Chapter Twenty-Six
Levi
It’s late.
Or early, depending on how you look at the clock.
It’s just after one in the morning, and I’m dog-tired. I’m suddenly extremely grateful for the mini nap I took this afternoon when I had the chance. Otherwise, I would have started to struggle when we hit the third hour of battling that blaze. The older home went up quickly, and when we arrived, threatening to take the houses on both sides. We were able to keep it from spreading completely, but it was damn close there for a while.
Now, all I can think about is scrubbing this nasty burnt smell off of my body and crawling into bed with Abby. I’m sure she’s sound asleep by this point, but that doesn’t matter. I crave just the touch of her skin against my own and to hold her in my arms.
With renewed spring in my step, I let myself into my apartment, throwing my bag over to the side to take care of later. Taking a few steps into my place, I’m surprised when I slam my upper shin into my coffee table. “Son of a…” I holler. “What the hell?”
Limping slightly, I make my way to the end table and flip on the lamp. Soft light bathes my living room, and I’m finally able to take in the room. I recall moving the table a bit when I propped my legs up to take my nap. My computer is open, and the movement of hitting the table must have woken it. Hell, I didn’t even log out of that dating site before I snoozed.
Grabbing the computer, preparing to power it down, a photo catches my attention. Upon further inspection, the photo is of my own computer sitting on my coffee table. This exact screen.
Mother of fucking hell, what is this?
The picture was sent at 10:10pm from AngelEyes. From Abby.
“No, no, no, no!” I exclaim, roughly setting my computer back down on the table and not caring. That’s when I see something shiny sitting beside my discarded laptop. Picking it up, my gut tightens painfully, my throat closes shut.
A key.
My key.
To this apartment.
She left it behind after she discovered I’m SimpleMan. She asked me outright if I was on that fucking site, and I denied it. I deceived her. She gave me the perfect opportunity to come clean, not only today, but a few weeks ago, and I didn’t take it.
Fuck.
It doesn’t matter that I was gonna tell her tonight, not to her. And not to me either, because I’ve done the one thing I swore I’d never in a billion years do: broke her trust.
And probably her heart.
Because a friend doesn’t lie. Even when your ass looks huge in the dress or you have globs of mascara in your lashes, a friend is supposed to tell you the honest to God truth, and I didn’t do that.
Needing to make this right–and quickly–I race across the hall. I don’t even knock, it’s well after one in the morning, and as frantic as I am to get to my girl, I’m not about to wake the neighbor. He’s a guy about my age, but still not cool. Using my key, I let myself into her place.
Instantly I feel it.
It feels as empty as my heart right now.
I can tell before I even make my way into her bedroom that she’s not here. Desolation surrounds me, pulling me under with its strong current. Her bed isn’t made, which tells me she was here at some point. Probably before she came over and found the live bomb with her name, wrapped in a pretty bow sitting on my coffee table.
Her drawers are askew slightly, and I’m just desperate enough to check them. They’ve been rifled through, and if it weren’t for the current situation I left us in, I’d be concerned that something was up. But I know what’s up. She’s left, and she left in a big hurry.
Her makeup bag is still sitting on her bathroom sink, but her toothbrush is gone. Just like a piece of my soul. It’s crazy how empty I feel right now, not knowing where she is or if she’s okay. Hell, I don’t even know if we’ll ever be us again.
For good measure, I go ahead and check the rest of her place. You know, just in case she fell in the office or passed out on the living room floor. But she’s not here. I pick up my phone and immediately dial her number. Unfortunately, it goes to voicemail right away. After listening to her chipper greeting, the beep tells me it’s my turn to speak.
But the words don’t come.
So, I hang up and call again. Her voicemail picks up immediately again, but this time, I’m a bit more prepared.
“Abs, I know this looks bad. Call me. Please. Let me explain.” I take a deep breath, even though the air seems to suffocate me. “Please, Abs. I need to talk to you. I…I need you. I…” And I almost say it. I almost tell her exactly how I feel about her, but I stop myself. She doesn’t need to hear that I love her on a message. “Please.”
Hanging up feels like the equivalent to cutting off my own arm because I’m, once again, cut off from the one woman who makes me whole.
Instead of going to my own place, like I should, I make sure her door is locked, kick off my shoes, and crawl into her bed. Her covers are bunched up at my feet, but I make no move to grab them. I’m a smelly mess anyway. But I need to smell her, be close to where she sleeps, where her beautiful brown hair was splayed out, smelling like vanilla, just a short time ago.
Back when things were fine.
Now, they’re anything but.
Holding my phone, I send off a text message, then another, and once I start, I can’t seem to stop.
Levi: I know I hurt you, but please call me. Please.
Levi: I need to know that you’re okay.
Levi: If you need time, take it, but don’t shut me out completely.
Levi: If you give me the chance, I’ll explain everything.
Levi: I know it’s late. Shit, it’s the middle of the night, but I’m freaking out here, angel.
