Always The Hero (Plot Twist, I'm Pregnant 2)

? I waited for her to take it. I wanted to feel her skin against mine, but she only stared at it.

While my heart wept, my soul rejoiced.

There was something good about this woman, something I needed.

I felt it.

Chapter Four

Abigail

The man in front of me was very intimidating. I wasn’t too sure what to make of him. He was here to kick me out. It was the house he was building after all, but he was being nice about it, and he wasn’t rushing me. Kindness was a rarity these days and wasn’t too sure if I believed him.

Logan.

It was a nice name. He was very handsome with bright red hair, a five o’clock shadow, and blue eyes that reminded me of the sky on a bright and sunny day. He had freckles everywhere, too many to count, and he was tall, a hulking size that scared me. He could break me in half.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle as if he were speaking to a cowering animal.

I shook my head because, for a split second, I didn’t remember my name. I didn’t know if it was nerves or because of my memory issue, but I couldn’t articulate right now. My bag had my name on it, so I lifted my finger and pointed. His blue eyes fell from me, and instantly I felt empty without his gaze on me. He reached for my bag, and I snapped my hand out, taking it from him.

“Mine,” I said firmly. I worked too hard to keep my things. I wasn’t about to let him take them. “My bag,” I repeated. I hated how I sounded it. My sentences were broken, and my words sometimes slurred together.

“Yours,” he said. “I wasn’t going to take it, I promise. I would never do that.” He glanced down at the top of my bag again and read my name that was in big black sharpie. “Abigail?” he asked, falling to his butt and lifting his knees in the air to get more comfortable. Was he going to be here for a while?

I hoped not. I wasn’t ready for that. He was too good looking. My body felt bothered and hot, I was sweating, but the windows were open for the night breeze, so it couldn’t be the temperature. It was him. My breasts felt heavy, and my nipples were hard.

There was a sudden ache between my legs that I had never felt before, but I knew what it was.

Lust.

Arousal.

Feelings I had no clue how to handle.

I nodded eventually, telling him that he said my name correctly. I bit into my sandwich and started to chew, needing to do something other than look at him.

“That’s a pretty name. It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”

“Abi,” I corrected him. I didn’t like my name.

“What’s that?” he scooted forward, and the closer he got, the more I wanted to run.

“Stop,” I lifted my hand and started to pant. “Stop it. Not closer. No.” My chest felt tight. “Too close. Get back.” I couldn’t breathe. Was he going to take my things? Was he going to do something to me?

“Woah, hey, you’re okay. Abigail? You are safe here. I’m not going to hurt you.” He tilted his head at me, so many questions swirling around in those bright blue eyes, but none of them would ever get answered. He held his hands up too, not in defense, but in surrender. I noticed how big his palms were. They were wide with callouses all over from hard work, from building things from the ground up.

“Back,” I said, shooing him. I still couldn’t breathe. I needed to leave.

To my surprise, he scooted back, dragging himself across the floor until he was another few inches away from me. I closed my eyes with relief but then remembered I couldn’t see what he was doing. He could be stealing my things, so I opened my eyes again, ready to fight, but he was nowhere near me.

He kept his distance and stared at me with curiosity.

“Is that better? I never want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Better,” I said. I took another bite of my sandwich and chewed. The lettuce crunched, and I hummed in delight when the tomato burst across my tongue. It had been so long since I tasted a tomato. It wasn’t every day I got to eat like this. “Abi,” I said after I swallowed. “My name. Abi.”

“You like to go by Abi?” he questioned me, trying to understand my broken language. It was frustrating, and I felt so worthless, talking to a man like him. He had smooth words and thoughts while mine were shattered.