Make Me Page 15

  Refusing to dim the wattage of her smile, Abby fairly danced out of the cabana and speed-walked along the beach, ascending the staircase like she had springs on her feet. She would have to be quiet in the house. Her friends were no doubt still asleep, preparing to wake up with hangovers in a couple hours. A large part of her was glad she’d have a chance to talk with Russell before seeing Honey or Roxy again. They would no doubt have questions, and she couldn’t wait to have answers, for once.

  She reached the gate at the estate’s edge, swung it open and stepped onto the paved driveway, but drew up short when she saw Mitchell, leaning against the trunk of his car. The towel around her suddenly felt flimsy, transparent. There was nothing sexual about the way he perused her, only businesslike. Practical. But it didn’t make her feel any less exposed.

  “What are you still doing here?” She was pleased at the strength in her voice, despite the awkward situation. “Did I miss a signature page?”

  When he remained tight-lipped, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally, his lips lifted into a smile that didn’t go near his eyes. “Car trouble, actually. The repair company just left. I was about to head back to Manhattan.”

  She shook her head, eyeing the brand-spanking-new Mercedes. “Car trouble.” Her fingers curled into the top of the towel, grateful it covered her past the knee. “Did you sleep in your car?”

  “Yes.” He sauntered toward her. “I had a funny feeling your friends weren’t going to let me into the house.”

  “You’re probably right.” A ditch formed in her stomach when Mitchell’s attention caught on her wrists. “I’m going to head in now.”

  That creepy smile of his stayed in place as he nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” He inclined his head. “We’ll keep this between you and me. No need to worry your mother, right?”

  A sour taste permeated Abby’s mouth. She wanted to curse him straight to hell, but getting into the house was the more desirable outcome. A back-and-forth between them would prevent that. God, she hated that he’d ruined her morning. She just wanted to forget this encounter had ever happened and get back down to the beach. “Thanks, Mitchell,” she muttered, skirting past him toward the house.

  She waited just inside the front door until she heard his car pull away before tiptoeing up the stairs.

  RUSSELL SHOT FORWARD in a panic, searching the cabana with frantic eyes. He shouldn’t be by himself. Abby’s sweet, warm body had been tucked up against him all night. He knew that because he’d woken up several times, convinced he’d been dreaming. But no. No, she’d been there, sighing in her sleep, letting him smell her hair, run hands up and down her thighs, shoulders, and belly. It had been the best night of his twenty-seven years, and he had not goddamn imagined it.

  When he spied her bathing suit on the ground, he pressed two fingers against his forehead and breathed. Where had she gone? Why hadn’t she woken him up? Didn’t she know how he’d react to her disappearing?

  Calm down and go find her. This fear that threatened wasn’t just a product of his panic. Abby hadn’t been hurt last night. If she had, could she have slept beside him so trusting and peaceful? The memory of her feet tucked between his calves sent warmth soaring into his chest, saving it from freezing into a block of ice. Okay. As soon as he saw her, kissed her forehead, everything would be fine. They would talk about everything. There was no room for secrets when he felt so close to her. She’d set his fears to rest about his physical urges, but the money issue would be no different. And he would believe her when she inevitably told him their future was theirs to decide because she believed in him. She’d trusted him with her body, and he’d beg that she do the same with her heart.

  Crazy how one night could change everything. But it had. A clarity had stormed into his consciousness, wrought by his connection to Abby. Nothing was insurmountable as long as they could make each other feel as alive as they’d been last night. He’d live his life to make that happen.

  Russell whipped the discarded board shorts off the ground, gained his feet, and pulled them on, halfway out of the cabana before he’d fully tied them. He saw the Yankees shirt, crumpled in the sand and decided to leave it there, liking the reminder of what had ultimately brought them together staying right where it was. When he reached the top of the staircase, his mind was already on what he’d make Abby for breakfast. She liked sweet stuff, like French toast—

  “Mr. Hart.”

