Make Me Page 19

  Her laughter didn’t hold a trace of humor. “You’re so worried about hurting me. Do you know how awful I’ve felt these last couple weeks? Do you? Not knowing why you couldn’t just want me permanently? Why you kept disappearing?”

  A rough noise burst from his mouth. “God, I didn’t mean for you to feel that way. I’ll never disappear on you again. I never want to be away from you.” He dragged a hand over his shaved head. “I needed to know I could make you happy before I made you mine.”

  Abby shot to her feet. “I was yours! We’ve belonged to each other since we met.” She gathered her towel closer. “Or did I imagine it?”

  “No,” Russell grated, his voice shaking. “You didn’t imagine a damn thing. I’ve been living for you since you walked out onto the stoop.”

  “Only you didn’t really want me, Russell. You wanted Abby minus the money and how the money made you feel.” She felt tears threaten and forced them back. “The money is part of who I am, where I came from. It doesn’t define me, though. But you let it define us.” She slumped sideways onto the sink. Had she felt exultant only moments ago? How had everything crashed down around her so quickly? “And you didn’t give me a say, Russell. That’s the worst part. You maneuvered me from behind the scenes like everyone else in my life, putting me where you could be comfortable having me. An Abby your ego could handle.”

  “No.” He was across the bathroom in a single, long stride, cupping her face like a cherished treasure. It made her want to throw herself on the floor and shatter into a million pieces, just to prove she wasn’t something to be placed on a shelf, out of harm’s reach. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. How can you say that?”

  “You did change me.” She tugged away, staving him off with a hand when he followed. “Maybe the last month has changed me. I’m not sure yet, but I have to believe the change is for the better. I’m pissed as hell that you made decisions concerning us without me. Porca troia, Russell. I wanted you just as you are—”

  “Don’t. Don’t say wanted like it happened in the past—”

  “—but you want a different version of me. I’m capable of making calls concerning my life, and you took that away. I don’t need you to give me a comfortable life. I can do that for myself. What I needed was someone to love. Someone to love me back. What would have mattered beyond that?”

  She didn’t see the Russell she knew anymore. He’d withdrawn into himself, staring back at her blankly. A painful rupturing took place inside her, self-hatred over hurting the man she loved warring with pride that she’d stood up for herself. But that pride was quickly being swallowed by the screaming need to take back everything and shake Russell until he returned from wherever he’d gone. If she took back her opinion, if she excused him for making her feel less-than for weeks, though, there was every chance it could happen again. Not to mention, she would lose a healthy amount of respect for herself.

  “What are you saying?”

  She reached deep and found the remaining dram of courage. “I’m saying, you should leave. I don’t think there’s anything more to say right now.”

  “Right now,” he repeated dully.

  “I don’t want to lose you as a friend.” Oh God, the pressure behind her eyelids was growing so tremendous, all her concentration went into making sure the tears didn’t fall. Russell would feel compelled to comfort her, and she’d never survive that. “It might just take awhile.”

  “Friends.” He backed away slowly, his gaze weighing her down like a boulder. Just before he reached the door, he leaned down to pick up his T-shirt and collect his shoes with methodical movements. She thought he meant to leave without another word, but he stopped. Without looking at her, he said. “I don’t want to be your friend, Abby. I want to be your husband.”

  Moisture streamed down her cheeks, but Russell didn’t see it because he walked from the apartment barefoot, without looking back a single time. As soon as the door closed behind him, Abby sank down onto the bathroom floor with a heart-wrenching sob, positive her lungs were caving in. She didn’t get up again until darkness fell, and it was only to crawl into bed.

  Chapter 19

  RUSSELL WALKED BACK to Queens. He moved uptown on autopilot, crossing the Queensboro Bridge as darkness fell. Apart from the odd bicyclist whizzing past toward Manhattan, the bridge was mostly empty of pedestrians, but a marching band could have passed him, and he wouldn’t have flinched.

