“You’re so beautiful,” he’d said against my lips.
“Stop talking,” I’d whispered with a laugh, trying to stand up on tiptoe- which is nearly impossible to do in the sand- and pull him closer.
That night was the start of everything.
That was ten years ago, and so much had changed since then. I’d thought my feelings for Knox had changed, too, but I was dead wrong. After seeing him for five minutes, I already wanted to see him again. Maybe I could stop by the gym and see him. Maybe-
“Absolutely not,” I whispered to myself and punched the pillow, fighting for some form of comfort and finding none.
Bet I’d be comfortable with Knox…
I growled and punched the pillow again.
My apartment was dark as I stepped over the threshold. The air conditioner hummed as I tossed my keys on the coffee table and dropped my purse on the ground. Another long, stressful day with no answers as to who was leaving those “gifts”. I was scared, alone in a big city and frustrated that after six months nothing had been done. In all honesty, I was actually considering going back to Port James because, even though I loved my job and the people I worked with, I didn’t love it enough to risk my sanity.
Or my life.
A shiver went up my spine at a creak on the floorboards and my eyes snapped up to the living room windows. Had I left them open on accident? I didn’t think so. Come to think of it, the light above the stove was always on, but now it was off.
I never turned that light off.
What couldn’t have been more than a few seconds felt like an eternity. As the pieces came together like a puzzle, I felt the thought come suddenly into my mind: I wasn’t alone in my apartment.
Trying to quickly form a plan, I felt my palms begin to sweat. The door was still open, but I was already well into the apartment. Should I run? I should call the police. My phone was on the purse. Where was my purse? I'd tossed it on the floor. Run. I should run. Or should I-
“Your throat looks so pretty when you wear your hair up.”
I woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. The room was dark, the windows were open and I was shaking like a leaf. The early June air came in contact with my skin and I wiped my forehead, huffing out a deep, shaky breath. Heart pounding, I willed myself to calm down. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate or throw up, maybe both.
Sweat dripped down my collarbones and my hair was plastered against my neck in wet, tangled strings, my ribs aching from the deep breaths that I was trying to pull in. The panic attack was all consuming and there was a crushing pressure in my chest as though someone was standing on top of me.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and leaned down as far as I could, pressing my forehead against my knees and groaning as the tightness in my chest began to ease. My hands were shaking and my teeth were chattering, my mind going a mile a minute.
It was such an ugly, helpless feeling. Being betrayed by my own body left me feeling so raw and on edge that I wanted to scream.
“You’re fine,” I said aloud. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”
I was safe, wasn’t I? I was back home and protected, no one could hurt me here. No one was sitting out in the sand dunes with a pair of binoculars.
It was nothing more than a mere nightmare, a memory.
Chapter 4
“So, Abbigail, tell me about this nightmare.”
I sat on Robbie’s oversized, overstuffed couch with my hands clasped tightly in my lap. Our family therapist, Dr. Henry Van Sant, sat across from me, looking professional as always with his black rimmed glasses and a notebook in his lap.
“I’m sure Robbie filled you in. He’s the one who called you, right?”
Van Sant offered a small smile and removed his glasses. “Abby, come on. If you’d prefer to beat around the bush we can do that, or, you could just tell me what happened.”
Henry was a kind man who didn’t deserve my attitude and I normally would have been much more cordial. But after last night’s nightmare I was moody, sleep deprived, and had the appetite of a baby bird. I’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, resentment and sadness taking over.
It was only my second session with Dr. Van Sant, a mid-thirties PhD based out of Boston. My parents apparently brought him in after Logan was last arrested for marijuana possession, something that was complete bullshit. But according to my parents, an ounce of weed was just as bad as a pound of cocaine.
The doctor was nice enough with a smooth, soothing voice. I thought he kind of looked like a modern day Clark Kent with his combed black hair, glasses and dimpled chin. My mother adored him- she adored anyone well dressed with a college degree- but I really had no interest in opening up to anyone about anything.
Taking a deep breath, I offered the bare minimum. “It’s always the same, always the night of the attack. I hear his voice and then I just… wake up.”
“Is it ever different? Do you ever see his face?”
I shook my head. That was the most frustrating part. I could never see his face. He’d worn a mask during the attack, even if he didn’t I wouldn’t have seen him.
“Abbigail?” Dr. Van Sant said my name and I realized I still hadn’t answered him.
“I, uh…” sweat broke out on the back of my neck as my mind threw back into the night of the attack.
“I know this is hard, Abby. But that’s what I’m here for.”
My back molars were grinding together as my breathing got shaky. A panic attack was rising quickly and I tried to tramp it down, fought for control. “I didn’t see his face,” I finally whispered. “I didn’t see anything. He hit me and all of a sudden I was on the ground. It just happened so fast.”
Not much was said after that small admission. My ribs were aching from my labored breathing and I knew I didn’t have it in me to finish the session, something that I think Dr. Van Sant knew as well.
“I’m not up for the full hour today, I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here, Dr. Van Sant.”