What am I doing? I’m sending stalker-like text messages to my girl at two in the morning. Isn’t that what most sane, rational men do in the middle of the night when they fuck up? Oh, and don’t forget the begging and pleading; I’m not above that shit, not when it comes to Abby.
Getting up, I rid myself of my t-shirt and pants. They smell nasty from the fire, and even though I know I should shower (Yes, I’m making her bed smelly), I just don’t seem to have the energy to take care of that task. Even if the result would leave me smelling great and just like Abby, because there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this apartment right now.
Crawling back into bed, I hold my phone like it’s the lifeline keeping my heart beating. Her pillow cradles my smoky head, the occasional scent of her shampoo permeates through the stench and brings me the slightest taste of comfort. But the reprieve is short-lived, and before I know it, the trace of her is gone again.
Just like Abby.
* * *
My phone makes a noise, pulling me from the lightest sleep I’ve ever experienced. It’s a text. From Abby. Sent now, at 3:14am.
Abby: I’m not ready to talk.
My fingers fly across the screen, my response coming only moments later.
Levi: I get that, but tell me you’re okay. Please, Abby.
I hold my breath and wait. And wait and wait for those little bubbles. It must be ten minutes before I have my response.
Abby: I’m fine.
But something tells me she’s anything but. This is one of those times where a woman says she’s fine, but isn’t. She says there’s nothing wrong but is clearly pissed off. No, I may not know these examples firsthand, but I’ve heard enough married dudes on the fire department or with the ambulance to know that when your woman says I’m fine, you’ve fucked up good.
I want to reply more, but choose to let it be. It’s still in the middle of the night, and Abby needs to be sleeping. As for me, there’ll be no sleep. My thoughts will be plagued by emerald eyes and the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. My fingers will twitch when I think about her hair and my dick won’t understand what’s going on when it gets so painfully hard for her touch that it might suffer some long-term damaging effects.
No, I’m on my own tonight.
Just me and a big fat fucking case of misery.
* * *
There’s a loud beating at my door, one that pulls me from this weird drunk-like fog I’ve found myself in. It takes me all of one second to realize, even with a throbbing headache and a horrible kink in my neck, I’m not drunk or hungover, not even a little bit.
The pounding continues, but sounding slightly distant this time. The clock reads seven-thirty, which isn’t too early for visitors, unless you’ve been up all night wishing you hadn’t lied to your best friend and told her from the get-go about joining the dating site and befriending her on the sly.
Abby.
What if Abby’s at the door? Maybe she forgot her keys. We already know she doesn’t have my apartment key anymore, but what if she misplaced hers and can’t get into her place? She’s probably pounding on my door right now for help.
Jumping up, I sprint to the front door, sliding around the corner in my socks and into the kitchen. Throwing the lock on the knob, I rip open the door, out of breath and completely oblivious to the fact I’m in boxer briefs and socks.
There she is. Long brown hair pulled back at the nape of her neck, tight yoga pants, and an oversized t-shirt. She’s getting ready to pound on my door again, her hand poised high to strike again, when I cross the hall to stand behind her. I almost wrap my arms around her, but knowing that she could very well hate my guts right now, I opt to reach out and touch her shoulder. “Hey.”
Abby whips around, a startled squeak coming from her surprised face, and that’s when I realize my mistake. This isn’t Abby. It’s Lexi.
“Jesus,” she scolds, her green eyes hard.
“Sorry.”
“Why do you smell like you swam in a fire pit?”
Reaching around and rubbing the back of my neck, I answer, “Uhh, I had a fire last night. Haven’t showered yet.”
“Is that because you were too busy being a douche to my sister?”
“What?” I ask, surprised by her hostility, yet completely unsurprised by it at the same time. Lexi’s always been the slightly more passionate sister. Where Abby has always been quiet and shy, Lexi is a little more in your face and always tells it like it is.
“Maybe you can explain to me why my sister called me up an hour ago, crying, Levi, and told me you were the biggest liar in the history of the world.” I open my mouth to speak, but she continues.
“And, believe me, Levi, I’ve known my fair share of liars lately.” Again, I open my mouth, but she raises her hands, stopping me in my place.
“The one person who’s never supposed to hurt and use her did just that. You toyed with her feelings, making her fall completely in love with you, for what? Some sick game? Do you do this with other women? Be all sweet and sexy and make them fall for you? Then toss them aside like yesterday’s trash?
“She was crying because of what you did, Levi. You hurt my sister, you worthless pile of dog shit, and for that, I’m going to have to cut off your balls and stuff them down your throat. With a nail file!” she practically shouts at me in the middle of the hallway.
“Wow, that sounds painful, dude. Might want to invest in a cup when you’re gonna be near that little firecracker.” The deep voice comes over my shoulder and off to the left.
Lexi’s flaming eyes turn on new prey. “Excuse me?”
“Hey, don’t get your panties in a wad, sweetness. I was just warning my man here that his woman was more of a firecracker than I originally suspected,” the new addition says. Linkin is leaning casually against his door jam, a wide smile on his face. He’s lived next to Abby for a handful of months, and even though we’ve spoken a few times in passing, this would be the most consistent words we’ve shared since I met him.