  He’d lost Abby. Lost her completely. Before he’d gone and fucked their relationship all to hell, he’d at least had the privilege of being her friend. The guy she sat beside in restaurants or car rides as if it were a foregone conclusion. The first one she smiled at when walking into a room. At the time, he’d thought being that close without ending up in bed was pure torture. Right now, it sounded like the highest level of heaven one could achieve. And he would never, in his pathetic life, reach it again.

  He wasn’t even in a place yet where he could wrap his mind around the catastrophe of what had happened back at Abby’s apartment. All he knew was the coldness wouldn’t leave him alone. Ice lined his veins, made his muscles feel stiff and difficult to move. His heart . . . he wished it would just give in and stop working. Why wouldn’t it just stop working? Tick . . . tick . . . tick. Every beat was pointless. Every fucking thing was pointless without her.

  That saying, hindsight is twenty-twenty, was taunting him, ringing in his head like a fight bell. His experience had been somewhat different, though. The second—the goddamn second—Abby moved across the bathroom and away from him, he’d seen everything go up in smoke. She’d seen it, too. No. He was done lying to himself. He’d seen the flames even before walking into the bathroom, but he’d been so starved for her, nothing could have stopped him. Except the knowledge that he would lose her, and the notion terrified him so much, he’d pretended it didn’t exist.

  Every single thing she’d said had been right. He’d stood there absorbing every blow like a boxer with his hands bound behind his back. Some sick part of him had even welcomed the rejection because he deserved it for keeping her in the dark so long. I was yours! Those words might as well be a tattoo on his consciousness because they would never go away, popping up to remind him of his worst failure until he died. Which would be before he even arrived home if the torn-up feeling in his chest was any indication.

  Russell became aware of his surroundings slowly. How long had he been standing outside his house? Taking the phone from his pocket to check the time felt like far too much effort, so he just stared at the two-story home, a sickening laugh working its way toward his throat. Had he actually envisioned carrying Abby over the threshold of this place? The place that held the very childhood memories that led him to fuck everything up? Yeah, he had. His subconscious hadn’t believed his bullshit about Abby’s being a package delivered to the wrong doorstep. He might have fed himself the truth about not being worthy, but he’d been preparing for her since they’d met. The whole damn time.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  He didn’t even need to turn his head to know his brother had spoken. Not many people called a person of his size asshole. “Go away, Alec.”

  “What?” Alec stopped in front of him, holding a twelve-pack of Budweiser on his right shoulder. “Darcy is watching The Bachelor, so I’m home free for an hour or two. I don’t want to know who gets a rose, so we’re going to celebrate this bank loan, motherfucker.”

  His brother’s words were little arrows spearing into his ears. “Fine,” Russell heard himself say. “But I’m not going in there.”

  Alec split a curious look between Russell and the house. “You’ve spent every waking hour in there for the last week. Your gigantic outline has faded from my couch.”

  God. Russell buried his fingers into his temples. He’d been sleeping on a couch, and Abby had known it. She’d ridden in his rickety truck. I was yours. I was yours. The angel had wanted him exactly as he was, and he’d been so hung up on being the big bad provider, he
’d missed the weight behind her every word. Every gesture. She’d accepted him, but he hadn’t given her the same gift. He’d projected a need for a certain lifestyle onto her when she’d only proven at every turn that people were what mattered to her. Honey. Roxy. Him. He’d been important to her. But in the end, he’d only let her down.

  With the coldness eating his insides, that reliable hindsight was more powerful now than ever. Abby was one in a million. He’d always known that, but his fear of her meeting the same fate as his mother had prevented him from acting like it. If Abby wasn’t happy, she wouldn’t blame other people. Her surroundings. She would just find a way to improve it. That was who she was. Nobody else. And the crazy truth was? Until the world fell down, before he’d tried to push her away, he’d been one of the things making her happy. He had the ability to do that. But he’d squandered it.

  Gone. It was all gone now. All over money. Jesus, who cared about who paid for things, or if her relatives found him unsuitable? They would have worked it out together. Nothing had been bad enough that they couldn’t overcome it with good. But the good was gone. He’d obliterated it.