He offered me a reassuring smile and nodded. “Call me Henry, alright? Here, I want you to have my information if you need to reach me.” he pulled out a white business card and scribbled something on the back before pushing it across the coffee table. “Don’t hesitate to reach out, okay? You have a good family, Abby. They worry about you.”
I looked down at the business card with his handwriting scrolled on the back, pausing for just a minute before picking it up and looking at it closely. His office number, his personal number and his email. Something niggled at the back of my mind as I shoved the card into my jacket pocket, and I thought maybe the session helped, if only a little.
I nodded my head. I knew my family worried about me, especially now because of what happened. But if they showed any more concern I would suffocate. They needed to let me figure out my feelings on my own. I was back in Port James and under the watchful eye of my brothers, and I needed that to be enough for everyone.
I walked Dr. Van Sant to the door and offered a quiet goodbye. I was about to close the door when he turned around and said, “Maybe you should try to get out for a bit. Reconnect with some old friends.”
Knox’s face immediately came to mind.
“Maybe I will.”
I paced back and forth at the back entrance of Fitzgerald Boxing. The alley was small and there was garbage and random objects pieces of broken gym equipment leaned up against the old brick. I shouldn’t be here, I thought to myself for the umpteenth time. Back in Port James for less than a week and I was already looking for reasons to see Knox. How desperate was that?
Technically, I’m just doing what the good doctor suggested, I mused and cocked my head to the side, staring at the back door that would lead to his office. It was odd to think he was now running the gym, the big man on campus, the head honcho. But Fitzgerald Boxing had been the family business ever since his dad opened it back in the late eighties. It quickly became popular among Port James teens and eventually m
orphed into a sort of safe haven for at-risk youths. Knox and I used to spend hours there when we were in high school, talking to some of the other kids and trying to help them work through their problems.
I rolled my eyes thinking back on how proud we were, feeling like we were making a difference. It was so simple then. So easy.
Go inside.
Go home.
Go inside.
Jesus, I was getting a headache. Not giving myself another second to dwell on it, I pulled the heavy metal door and stepped inside. I could hear loud voices and the slapping of gloves on punching bags. Any more familiarity and I was afraid I’d permanently get stuck in the Twilight Zone.
I toyed with the zipper on my hoodie, tugging it down and then tugging it back up. I was standing just inside the door, craning my neck to see if my infinitely handsome ex boyfriend was in his office, but he wasn’t. All that was there with a desk with a laptop in the center of it and old photos hanging on the slate gray walls. A small door off to the side led to a private bathroom with a shower that looked like it had definitely been updated since I was last in the gym. There was a large sectional against the wall and it looked well worn and inviting. All of it felt so much like Knox that I could almost smell him.
“Hey, cut the shit,” an all too familiar voice spoke harshly. Always so bossy.
“Breathe,” I whispered to myself and walked down the short hall, tip toeing as I entered the main area of the large gym.
Knox was standing in one of the two rings with his back to me, scolding a boy that couldn’t be older than seventeen. “He isn’t your enemy,” he barked, pointing to a scrawny blonde boy with greasy hair. “Stop treating him like one. If you want to act like that then you can get the hell out of my gym because that isn’t how we do things around here.”
I took the time to admire him from behind. Clad in only a pair of black basketball shorts I took in the breadth of his naked shoulders and the way his back tapered down to a lean, strong waist. The veins in his forearms curved down to his wrists and he had a set of gloves on- sweet Jesus, Knox in boxing gloves was my weakness- and his shorts were riding low revealing back dimples I once adored.
Okay, I still adored them.
“Uh, boss…” Greasy Hair said and lifted a gloved hand in my direction. “I think someone’s here to see you.”
Knox turned to face me, and wow did I get an eyeful. He’d always been built, even when we were younger. John Fitzgerald, may he rest in peace, kept his son in shape and working out multiple times a week. Not that Knox cared, he pretty much lived at his father’s gym. But now his chest looked solid and his washboard stomach had my mouth watering. The v-line of his hips made me realize how low his shorts really were and I wondered-
“Hey,” Knox said with a knowing smirk. I was clearly busted. “Nice of you to stop by and check the place out, Abbs.”
His double entendre had me blushing and I looked down before taking a deep breath and looking back up at him.
“If you’re busy I can…” I trailed off and pointed towards the front door hinting that I could leave if it was a bad time.
He shook his head and shrugged out of the gloves, stepping out of the ring and walking over to me. Strength radiated off him and it was very obvious that he was in his element. “I was just getting ready to close up shop for the night,” he responded and turned to look at the boys who were watching us with rapt attention. “Guys, get cleaned up and head home. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.”
I waited quietly while the boys gathered their belongings, hiding my smirk when Knox stepped in front of me after realizing Greasy Hair was checking me out.
“So,” he said after he locked the door and walked to his office. I sat down on the couch while he pulled a t-shirt over his head. “What brings you to Fitzgerald Boxing?”
“An old friend,” I said quietly as I leaned back against the suede cushions.
