of that mess on my own, you want to talk.” She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to talk to you. I’m done with you. I want to go out with Zach. I want to see a movie, or have dinner, or just go for a drive through the desert—I want to do something that doesn’t involve thinking about you, looking at you. I want to be with him.”
She glanced over at Zach and smiled a little. “He never expected me to be anything more than what I am, Roger. He was happy with me just being me. And I’ve finally realized the truth . . . you never were.”
“I just wanted you to be happy. This life isn’t you,” Roger said. His fingers tightened on her arm.
Too tight now, almost painfully tight.
Looking down at his hand, she said quietly, “You need to let me go now, Roger. And you need to leave. Don’t call me. Don’t write. Don’t come by. You obviously don’t know anything about me because that life you think I want? It made me miserable.”
Jerking her arm, she tried to break free.
“Abigale, please, I—”
“That’s enough,” Zach said, his voice calm and easy. The look in his eyes was anything but and Abigale knew him too well to mistake that calm, level tone for apathy.
Mentally, she swore and then looked up at Roger. He was still staring at her. Good. She moved in toward him, giving him a smile. He blinked, caught off guard. And the feel of him, so much closer now, left her cold. But . . . yes, she caught him by surprise and the grip he had on her arm loosened just enough so that when she jerked back, he wasn’t able to keep hold.
“Okay, Zach . . .” She turned and gave him a bright smile. “Let’s go.”
He stroked a hand down her hair, along her shoulder. Then his fingers stroked her arm. The touch sent fire singing through her. And just when had that happened? When had Zach developed the ability to turn her blood to lava with one simple touch? she wondered.
“In a minute, Abs,” he said quietly, his gaze locked on her arm.
She followed his look and she could have groaned.
She had sensitive skin. Always had. A bump into the wall would leave a bruise on her.
And now her arm bore a vivid red mark where Roger had been holding her arm. He hadn’t been hurting her, not really. Yeah, his grip had gotten tight there for a second, but she’d handled it.
As he went to go around her, she caught his arm. “Zach . . . let it go.”
He was still staring at Roger like he was trying to decide if he should cut him into two parts, three parts, or four.
“I’ll be done in a minute,” he said, flashing her that mean little grin, the same one he had on his face when he spoke with her mom. It spoke of bad, bad things, she knew. “You can wait in the car if you want to.”
“No.” She squeezed his arm. “Zach . . . he’s not worth it.”
Roger seemed to have been frozen into silence, watching Zach with an expression of macabre fascination and fear. The fear was smart, Abigale knew. Roger had absolutely no idea what Zach was capable of when it came to those he loved.
None.
Under her hand, the muscles in Zach’s arm tensed and bunched and she could feel the tension radiating off him. Then he sighed and slanted a look at her. The gold-streaked brown of his hair fell into his eyes and she was tempted to reach up, push it back. But just then, she was afraid to move, afraid to do anything to distract him.
Slowly, he nodded, reaching out to brush his fingers across her arm. Then he looked back at Roger and said softly, “You don’t want to touch her again, my friend. Not ever. And if you leave another mark on her, I’m going to turn you inside out. Your own mother won’t be able to recognize you when I’m done.” A smile curled his lips, one that was so deadly and so beautiful, Abigale felt her blood go cold. “Are we clear?”
Roger didn’t say a word as he beat a retreat off her porch.
Seconds ticked away and finally, a heavy sigh escaped Zach.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and turned to look at her. “I want to hunt him down and beat the hell out of