  Russell turned and dropped onto the lawn, barely noticing when Alec followed suit, until a cold can of beer was pressed into his hand. “Russell, will you accept this Budweiser?”

  “I know you watch The Bachelor when Darcy isn’t home.” Russell nabbed the can and popped its top, surprised to find his hands working. “I caught you setting the TiVo once.”

  “Shut up and drink.”

  “It’s a plan,” Russell muttered, tipping back the can. His throat rejected the liquid, but he forced it down. God knew he’d have to find a way to get rip-roaring drunk, no matter how badly his body wanted to exist in the hurt, roll around in it like a masochist. His pain didn’t deserve to be numbed so easily. Abby. He’d lost Abby, in every respect. Holy shit. Holy shit. No.

  Alec watched as Russell shotgunned the beer. “Another?” ’

  “I’m selling the house,” Russell managed. “I’m never going in there again. I thought I could erase the bad with . . . with Abby, but it’s fucking poisonous. It got to me, and now I’m poisonous, too.”

  “Hey, man—”

  “Please. I don’t want to talk about it.” He was horrified to hear the crack in his voice, so he breathed through his nose for a minute. “There’s nothing to say. It’s too late. Just don’t fight me on selling.”

  Alec sighed, turning the beer can in his hand. “It’s your call.”

  The two brothers sat in silence, polishing off the twelve-pack as the familiar sounds of their childhood neighborhood decorated the air around them. It was unclear at what point Russell fell back on the grass and let unconsciousness replace his regret, at least until tomorrow.

  Abby’s image was the final thing he saw.

  ABBY SAT ON the stoop of her building Sunday afternoon, passing a covert plastic bottle of mimosa between herself, Roxy, and Honey. Honey had just cooked brunch upstairs, but Abby had only forced down two bites of French toast before dragging the fork around her plate aimlessly. After an unknown amount of time, she’d looked up to find her roommates staring at her from the kitchen. She hadn’t even put up a fight when they each took an arm and led her downstairs to get some fresh air for the first time in over a week.

  The talk with her roommates was long overdue, and she knew it, so in the new, somewhat destructive spirit of not avoiding unpleasant conversations, she got the ball rolling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about Russell.” Ouch. His name left her mouth feeling like the end of a lawn rake. “I didn’t even know . . . what it was. What we were.” She took a swallow of mimosa. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. Now, it’s nothing.”

  It agonized her to say the words. They didn’t feel like they could possibly be true. She’d spent the last ten days moderating a fight between her head and heart. One stubbornly clung to the belief she’d done the right thing, that if she’d given in to Russell, she would have lost the newfound respect she’d gained for herself. But the shuddering organ in her chest staunchly disagreed. It wanted back its counterpart.

  “Abby . . .” Roxy blew out a long breath. “I’m not trying to call your bluff here . . . but I’m not sure you can call what’s between you and Russell nothing. He’s loved you since jump street. We’ve all known it.”

  Abby stared out at Ninth Avenue, waiting for the ache in her stomach to pass, but it never did. I don’t want to be your friend, Abby. I want to be your husband. Words that should have made her cry happy tears, not bitter ones. “Russell made it nothing. All he had to do was be honest with me.” She turned her attention to Honey, then Roxy. “And while we’re on the subject of being honest, why didn’t you just tell me? You let me float around in the dark, just like him. Did you think it was funny?”

  Honey looked horrified. “No. God, Abby. That’s not it at all.” She appeared to be searching for the right words. “We wanted you to have the experience of having Russell tell you. Every girl should have that. It wouldn’t have felt the same coming from us.”

  Roxy snagged the plastic bottle. “If we’d known he’d make a jackass of himself and hurt you in the process, we would have told you months ago.”

  They meant it. Abby knew her friends wouldn’t intentionally hurt her feelings, and honestly, she didn’t have the capacity to be mad at anyone else. “All’s forgiven. Just tell me next time someone is in love with me and decides friend-zoning me is a better idea than coming clean.”

