It’s why I blurt out the address of S&S Securities to the driver too quick for him to understand, and he looks over his shoulder with a garbled, “What’s that now?”
And I have to repeat the destination a second time.
Because the fog of confusion has lifted and my thoughts are a rushing river of apologies and heartfelt declarations.
The words that I’ll say to Tommy the moment I see him—the words that will make everything perfect and good between us again. I’m not afraid or hesitant. Tommy won’t reject me, or even if he does at first—I’m resolved to come back again and again until I can make it right.
The only possible ending for us is a happy one. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I can do this. We can do this.
I’m so stuck in my own head, I don’t realize I’ve left my coat behind until the stark chill of the leather taxicab seat seeps into my skin, making me shiver.
I’m so fixated on how the scene of our reunion will play out, seeing it in my head, I don’t notice how fast the taxi is flying through the streets—too fast—until we take a turn so sharply, my shoulder smacks up against the door and the safety belt cuts into my collarbone.
I open my mouth to tell the driver to slow down—but my voice breaks when I see the glass bottle of whiskey rolling to and fro on the center console.
The empty bottle.
“You can let me off here,” I say.
But he doesn’t respond.
I tap his arm, the words coming louder and commanding.
“Stop the car. I want to get out now.”
And the whole world slows down into snapshots of microseconds. Like a nightmare where the air is gelatinous and every movement is sluggish, requiring an all-consuming effort.
The driver turns his head my way and I see what I was too hurried to detect before—how his mouth is slack and his eyes are clouded beneath heavy, half-closed lids.
The light in front of us is bright red.
There’s a silver car stopped perpendicular in the intersection, coming closer and closer.
I rear back and squeeze my eyes closed and raise my hand. But it renders no effect.
An ear-piercing scream of steel against steel rents the air. My head jerks to the left while my body is thrown forward so forcefully the air gushes from my lungs. The vivid blue sky spins on a wheel going beneath me, then above, and beneath again, and the stench of gasoline burns in my nose.
And as the blackness creeps in to consume me whole, I hear the words I couldn’t wait to tell Tommy—all the words I’ll never get to say—echoing in my ears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tommy
I SHOULDN’T HAVE PUSHED HER.
Not then, not like I did.
It’s the recrimination that haunts me all the next morning when I’m supposed to be focused on training at the shop. That and the tortured, terrified look in her eyes when she pleaded with me for time—just a little.
And I didn’t give her that.
Because I was all twisted up inside. About what she was thinking, feeling.
Because I liked the idea of seeing two blue lines on that test. Maybe not yesterday—but one day. That Abby and I could create a whole new little person together, who would have the best parts of each of us. Her adorable quirks and magnificent mind and my indomitable personality.
Yeah . . . I liked that a whole fucking lot.
And then the horror slammed in that Abby might not ever want that with me.
And I wanted to know, needed to hear her say it.
So I pushed and pushed until she fucking broke.
Of course she did.
I know Abby—I know her—how her heart beats and her soul sings and the way her puzzle-solving mind sorts things out. It’s why I fell for her. Why I’ll never love anyone as insanely as I love her. Her strength and weakness and tenderness and beautiful vulnerability that makes her trust so fucking precious. A gift.
A gift she’s never given to anyone . . . except me.
And I pushed it back straight in her face.
“All right, lads, that’s enough for today.”
I walk away from the startled looks of the new hires—because it’s only early afternoon and we’re supposed to go until evening. But Lo’s boys have colds and he’s home with them today.
And I can’t do this now. It’s so unimportant it’s almost comical. None of this matters—and if I don’t get things straight with Abby, none of it will ever matter again.
I head into my office for my wallet and keys. Then I’m going to the hospital and planting myself outside a surgical suite all fucking day if that’s what it takes.
Until I can see Abby and tell her it’s all right—she can have her time.
Yes, I’m going to hunt her down and corner her—to tell her she can have all the space away from me she needs. It may not seem to make a lick of sense . . . but it makes sense for us.