  Russell came to a halt on the road, so immersed in thoughts of Abby, it took him a moment to place the man, standing inside the door of his running Mercedes. Mitchell, the lawyer. What the hell was he still doing here?

  He must have asked the question out loud because the guy smirked. “You know why the Sullivan family pays me so well?” He drummed his fingers on the car’s roof. “I make sure problems don’t present themselves. And when they do, I make them go away. I’m really fucking good at it, too.”

  Showing no outward reaction, Russell couldn’t help being surprised at the expletive coming from the polished lawyer. Or maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. “Is there a reason you think I give a shit?”

  “There’s a good reason for everything I say and do.”

  Russell almost looked up, positive he would see an axe materialize in the air. Intuition was like spikes flowing through his veins. He glanced over Mitchell’s shoulder toward the house, praying he’d see Abby, but there was no one. Jesus, where had she gone? “If what you have to say is so important, get to it.”

  The look that crossed the lawyer’s face said he was enjoying this. “Ran into Abby a few minutes ago.” With those words, Russell’s dread shifted and escalated into rage. She’d gone to that beach last night dressed in nothing but a swimsuit. A swimsuit he’d seen on the floor of the cabana. Meaning this fucker had seen her in . . . what? The possibilities made his eyes burn.

  Russell struggled for a modicum of composure, but the effort was useless. “If you even spoke to her, I’d be worried.”

  “I did. Speak to her.” A too-long pause ensued. “You bruise up a lot of girls, Hart?”

  He was instantly winded, unable to catch a breath. That axe above him didn’t just drop, it hacked away at him. Hacked, hacked, hacked, severing internal organs without mercy. Somehow, the guy knew his last name, but it was only a dim realization, swallowed up in the earlier statement. “What . . . what are you talking about?”

  “Look, buddy.” Mitchell held up both hands, like they could have an honest exchange after the bomb he’d just dropped on Russell’s very existence. “I’m here as the fixer. As understandably upset as she was, Abby obviously needs one—”

  “She was upset?” The words fell out of Russell’s mouth and splintered into fragments on the ground, alongside his heart. Had he been wrong about the connection . . . the understanding between them? She’d enjoyed what they’d done, hadn’t she? He wracked his mind, attempting to remember what she’d said in the darkness, before they fell asleep. We have a lot to talk about, don’t we? Christ, that could mean anything. Images assaulted him. Abby’s jaw in his grip. Her hands imprisoned over her head. The way he’d pulled out and bathed her in his release.

  His knees felt weak with the need to give out. Was there a man of sound mind on this planet that would do those things to a virgin? No. No . . . he’d done it all wrong. He’d hurt her. Hurt Abby. God, oh God, oh God.

  “Where did she go?” Russell managed.

  “Probably somewhere you can’t hurt her again.” Mitchell rounded the car at a casual pace, reaching into his pocket and removing a wallet. “And I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

  Russell felt the horror down to his toes when the man presented him with a fist full of what looked like hundred-dollar bills. “What the fuck is that?”

  Mitchell attempted to look sympathetic, but satisfaction was written all over his face. “We both know Abby is a good person. She wanted you to have this. For that construction company you’re trying to get off the grou
nd.” The green bills were thrust in his direction. As if he would take them. Christ, he could barely stand the sight of them. Or the knowledge that he’d lost. He hadn’t been good enough for her. No, it was worse than that. He’d . . . injured her. Ruined a night that should have been special. Maybe traumatized her forever. He deserved to feel like his stomach was being stomped on by baseball cleats. Deserved far worse.

  True to form, she was still trying her best to help him, trying to help him succeed even thought he’d wronged her. That’s why she was the best. That’s what made her Abby. And he needed to get as far away from her as possible, for her sake. It’s what the man who loved her should do—and he loved her so much he was struggling not to lie down in the road and demand this asshole drive over him with that fucking Mercedes. The symbol of everything he’d never be able to give Abby.