  Honey cracked a sad smile. “It’s a deal.” She plucked at her frayed jeans skirt. “So we all agree Russell acted like a jackass, but . . .”

  “But is this really permanent?” Roxy asked, squinting into the sun. “I can’t imagine you two apart. You’re . . . Russell and Abby. Rabby.”

  “That nickname never would have happened.”

  “Says you.”

  Abby massaged the back of her neck, wondering when her entire body would stop feeling trampled on. “It’s permanent,” she pushed out. “He doesn’t want to be my friend, and I can’t be with someone who’s threatened by what my family has. Or moves me around into different categories when he feels like it.” She crossed her arms over her middle. “He made me feel really horrible, okay? I know he didn’t mean to, but he did. And I’m not past it yet.”

  Roxy laid a hand on her shoulder. “I get it. No one knows what you’re feeling, but you. We’ll support you no matter what.”

  She nodded once. “Thanks.”

  “Hey, uh . . . Abby?”

  All three girls turned to find a man in jeans and an American Ninja Warrior T-shirt at the base of their stoop. Although they had never met, Abby knew who he was immediately. His resemblance to Russell wasn’t supernoticeable, but it was there in the set of his shoulders, the square shape of his jaw. Russell’s brother, Alec. All at once, worry crashed down on her head. The look on Russell’s face when he’d walked out of the apartment two Fridays ago was all she could see. Why was his brother here and not him? Had something happened to him?

  When Roxy cleared her throat, Abby realized she hadn’t spoken. Wake up. She mentally shook herself and sat up straight. “Yes. I’m Abby.”

  Alec scratched the back of his neck, appearing to have difficulty looking her in the eye. “Jesus. My brother aimed high.”

  “Ohhhh,” Honey and Roxy said at the same time, obviously discerning the stranger’s identity.

  “Would you mind if we talked alone for a minute?” Alec asked.

  Abby felt glued to the step. She didn’t want to hear what Russell’s brother had to say but craved it at the same time. How was he? Where was he? “Yeah. Okay,” she said, standing on shaky legs.

  Honey and Roxy stood with her, both of them leaning close. “You want us to stay with you?” Honey offered. “Or ask him to leave?”

  “No.” She gave them a grateful look. “It’s fine. I’ll be upstairs in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll save you some champagne,” Roxy said over h
er shoulder, as they climbed the stairs and disappeared inside.

  Abby stared after her friends a beat, steeling herself, before descending the stoop to join Alec. Her upbringing had her extending a hand without thinking, and her breath caught when Alec’s hard handshake reminded her so much of Russell. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “You sent Russell a birthday card a couple months back . . . he kept it, envelope and all. He’d be pissed if he knew I’d gone through his stuff, but I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Oh.” Great. They had barely exchanged pleasantries and she already wanted to run upstairs, bury her face in a pillow, and wail. Who saved an envelope? “It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

  “Yeah.” Alec shifted side to side. “My brother would have brought you over for dinner, only our place is small, and my Darcy can’t cook for shit.”

  An unexpected sob escaped Abby’s lips, rendering them both horrified. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why . . . you remind me of your brother, and—”

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, I’m pretty freakin’ relieved you’re upset.” He made a frustrated noise. “That came out wrong. It’s just that if I’d come here and seen you laughing it up, I would have had to bust Russell’s chops for moping around over a girl who isn’t even interested. And then I’d have to feel crappy about it, right? I feel crappy most of the time, as it is. But I digress.”

  A surge of irritation hit Abby that Russell had never introduced her to Alec. Five minutes in his company, and she already felt like they’d been friends for years. I never introduced him to my parents, either. The realization plowed over her like a bulldozer, but she struggled to respond. “What, um . . . brought you here? Is Russell okay?”

  “No, I’d say he’s pretty far from okay.” Alec turned serious. “Look, I don’t know the details of what happened between you two, but I haven’t always been there for my brother like I should have. This is me trying to correct that.”