Can't Let Go - By Michelle Brewer Page 0,19
loudly in the quiet of the room. She sighed, crossing over to her purse and digging through it until she found the small piece of technology. As soon as she unlocked it, she groaned. She already had nine missed calls, and Ingrid had only been in the office two hours.
She pressed the button that allowed her to ignore all of the messages and settled down on the bed, deciding it was time to call her dad. It was going to be a difficult conversation because—even though he respected Hayley’s parents, he knew how much Abby loved Hayley.
The phone rang a few times before he finally picked up. “Hello?”
“Hey, Dad.” Her voice was so quiet, no matter how hard she tried to act normal.
“Abby? What’s wrong dear?” She recalled him saying the same words the day she’d come back from Hawaii.
“I have some—some bad news,” she started, unsure of how to continue. How could she break the news to him when she hardly believed it herself? “It’s Hayley, Dad.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?” His voice was instantly filled with fatherly concern.
“She’s dead.” By now, a tear finally escaped, rolling down her cheek. The words sounded so harsh, she couldn’t believe she’d just said them.
“What?” She imagined his expression—stunned, much like her own still was. “What happened? Are you alright?”
“There was an accident.” She realized she still didn’t have all the details about what had happened, but she told herself this would suffice. There was no way he would question her further.
“Her family—”
“No,” Abby’s voice suddenly grew strong and she reached up to brush away the tears. “No, they’re not welcome.”
“Abigail, they’re her parents—”
“They wanted nothing to do with her while she was alive. Neither she nor Blake.”
“How is he handling it?” His tone changed slightly at the mention of Blake. It was no longer full of concern, but instead a tone of inquisition.
“He’s gone too. Both of them.” Abby shook her head, feeling a wave of tears coming on once more as the news refreshed itself in her mind. “Please don’t tell them, Dad. I can’t do that to her.”
“They’re my friends, Abigail—” He only called her Abigail when he was trying to be stern with her.
“They’re not welcome.” She was only getting angry now. “There’s a viewing Friday, and the funeral is Saturday. I thought you might want to know.” She exhaled deeply, suddenly eager to end the conversation. “I’ll call back when I have more information.”
“Abby—” But she pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the button to end the call.
When Hayley and Blake had married, her parents had cut her off. But Abby’s dad had been caught in the middle—he was friends with the Lawrence’s. Yet Abby was his daughter, and he was more than aware of how important Hayley was to her. Even after six years, he’d never been certain about Blake—had never really given him a chance. Martin Lewis had cared about Hayley, but he’d never accepted Blake. It was the only way he could reconcile both worlds.
Her heart ached—it actually, physically, ached.
She sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her phone vibrated once more and she glanced at it, assuming it would be her father calling back.
Instead, it was an alert—letting her know that she had one new picture message.
Abby’s brow furrowed as she stared at the sleek piece of technology, wondering who would be sending her a picture message.
And then she opened it.
As soon as she saw it, she almost dropped the phone, her eyes welling up with tears she could no longer deny. She felt sobs well up in her chest and, though she fought against them, she couldn’t resist the intense emotions rushing through her.
Because there, depicted in the image in front of her, was her best friend. Beside her was her husband. They were smiling happily at her, Blake’s eyes wide with excitement, Hayley’s full of laughter. The subject read, “Doesn’t this look like the face of a happy man?” They were outside somewhere—she couldn’t quite tell where.
Hayley must have sent it the day before.
She remained in the bed, sitting in a ball, crying into her knees.
~*~
Logan was sitting on the edge of the bed in a room that was the mirror image of Abby’s, just down the way. His elbows were on his knees, and his head in his hands, as he struggled with the myriad emotions running through him like a freight train.
He was still having trouble believing that Blake was gone.
But the image of his body,