  “I don’t want your money,” Russell choked out. “Or Abby’s money, for Chrissakes.”

  The other man shrugged. “Fair enough.” He pocketed the bills. “How about a ride back to the city?”

  “Go fuck yourself. I’ll take the bus.”

  Russell stood frozen on the road until the Mercedes drove out of sight. Then he bent at the waist and dry heaved over the sandy road.

  ABBY BOUNDED DOWN the stairs, taking them two at a time. In the space of twenty minutes, she’d showered, changed, and answered five emails. Wonder of wonders, they hadn’t even stressed her out. Would anything ever stress her out again? Her body felt so deliciously utilized, her vocal cords just raw enough to give her a smoky sex voice, a discovery she’d made while attempting to sing in the shower. A long-sleeved swim cover-up handily concealed the bruising on her wrists, but she liked knowing they were there. Like a naughty secret, reminding her how much she’d been wanted. She’d never had one of those before.

  Her progress came to an abrupt stop at the base of the staircase. Having snuck in as quietly as possible, she’d expected everyone to still be sleeping. But there was the super group, standing in the living room, looking as if they’d been caught talking about something uncomfortable. Most of them, anyway. Honey and Roxy were still in their pajamas, hair unbrushed. Ben and Louis wouldn’t even look at her. Trying to ignore the beginnings of alarm, Abby ran a hand down her ponytail and scanned the space for Russell but didn’t see him.

  “Hey.” Abby headed toward the kitchen, well aware she was making an escape. From what, though, she didn’t know. Didn’t want to. “I was just about to make some coffee.”

  Honey followed her into the sunlit room, Roxy close behind. The guys were nowhere in sight, which only spurred her worry. Ben and Louis didn’t go two feet without the girls if they could help it, meaning her roommates wanted privacy.

  Honey climbed onto one of the breakfast stools. “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “Um.” She wanted to tell them everything. Maybe not every detail of her night with Russell but enough to reciprocate for all the secrets they’d spilled over the last six months. Something held her back, though. Whether it was the identical sympathetic expressions on her friends’ faces or the fact that she hadn’t spoken to Russell yet, but holding back suddenly felt conducive to survival. “I had some work to do and knew you two would give me a hard time, so I took my laptop out to the pool house. I fell asleep there.”

  They were both silent a moment until Roxy finally broke the tension Abby’s lie had created. “Did . . . did Russell sleep there, too?”

  When goose bumps broke out along her skin, she was twice as grateful for the long sleeves. “Why are you asking?”

  Roxy took the can of Maxwell House from Abby’s hand and performed the task of making coffee since Abby’s had stalled out before even starting. “We’re just trying to figure out why Russell left in such a hurry.” Her friend’s tone was softer than usual, but it detonated like a bomb in the silent kitchen. Not to mention, Abby’s stomach. “He wouldn’t even come inside. Louis had to bring his bag out.”

  “He was acting really strange. Even for Russell.” Honey’s joke fell flat along with her attempt at a smile. “We thought maybe you two had a fight.”

  “No. We didn’t.”

  Abby tried to bring her tone down a few octaves, but it was impossible. Her heart was flattening like a sand castle in a rainstorm. He left? She created a mental list of reasons he would leave after the night they’d had, the trust they’d shared, but nothing was good enough. Nothing made sense.

  She reached into the cabinet for three coffee cups, indulging the urge to hide her face. “Was there an emergency at the construction site or something?” Even as she asked the hopeful question, she discarded the possibility. He’d left without saying good-bye, and that meant something infinitely worse.

  “Ben said he wasn’t in a talking mood.” Honey traded a heavy glance with Roxy, nodded, and dug into her pocket. “He left you a note.”

  Abby tried not to lunge across the nook to snatch the note from Honey’s fingers. Instead, she carefully arranged the mugs and casually reached for the folded piece of paper. She could feel her roommates staring at her, so she braced herself to give zero reaction. An almost impossible feat when the note contained only two words.

