Make Me - Tessa Bailey Page 0,78
people called a person of his size asshole. “Go away, Alec.”
“What?” Alec stopped in front of him, holding a twelve-pack of Budweiser on his right shoulder. “Darcy is watching The Bachelor, so I’m home free for an hour or two. I don’t want to know who gets a rose, so we’re going to celebrate this bank loan, motherfucker.”
His brother’s words were little arrows spearing into his ears. “Fine,” Russell heard himself say. “But I’m not going in there.”
Alec split a curious look between Russell and the house. “You’ve spent every waking hour in there for the last week. Your gigantic outline has faded from my couch.”
God. Russell buried his fingers into his temples. He’d been sleeping on a couch, and Abby had known it. She’d ridden in his rickety truck. I was yours. I was yours. The angel had wanted him exactly as he was, and he’d been so hung up on being the big bad provider, he’d missed the weight behind her every word. Every gesture. She’d accepted him, but he hadn’t given her the same gift. He’d projected a need for a certain lifestyle onto her when she’d only proven at every turn that people were what mattered to her. Honey. Roxy. Him. He’d been important to her. But in the end, he’d only let her down.
With the coldness eating his insides, that reliable hindsight was more powerful now than ever. Abby was one in a million. He’d always known that, but his fear of her meeting the same fate as his mother had prevented him from acting like it. If Abby wasn’t happy, she wouldn’t blame other people. Her surroundings. She would just find a way to improve it. That was who she was. Nobody else. And the crazy truth was? Until the world fell down, before he’d tried to push her away, he’d been one of the things making her happy. He had the ability to do that. But he’d squandered it.
Gone. It was all gone now. All over money. Jesus, who cared about who paid for things, or if her relatives found him unsuitable? They would have worked it out together. Nothing had been bad enough that they couldn’t overcome it with good. But the good was gone. He’d obliterated it.
Russell turned and dropped onto the lawn, barely noticing when Alec followed suit, until a cold can of beer was pressed into his hand. “Russell, will you accept this Budweiser?”
“I know you watch The Bachelor when Darcy isn’t home.” Russell nabbed the can and popped its top, surprised to find his hands working. “I caught you setting the TiVo once.”
“Shut up and drink.”
“It’s a plan,” Russell muttered, tipping back the can. His throat rejected the liquid, but he forced it down. God knew he’d have to find a way to get rip-roaring drunk, no matter how badly his body wanted to exist in the hurt, roll around in it like a masochist. His pain didn’t deserve to be numbed so easily. Abby. He’d lost Abby, in every respect. Holy shit. Holy shit. No.
Alec watched as Russell shotgunned the beer. “Another?” ’
“I’m selling the house,” Russell managed. “I’m never going in there again. I thought I could erase the bad with . . . with Abby, but it’s fucking poisonous. It got to me, and now I’m poisonous, too.”
“Hey, man—”
“Please. I don’t want to talk about it.” He was horrified to hear the crack in his voice, so he breathed through his nose for a minute. “There’s nothing to say. It’s too late. Just don’t fight me on selling.”
Alec sighed, turning the beer can in his hand. “It’s your call.”
The two brothers sat in silence, polishing off the twelve-pack as the familiar sounds of their childhood neighborhood decorated the air around them. It was unclear at what point Russell fell back on the grass and let unconsciousness replace his regret, at least until tomorrow.
Abby’s image was the final thing he saw.
ABBY SAT ON the stoop of her building Sunday afternoon, passing a covert plastic bottle of mimosa between herself, Roxy, and Honey. Honey had just cooked brunch upstairs, but Abby had only forced down two bites of French toast before dragging the fork around her plate aimlessly. After an unknown amount of time, she’d looked up to find her roommates staring at her from the kitchen. She hadn’t even put up a fight when they each took an arm and led her downstairs to get some fresh air for the first time in over a week.
The