he mumbles and breaks down crying.
“No,” I sob, covering my mouth before I take him in my arms.
“I need you,” he says, pressing me against him. “Tomorrow I’ll go back to deal with everything—today, let me lean on you.”
“Come inside, Wes. Let me take care of you. We’ll get through this, I promise.”
Chapter Eight
Abby
Every day since I left, I’ve been fighting to stay away from Denver, but sometimes even the best intentions just aren’t enough.
Each step I take from the moment I walked off the plane feels heavier than the last, as if my feet weighed a ton. When the train’s arrival to the main terminal is announced, I swear I feel like it might as well say you’ve arrived at your final destination—hell.
As I come off the escalators toward the waiting area, my stomach tightens, and nausea hits the back of my throat. My heart rate kicks up a notch. If I want to make it through the door, I’m going to need Wes and one of those tight, warm hugs only he knows how to give. Champagne gummy bears are a plus. I turn on my cellphone to text him. If he’s not here already, he can still run to the store to buy me some candy. I doubt he brought gummy bears. Though, a bottle of red wine or a pot brownie would also work to numb me during the drive.
Wes: Sorry, Abbs. I can’t make it.
I bite the inside of my cheek while sadness and anger mix in my blood. Where is Wes when I fucking need him? Angrily, my fingers move across the screen firing him a text.
Abby: You made me come back to fucking Denver and you—
But I stop myself and delete the words before I send it. It’s a weekday, and it’s only seven o’clock in the evening. Without a doubt, he’s at the office trying to take over a few more companies before dinner. That’s his life: work, more work, and during his spare time he adds in a few meetings. I thought this was a phase after Will died. It’s been more than a year since his father’s death and there’s no sign of him stopping.
This is his new life.
I sigh as I walk toward the people waiting with signs, flowers, and big smiles. My heart shrinks a little more. He didn’t have to bring me flowers, but it would have been nice to see him. I just needed a hug. Will I even get to see him today? If I’m lucky maybe on the weekend.
As I walk toward the baggage area, I find a tall man wearing a dark suit. He holds a sign with my name. Abigail Lyons.
“Hi, that’s me,” I say, touching the sign.
“I’m Aaron Green. Mr. Ahern’s driver,” he explains, taking my carry-on luggage.
“Thank you for picking me up,” I say calmly, but beneath that calm lies a storm of fury and frustration.
We walk to the baggage claim area. While we wait for the bags, I send a text to Wes.
Abby: Thank you for the driver. I could’ve taken an Uber.
Wes: You know how I feel about Uber. Your car arrives Friday. Until then, Aaron is available for you.
Abby: Thank you, boss!
It’s not about the driver, it’s about him. I needed him here, waiting for me with open arms when I arrived from the longest, hardest flight I’ve ever endured in my life. Wes knows this isn’t easy for me. I sigh. There’s no point in having this conversation with him. He won’t understand, and I’ll just get all worked up. I put away my phone before fetching my suitcases. Once we have the bags, Aaron takes them, and I follow him toward the parking lot. He loads the black Escalade, opening the door and watching me too closely. Someone should’ve told him that I hate it when people stare at me. He must be wondering who the hell I am.
Weston’s flavor of the month, a long lost relative … I look nothing like an Ahern. I’m just the girl who crashed with them for about a year before I went away to college. Plain-old Abigail Lyons. There’s nothing special about me, but everyone’s speculated about my identity ever since I came to live with the Aherns.
As the car pulls away from the airport’s parking lot, my lungs begin to constrict. I close my eyes for several minutes, concentrating on my breathing. In and out, in and out. I miss Berkeley. There’s something about the California air