  I’m sorry.

  She dropped the note like it was on fire but stooped down quickly to pick it back up, shoving it into the back pocket of her jean shorts. It seemed like someone else was performing the menial tasks. It definitely couldn’t be her when she felt paralyzed. A crater was opening in her chest, burning at the edges, but she couldn’t lift her arms to put out the fire. Russell was sorry. Russell was gone. He regretted last night . . . being with her. What they’d done.

  Was there any other explanation? His absence spoke louder than any note ever could. He’d told her, hadn’t he? Since the beginning, he’d told her he wasn’t looking for a permanent relationship, but she hadn’t listened, plugging along like a naïve idiot and trusting everything would work out right. After what he’d said last night in the water, she knew he cared about her, but obviously it ended there. Oh God, had Russell given her a pity lay? She wanted to crawl into a small space and never emerge. At least it would keep the fractured organ in her chest in one place instead of spilling out onto the floor like it was attempting to do now.

  “Abby.” Honey had moved across the room to lay a hand on Abby’s back. “You know you can talk to us about anything, right? We can help with whatever is going on.”

  “The way you helped with this weekend away? Because it didn’t.” The anger burst from her mouth before she could control it, but guilt had her wanting to stuff it all back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  Roxy laid her head on Abby’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay to get pissed once in a while. And you’re right, we forced this weekend on you without considering it might make things worse.”

  “No. It was sweet. Really sweet.” Abby tried to swallow away the tightness in her throat. These were her best friends. The normal behavior here was to have a good old-fashioned girl talk. There was even a chance she would feel marginally better afterward if such a thing were possible when it felt like a war had been fought inside her rib cage. And there it was again, that faithful fear of humiliation. She’d been ditched. How could they relate to something so painful? Their boyfriends probably already missed them, while Russell couldn’t get away from her fast enough. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she finished in a whisper.

  “Okay,” Honey said, rubbing circles into Abby’s back. “We’ll be here when you’re ready, though.”

  I’ll never be ready. I’ll never forget how horrible I feel right now, in this moment.

  And in this moment, I never want to see Russell again.

  Chapter 16

  RUSSELL FELT LIKE an imposter. Not because he was wearing a monkey suit and loafers, waiting for his appointment with the loan officer, scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes. And not because he’d put on his father’s best watch for the first time since it had been bestowed on him. No, he felt li
ke an imposter for functioning. Eating breakfast, driving his truck, inhaling. It was all a giant, fucking sham because he wanted to die.

  Since Sunday morning, he’d been alternating between self-loathing and numbness, interspersed with bouts of misery, mostly because he wanted to see Abby. Wanted to kiss any marks he’d left on her body and apologize until his vocal cords gave out. Then he’d remember she very likely hated him and wanted him out of her life, which would inevitably send him back to numbness.

  Why was he even bothering with this goddamn bank meeting? Why had he spent the last couple days revamping his entire ten-year business plan, whittling it down to a solid five like Abby had suggested? What did any of his goals matter now that the ultimate one had been removed from his grasp? It was possibly the worst punishment he could devise for himself because if heaven smiled on him, and he was granted the business loan, he still couldn’t have Abby, yet he’d know how close he’d come. And that would fuck him up for the rest of his life. Good. At least the pain would remind him of her. Now that he wouldn’t see her anymore, he needed all the reminders he could get.

  Russell frowned when—out of nowhere—Alec dropped into the chair beside him, tugging at the neck of his dress shirt. “Who the hell designs a shirt with cardboard tucked into the collar? Would you please tell me?”

  “You’re supposed to take it out,” Russell answered, barely recognizing his own voice. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Vegas filming the ninja show.”

  “American Ninja Warrior,” his brother enunciated. “And a man has to have priorities, right? I got all the way to Vegas, suited up for the obstacle course and everything. But in the end, I couldn’t leave you to do this alone. I knew where I needed to be. Right here. With my not-so-little bro.”