Knox checked me out. Not in a sexual way; it was as though he was trying to feel me out and see what was going through my head. He finally sat down at the edge of the couch and nodded. “You doing alright? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I could have lied to him. Hell, maybe I should have lied to him. I didn’t though. I almost felt obligated to be honest with Knox, not because I felt as though I owed him for leaving but because we’d always prided each other on being honest with each other. He was never just my boyfriend, once upon a time he was my best friend and confidant. “I feel like I haven’t slept in days,” I laughed. “Which is odd because Robbie’s house is probably the quietest place in Port James.”
He laughed and leaned back, tucking an arm behind his head and regarding me thoughtfully. “You want to talk about that?” he asked and jerked his chin towards me.
Knowing he was talking about my eye and cut lip, I shook my head. As much as I wanted to tell Knox what happened I just couldn’t. Being home again was new and seeing him after so long was very new. I couldn’t just drop an “I have a stalker” bomb on him.
“Fine. I’ll just assume you got mugged in Central Park.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I’ll tell people if they ask.”
“It’s better than admitting you have a stalker.”
I froze, my whole body stiffening and my breath halting in my throat. What? How did he know? Who did he talk to? The irrational part of my brain took over and I jumped to conclusions at the same time I jumped to my feet, fear and paranoia swamping me.
“Whoa,” he stood and blocked my path. “Easy.”
The way he was speaking to me made me feel like an untrained horse and I glared at him. “What do you know about it, huh? Who did you talk to? Did someone come here looking for me?” My voice rose with every word I spoke.
Knox vehemently shook his head and gave me a sympathetic, pleading look. “Abbs, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out and I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I talked to Simone and she told me a little bit of what happened. I only asked because I wanted to see if you’d tell me the truth.”
Anger suddenly trumped fear. “I come to visit you- against my better judgment, by the way- and you decide you’re going to test my honesty? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Hey, hey,” he stepped towards me. “I’m sorry. It was a dick move, it really was.”
I looked at him, my eyes narrowed. He was standing close enough to me that I could smell him and it was clouding my judgment. Clean cotton and sweat. How that was a good combination was beyond me but it was intoxicating. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said defensively, my guard going up. “You don’t know what happened to me.”
“But I’d like to,” he shot back without hesitation. If there was one thing that I both loved and loathed about Knox it was that he always had something to say.
Right now it was safe to say I loathed that quality.
“You’re right. I don’t know what happened to you in New York and I don’t know what your life has been like for the last five years. I don’t know a damn thing about you anymore, Abbs. But I’d like to. If you want to talk about it then I… I want to listen. I want to hear what you have to say.”
I swallowed the sudden lump of emotion that clogged my throat. Knox, someone who constantly struggled with expressing his feelings, wanted me to open up to him and it killed me that I couldn’t. He never asked for things like that, for heavy conversations. I could probably count on one hand the times we ever had deep conversations; the first time I told him I loved him, when I lost my virginity to him, when his grandfather died and when my brothers had a huge blowout with my dad the night before my eighteenth birthday. He was better with talking about things that were light and breezy, but the way he was looking at me now wasn’t light or breezy at all.
“I’m not ready,” I whispered.
“Okay,” Knox responded just as quietly. He reached out and his fingers traced the bruise around my eye. The feather-light touch had me weak in the knees and I foug
ht the urge to lean into him, just for a minute. Just one minute of leaning up against someone instead of having to stand on my own, alone, all the time. But I couldn’t. I cast my eyes down, and Knox let out a sigh, so soft I barely noticed it.
“Let me drive you home.”
Chapter 5
Yoga was the worst.
I hated yoga.
With a passion.
But still, a week after my interaction with Knox, I found myself sitting there practicing my breathing while Simone tried to get me to talk to her. After multiple angry texts about me accusing her of not understanding boundaries and her accusing me of turning a blind eye to the fact that I was “still madly in love with Knox,” I agreed not to cancel our yoga session because she wanted to explain herself.
“Please,” she said into the phone the morning of our yoga session.
“I don’t even like yoga,” I grumbled in return.
Her light, airy laugh was my only response.
“Seriously, Simone,” I said with the phone pressed between my shoulder and my ear as I leaned over to tie my shoes. I was still angry at the fact that she told Knox about what happened, but I knew I’d end up going to yoga class anyway. I didn’t have it in me to bail on anyone, even when I was pissed off.
“I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. Just meet me there and I’ll explain myself.”
Too bad it was too damn hard to focus on her explanation when I was twisting myself into a pretzel and groaning in agony. Who thought yoga was a good idea? Jane Fonda? Yeah, well, I had a few choice words for Jane Fonda.
Our instructor, Port James’ very own Shay Kendrick helped me into downward dog and applied what she assured me was some “light pressure” to my lower back.
Light pressure, my ass.
“I’m never doing this again,” I huffed and wiped my forehead against my bare arm, my palms pressed flat to the red yoga mat beneath me.
“It’s so good for you. It’s good for the soul. You take time for yourself to breathe and reflect. I do morning yoga every day,” Simone smiled, beautiful as ever and not one drop of sweat on her. Bitch.
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