The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,45
rest of my life. It’s surrounded by everything that I love. The clarity of the lake that’s nestled amidst the Sierras where I can stay hidden forever. With the log cabin architecture and the mom-and-pop businesses, the inviting small-town feel makes me want to stay here forever.
“Enough with the sadness,” Wes changes the radio station.
I snort as “I Feel Like I’m Drowning” by Two Feet begins to play. It’s as if the radio stations know my mood. He ends up finding some electronic tune I’ve never heard on one of the pop stations that I always avoid because they keep playing the same popular songs over and over again. They remind me of Shaun, that was his favorite music. He liked to listen to it while … my stomach becomes queasy.
“Stop the car,” I order. “I can’t breathe.”
I hold my stomach gasping for air. His voice, the music, her pleas. I can hear them all inside my head.
“We’re almost there,” he pushes the pedal lowering the windows and turning on the air conditioning to the max. “Breathe, Abby. You’re with me, remember.”
As we arrive at the house, I open the car door and end up throwing up in the grass.
“Abby.”
Wes holds my hair back while I heave.
“Sorry,” I say. Tears pour down my cheeks.
I sit back in the grass, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and Wes drops right by my side.
“This isn’t normal,” he mumbles. “How can I help you?”
“I’m fine.” My voice is shaky.
His fingers are in my hair, and I flinch from the pain and embarrassment. He touches my scalp, and I’m sure he can feel the scabs. I close my eyes, bend my legs, and rest my forehead on top of my knees, hugging myself tightly. Wishing I could disappear. Now he knows that I’m back to hurting myself.
“Abby.” His voice cracks.
He’s hurting; I can feel it in my heart. I want to channel some courage, find the brave Abigail Lyons who could withstand any pain, but I remain motionless.
“Are you two okay or just making out on the grass?” Sterling’s voice comes from somewhere around us. It has a hint of mockery.
“Fuck off,” Wes says, his voice shaking with fury.
I lift my head opening my eyes to find a tiny gray dog with pretty blue eyes who is fighting Sterling’s hold.
“Hey,” I greet him.
He stares at me and then looks at Wes.
Wes’ eyes narrow and his eyebrows pull together. “Since when do you have a dog?”
“It’s a long story,” he answers, extending his hand toward me. “Come on, Abigail. You look like shit. I’ll get you some Perrier water.”
Hesitant, I allow him to help me off the ground. I stare at the grass, trying to figure out what is happening to me. I swallow the bile in my throat, take a deep breath, and finally find my stupid strength.
“I’m just going to take a shower,” I announce, walking ahead of them.
This time Wes walks right behind me. My plan is to close the bathroom door to avoid talking to him.
“You’ve never been this …” his voice trails as I speed to the bathroom.
But the man whose long legs are used to running five miles a day catches up to me and holds the door open.
“We have to talk about what happened, Abigail,” he says firmly. “It’s killing me to see you like this. You’re hurting yourself again.”
Am I supposed to tell him that I feel like someone is following me? That’s delusional. If he finds out what happened to me he’s never going to see me in the same way.
“I need to take a shower,” I say in a frail voice I barely recognize.
“Change your clothes. Let’s go swimming,” he orders. “In the meantime, I’m calling the office. We’re staying here for the next couple of weeks.”
“We don’t have to stay longer than the weekend,” I say, but in reality, I want to thank him and ask him to make this my permanent address.
“You have a company to run,” I protest, knowing how hard it was for him to move his schedule for today and Monday.
A part of me regrets this trip while the other is already relaxing knowing that I’m physically safe. If only I can convince my mind that I’m not in danger.
“You’re more important than the company,” he says softly. His hand caresses my face and I close my eyes for one moment, letting my guard down.