“His woman?” Lexi seethes.
“Whatever you want to call yourself, sweetness. It don’t bother me any,” Linkin practically coos at my girl’s twin sister. Her rage is visibly pulsing through the thick air in the hallway.
“This isn’t Abby, Link. It’s her twin sister, Lexi,” I tell him. He gives me a knowing grin and nod before turning those dark eyes back at Lexi.
“Twins. I like it.”
“Unless you want your own balls to be sawed off with a dirty spatula, I suggest you head inside and leave us be,” she fumes at the tall man across the hall.
“Feisty. I dig that in a woman,” Linkin says with a wolfish grin. Then, to really piss her off, he throws a wink over his shoulder before heading inside his apartment, whistling a happy tune. When the door shuts, we’re surrounded in uncomfortable silence.
“Listen, Lex, as much as I love getting my ass handed to me in the hallway, do you mind coming inside?”
“Why are you practically naked?” she asks, following me into Abby’s apartment. “And why are you in my sister’s place?”
“I’m here because I was worried about her and hoped I could talk to her when she came home,” I say, talking over and standing by the counter.
“She won’t be home. Not while you’re here.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I walk over and drop down into the closest kitchen chair, and run my hands from the back of my neck up into my hair. “I fucked up, Lex.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Glancing at her, I see the hostility in her eyes ebb, but only minutely. “How much did she tell you?”
“Not much. She couldn’t really talk over her crying, you know?”
Shaking my head, I avert my eyes for a moment before returning them to hers. “When she signed up for the dating site, it kinda made me all nutty.”
“Jealous?” she asks with a smirk.
“Insanely. I ended up creating my own profile on the site with the thought that it’d be just to keep an eye on her. But then we started talking online, and we were still hanging out all the fucking time, and the lines became blurred. I wanted her.”
“Wanted her…” she encourages.
“Like wanted her in my arms, in my bed, and in my life twenty-four seven, kinda wanted.”
“Finally,” she mumbles.
“I had plenty of opportunities to tell her the truth about the guy she was talking to online, but I didn’t. I was terrified that she wouldn’t see it as a way for me to watch over her, and keep her safe. The Internet is a crazy fucking place.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is I should have told her and didn’t. But it wasn’t because I was playing some game with her, okay? I would never do that, not to anyone, but especially not to her. I fucking love her, Lex.”
“You love her?” she asks, her eyes looking brighter, probably from unshed tears. Damn it with those tears. “Like really, really love her?”
“Yeah, I do. I was going to tell her last night. Honest.”
“She said you lied in a confession time.”
Hanging my head in shame, I admit, “I did. It was stupid, but I was afraid she’d be pissed at me. My brain just told me to deny it, even though my heart wasn’t on board. I had planned to confess everything last night and tell her how I really felt, but then we had the fire call, and I had to leave. She went to my apartment and found my laptop. You can imagine what happened next.”
Lexi stares over at me, her knowing eyes trying to gauge the sincerity in my words.
“I need to see her, Lexi. If she’s not with you, then where?”
Seemingly torn between telling me or not, she finally gives me a bit of relief. “She’s at Dad’s. She went there last night. After I talked to her, he called me; said she was up crying most of the night, but wouldn’t tell him why. Just said someone she loved hurt her.” My heart literally tries to crawl out of my chest. “I knew instantly who had hurt her. Besides her family, she only loves one person, and that man was too stupid to see it. That’s why I came over here to maim you.”
Direct. Hit.
“I see it, Lexi, and I want it. Fuck, I want her love bad, but I don’t know how to get her to talk to me right now.”
“You can’t. She needs some time to think and settle down.”
“But I need to tell her the truth. She needs to know that she wasn’t some game, that I really do love her.”
“And you’ll tell her that, but just not yet. She says she needs time, and you need to give it to her.”
Time. The one thing that almost pains me to give her, but if that’s what she needs, then I guess that’s all I can do. I’ll be here, waiting (or more accurately, at my own apartment), for when she’s ready to talk. It might be a day, maybe a few. God forbid she makes me wait more than a handful of days–that thought is catastrophic.
“I’ll give her time. As much as she needs.”
“Good.”
“Now, what’s going on with you? Why were you coming at me like a rabid pitbull who hasn’t eaten in a week?”
“Because you’re the asshole who hurt my sister,” she says matter-of-factly.
“True, but that was more. You basically said all men are liars, which isn’t like you. Is it Chris? Did he lie to you about something?” I ask, gauging her reaction. My question hits bullseye, her eyes watering once more.
“Doesn’t matter,” she whispers.
“It does,” I say, kicking the chair across from me away from the table. “Sit.”
She does, and without any sass, which tells me this is something that’s really bothering her. But when she starts talking, I’m left stunned by her admission. My blood boils and my heart breaks, and for the first time since last night, I’m thinking about someone other than Abby Summer.
I’m thinking of how I can kill Chris Jacobson and make it look like an accident.