but instead of relaxing her, her breath hitches, and she cautiously looks me in the eye before taking a huge breath and slowly exhaling.
“I’m not sure when I’ll see them again . . . because I quit.”
I swear you could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that follows. Abi turns her head to look at me, but I’m in shock.
Mind . . . blank. Eyes . . . blank. Just . . . blank.
My heart thumps hard against my ribs, and I realize that my fingers resting on her side are now biting into her hip. As her announcement—and the myriad of possibilities that come with it—registers with me, the quiet is broken by Bryant.
“About fucking time.” He tilts a beer bottle towards our chair.
“What?” she gasps.
“Thank fuck,” Jamie replies.
Abi’s head jerks to her oldest brother. “You never said anything about it.”
“Because, you’re our sister and we love you and we support anything and everything you do. No judgement,” Jaxon says.
I catch Marcy wiping her eyes before looking at me. Despite the swirling storm of emotions and thoughts inside of me, I plaster a smile on my face
“Dad? Cohen?” Abi eyes dart to me but quickly return to her family.
Her father’s eyes soften. “Baby girl, I love you regardless. I’ll always be proud of you and everything you’ve achieved. I know why you started working there, and I also know you wouldn’t accept our help back then because you’re as stubborn and proud as I am. Doesn’t mean I’m not happy as hell you’re not doing it anymore.”
“Dad . . .” she says quietly, her voice thick.
“Okay. Not to kill the deep and meaningful mood we’ve suddenly got going on here, but Dad, turn the TV up. It’s time to watch the Broncos kick ass,” Bryant announces.
And with grins and grunts from the guys, and some sniffs from Marcy and Abi, everyone’s attention goes back to the flat-screen and the football that’s now showing on it again.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t enjoy the rest of the game.
Don’t get me wrong. I put on a show, pretending everything’s fine for the rest of the afternoon. If Abi senses my mood, she doesn’t say anything about it, or choosing to bide her time until we’re alone and hoping to get a chance to explain it all to me.
What’s annoying me most is that I’m not only doubting her, I’m doubting us.
The fact that she didn’t tell me about quitting—or that I don’t even know when she quit—has my mind thinking the worse-case scenario. That being that one and one suddenly equals two, and those people my two fucking parents.
Worse still, I’m suddenly questioning how ‘real’ our relationship can be, since I now know she has failed to keep her promise to me, something I’m not sure I can forgive. She promised to be honest and to never—ever—change.
And that’s what hurts more than anything.
To say the drive home is tense is a gross understatement. So much so that I am at a loss as to what to say to Cade.
Outwardly, for the rest of the afternoon at my parents’ place he was fine. We watched the rest of the football game—he even went outside and had a game of three-on-three with Dad and my brothers while Mom and I did the dishes and cleaned up. Nothing was amiss to anything one but me.
But the moment I told everyone that I’d quit stripping—albeit an expected inevitability but maybe not just yet—Cade’s mood disintegrated. The warm touches changed. The soft kisses and meaningful squeezes disappeared, and the knowing looks we’d shared all afternoon stopped completely.
I couldn’t believe that he’d actually be angry that I wasn’t stripping anymore. He’d never said he wanted me to stop—and I know he never would—so it could only be the fact that I didn’t tell him. It actually has me worried about what’s going to happen when we get back to my place.
“How was Callie when you called her?” I ask, desperate to break the awkward silence.
“Good.”
Great—one-word answer. Not good. Still, I’m determined to press on. “And what about Cam? Did you get hold of him?”
“We’ve arranged a phone call for tomorrow.”
Seven words, all deadpan, through what sounds like gritted teeth. Well that’s something.
“Isn’t he due home soon?”
“Three weeks.” Two words, this time flat. A step backwards.
“Cade . . .”
“Not now, Abi,” he says, turning up the radio in a passive-aggressive move that would make his mother proud.
He said not now, which at least means he’s not planning on