Make Me - Tessa Bailey Page 0,81

dialing.

Chapter 20

RUSSELL SAT ON the front porch of his house, wishing it were raining. The fact that is was eighty degrees without a cloud in the sky was some kind of fucked-up business when he felt flattened. He’d unlocked the front door for the Realtor so she could set up flowers for the open house although why flowers would convince someone to buy a house was beyond him. It should have bothered him that the Realtor had only hummed absently when he mentioned the custom banister, the restored crown molding. It should have, but it didn’t. He’d only done those things for one person, so if the Realtor thought a pack of daisies would sell the damn place instead of his hard work, he couldn’t find the strength to care.

The last ten days had been spent painting, making some final tweaks to the interior, and signing paperwork to get the house on the market. Those things should have distracted him from thoughts of Abby, but she’d been there, perched on his shoulder through each task. Sometimes she took mercy on him and talked in his ear the way she used to, asking him why he chose certain shades of paint or making adorable observations about his technique. Other times, he could only see her as she’d been in the bathroom, disappointed in him. He’d known that look a lot in his life, but coming from her, it had felt like a shotgun shell entering his sternum.

Jesus, he missed her. Not a day in his life would pass where he wouldn’t. Even if by some miracle, they were able to hang out again as friends, the missing would only intensify. Because he’d see her and know what could have been if he’d given Abby enough credit to make her own choices. If he hadn’t been so focused on not losing her rather than keeping her. Holding her close where she was supposed to be.

He registered the familiar sound of Alec’s truck screeching to a stop at the curb but didn’t look up. Alec had done a lot of hovering since last Friday night and frankly, Russell was growing weary of it. They weren’t exactly adept at expressing their feelings, so there’d mainly been a lot of beer drinking and uncomfortable speculating about the Yankees new left-handed pitcher. Abby had been there through all of it, reminding him of the times she’d taken the first sip of his beer. Or the time he’d pitched to her at Honey’s baseball field, and she’d run the wrong direction around the bases. Everything reminded him of her. Everything.

“Russell?”

There she was again, talking into his ear. She sounded annoyed this time around, but he’d take whatever she dished out.

“Russell.”

His chin jerked up and . . . there was Abby. Standing at the end of his stone walkway. Oh God, had he graduated to hallucinations. Maybe beer for breakfast hadn’t been a good idea after all. It had sped up his descent into total madness. Still, he took in every detail of the mirage with greedy eyes, starting at the white sandals that showed her toes and scaling her legs. She wore a red-and-white-checkered dress he’d never seen before, which was odd. Usually, he pictured her in all white or yellow.

“I can’t believe you’re selling this house. After all the hard work you put in.” Abby the Apparition came toward Russell on the path, and he held his breath, worried that if he moved, she would vanish. Right before she reached him, her attention was snagged by the For Sale sign posted in the yard. Russell watched in amazement as she marched toward the sign . . . and kicked the white pole holding it upright. She kicked it and kicked it until it fell over. Holy shit, she’s real. She’s here. Russell came to his feet slowly and watched real Abby—his sweet Abby—beat the hell out of the sign, cursing in Italian as she went. “I won’t let you lose this house, Russell. You’re staying. So just deal with it.”

When Russell finally found his voice, it sounded rusty. “I don’t want the house.”

“Yes, you do. I saw how proud you were of it. I saw.” She finally succeeded in knocking the sign over. Then she blew out a breath, smoothed her skirt, and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “And you should be proud of it. All that work . . . the office, the custom banister—”

“You noticed the banister?”

“I’m not as oblivious as everyone