’s hiding. Together we could fight against whatever is creating so much pain inside her.
“I’m not afraid of anything, Mom,” I finally answer.
“You’re afraid that you’re not meeting your father’s expectations,” she says as her voice trembles. “You’re afraid that Abigail won’t love you the way you love her.”
“Mom,” I mumble.
“William spent all his life building that company. I felt so lonely that I decided to foster children because we didn’t have enough money or time to have children of our own,” she pauses, but I hear a sob on the end of the line. “He lived for the company—not for us, or even himself.”
What is she talking about?
“For years I felt alone,” she continues. “You were a godsend, and Sterling is my little miracle. You can’t live your entire life trying to please someone who didn’t even know how to live fully when he was alive. I loved him with all my heart, but I hope that you stop following in his footsteps.”
I’m speechless at the revelation. He was an extraordinary man, a visionary, and an icon. He was a good father, but it was Mom who attended our baseball practices. She’s the one who cheered for us during football games and made sure we practiced our music lessons every single day. Mom never missed an event, a graduation, or a recital. Dad had too much to do at work to spend any time with us.
I hear a roaring in my ears, making me lose track of what she’s saying. My chest squeezes when I remember our last conversation. He was angry and disappointed in me. I had told him that his company wasn’t my dream nor what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. He built something from scratch and wanted his ungrateful sons to continue his legacy. My palm stings from digging my fingernails into it. I’m angry at myself, at him. Fuck, I only want to make him happy, and I will never know if what I do is enough to make up for the last days of his life—the fights and trying to quit Ahern Inc.
“If Abby doesn’t love you, make her fall in love with you,” Mom’s voice is loud and clear, yet it doesn’t make sense.
“You say that as if it’s possible.”
“It’s that simple, darling boy.”
— — —
Nothing is simple. I take a deep breath before knocking on Abby’s door. Mom’s words continue to ring in my head.
Make her fall in love with you.
“Hey,” she opens the door slightly, staring at the rose I’m holding.
“Are you on your way out?” She switches her gaze from the flower to my face several times. “I thought you texted me inviting me to dinner.”
“Dinner is ready,” I announce, grabbing her hand and kissing it.
“What’s going on, Wes?” She eyes me suspiciously.
I hand her the rose and pull out the blindfold I have in my pocket. “Do you trust me?”
She nods and closes her eyes.
“Hold onto my hand and walk with me,” I whisper in her ear, kissing the back of it.
She shudders and sighs. I’ve got no idea how to gauge her reaction. I should’ve started with something simpler—a simple date, like a movie and some pizza. We walk toward my place, and I direct her as we go up the stairs and out onto the terrace.
“This is exciting. It reminds me of the last time you took me bungee jumping,” she says with a laugh. “I feel like we’re back in China and Sterling is begging for his mommy.”
“He’s such a baby,” I say as I take off the blindfold, kissing her bare shoulder.
“This is so much better than Macau.” Abby smiles at the table but then frowns and looks at me. “But as lovely as it is, I’d prefer to eat in the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“Maybe you don’t see it, Wes, but this—” she points at the table. “—is a romantic gesture. A dinner for someone you’re dating. Not for—”
“Not for a woman who I’m hoping will give me a chance to show her that I like her more than as a friend?”
Her eyes open wide, her lips part, and I’m almost sure she’s holding her breath.
“Look, maybe this is too straight forward, but constantly keeping in how I truly feel about you is hard. Too hard. Every night I go to bed wishing that I was with you.” I bare my soul.
“You do?” she whispers, her brown eyes shining.
I caress her cheek, and she closes her eyes, breathing deeply. She opens her eyes and stares at me for a few beats. Then she moves her mouth, but only a soft whimper comes out.
“What are you thinking?” I press my thumb over her creased forehead.
She’s unsure about something. My words? My feelings? What can I say or do to convince her that I’m serious—that I want more with her.
Only her.
“I mean every word that I just said, Abby.” I cup her face with my hands lowering my head.
“Wes,” she says with a sigh, her arms encircling my waist.
“Shh,” I murmur, covering her mouth with mine.
A spike of electrified excitement rushes through my body the moment her mouth opens for me. I stroke her tongue, discovering her mouth, tasting her for the first time. I drink from her, sucking the shaky moans coming from her throat. She shivers as I press her closer to my body.
“God, you taste like an angel,” I mumble against her sweet mouth.
I nip at her lip, sliding my hands down her back.
“Is this real?” She finally finds her voice.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It seems too easy, Ahern. I come back, and you sweep me off my feet proclaiming that you want more.”
“Well, it was time to own up to my feelings,” I confess giving her a quick peck. “Ready to eat, my lady?”
I release her and pull out one of the chairs for her. As she sits down, I catch her hesitation. Did I imagine the intensity of our kiss?
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know … it’s this feeling of dread thumping along with my heart.” She shrugs. “I guess I’ve never dated before. There’s this uneasiness inside my stomach, like something is whispering: ‘enjoy this because it might be the last time you smile.’”
“Abby, please don’t be pessimistic. Trust me.”
She nods, but I can see the doubt etched in her face. What is she afraid of?
15
Wes
“This is delicious.” Abby takes a bite of the miso-ginger glazed salmon.
She smirks, taking a second bite. “You cooked?”
Abby watches me in amusement as I open my mouth and close it. I never said I made dinner for her. There�
��s no way I could’ve driven to Cherry Creek to buy her a present, cook, and be ready for dinner.
“What gave it away?”
“The rice,” she answers, taking a fork full of it.
I arch an eyebrow and eat some myself. “It’s perfect,” I claim.
“Exactly,” she says, drinking some wine. “This rice is fluffy and flavorful. It’s not easy to achieve the texture. You don’t cook that often.”
“I take it that you like it,” I confirm.
“Of course, and I love that you brought my favorite dish. Though, you could’ve given me a sandwich and I’d have loved that too.”
“Well, I had to run an errand and decided to just bring something for our first meal—together.” I pull out the box and hand it to her. “And this is for you, to remind you of today.”
“Oh my God, Wes,” she gasps, staring at the open box.
It’s a set of bracelets. The first bracelet has pink, orange, and clear crystals while the second has an anchor charm.
“This is beautiful,” she says, caressing the trinket. “Perfect.”
She smiles, rising from her seat and kissing me. This time the peck is on the lips.
“You’re perfect, you know?”
“I’m far from it,” I remind her. “And you of all people are aware of my faults.”
“I am, and I love each and every one of those flaws.” She sits back down putting on the bracelet.
Abby glances at me, then back at her wrist. “You need a compass.”
“So, you know why I gave it to you.”
“You’re my anchor, just like I’m your compass.” She shakes her head, laughing. “Always, right? Even if this ends?”
I take her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. “Baby, this will never end, I swear.”
“Says the guy who can’t hold onto a girl for longer than a week,” she says, her eyes studying me.
“Why would I when I have you?”
She gasps, her eyes open wide. “What does that mean?”
Begin with You Page 8
