15. Abigail
Chapter fifteen
Abigail
The truck engine cuts off, and for a second, no one moves.
The ranch looks exactly the same as it did when we left.
Quiet.
Still.
Innocent.
Like nothing has changed.
Like someone else didn’t die in the snow only a few hours ago.
After the five of us talked it over, we decided it was best to leave Caleb where he was. We were too far from the ranch to risk bringing him back here, and—much to my horror—they all assured me the animals within the foothills would do the work for us.
So we just… left.
The five of us climb out slowly. Beau circles around Jasper’s side before Jas can protest, and Lawson lingers near Lincoln as he checks, yet again, that his little brother is okay.
Jasper adjusts his baseball cap as he steps down from the truck and winces.
It’s subtle.
But I see it.
I move toward him before I can stop myself. “Hold still,” I murmur.
He blinks at me. “Never been my strong suit, Red.”
Ignoring him, I reach up and lift his cap off his head. His black hair flattened from resting beneath the cap. I run my fingers through it gently, pushing it back from his forehead, and let my nails drag along his scalp.
His eyes close for a moment as he exhales a long breath, then open and lock on me in confusion. “What are you doin’?”
I carefully smooth my thumb over the bridge of his nose. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask softly.
Something in his expression shifts. “Abbie,” he answers lightly. “I’m really okay. I’m built sturdy.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Still pretty though.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
I search his eyes for a second longer before leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He still tastes like him, and that notion alone settles my nerves.
Jasper hums low in his throat. “See?” he mumbles against my mouth. “All better already.”
I smile despite myself and take a step backward toward the guest house.
Or at least I try to.
Jasper’s hand tightens around mine, and I glance down at our joined fingers, then back up at him. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” he asks.
“To my house,” I answer simply. “I’ve got to go back eventually. I’m tired of lugging my stuff around like I’m visiting.”
Lawson straightens across the driveway. “No.”
I blink at him.
“No?” I repeat.
He walks over, boots crunching on gravel.
His tone isn’t harsh.
It’s firm.
Final.
“I don’t want you staying over there alone anymore.”
I cross my arms and raise a brow at him. “Excuse me?”
Beau exhales slowly, already sensing what’s coming.
Lawson doesn’t back down. “It’s not safe.”
“And this side of the driveway is magically protected?” I shoot back.
“It is with the four of us in the house with you.”
“You and I both know that—”
“Abigail.”
The way he says my name makes something inside me soften even though I’m trying very hard not to.
Because the truth is, all I want to do right now is walk up to him, wrap my arms around his waist, and tell him I love him.
The words sit heavy on my tongue.
I think about the woods.
About the way he said them like they were what he needed to breathe again.
Like all that mattered in that moment was me knowing how much he loves me.
I can still see it—the shine in his eyes when he looks at me. The vulnerability he tries so hard to hide from everyone else.
But no matter how much I want to say it, now isn’t the right time.
I want it to be perfect.
“I am incredibly grateful,” I begin sweetly, “for everything you’ve done for me since Christmas.
Truly. But… this is the first time in thirty-two years that I have ever had a space that was mine.
” My voice steadies. “It may just be a guest house on your property, but it’s still mine.
And I’m not ready to give that up. I—I don’t want to lose whatever independence I have left,” I add softly. “I need to hold onto that.”
Lawson’s expression softens.
The steel fades.
“I get that,” he says, his voice gentler now as he steps closer, stopping in front of me. “I don’t want to take that from you. But the safest place for you right now is in the big house. With all of us.”
I hold his gaze.
And that’s when I see it.
Not control.
Not dominance.
Fear.
Real fear in his eyes.
And when I glance at Jasper, I see it there too—hidden under bravado.
Lincoln’s is quieter, but it’s present.
Even Beau, who tries so hard to keep everything light, is watching me like I’m something fragile.
They’re not trying to cage me.
They’re trying to keep me free.
But in order to do that, they need to keep me breathing.
So, I exhale slowly. “Fine.”
Four sets of shoulders visibly relax.
“But,” I continue, pointing a finger at Lawson, “I’m sleeping in the guest room. I am not flip-flopping between the four of your rooms every night like some kind of emotional Airbnb.”
Beau snorts while Jas chokes on a laugh, all while Lincoln fails to look like he’s not doing the same.
Lawson’s lips lift at the corner. “Deal,” he says.
The sun continues to dip lower behind the trees, painting the sky in streaks of gold and blue as the five of us stare at one another.
After a moment, Jasper squeezes my hand. “C’mere.”
He pulls me gently into his chest, and I wrap my arms around his waist, careful of his ribs this time. Beau steps in next, sliding an arm around us both. “Group hug?” he teases.
Lincoln joins without a word, and Lawson’s hand finds the back of my neck, thumb brushing gently against my skin.
We stand there like that for what feels like an hour.
Wrapping ourselves in the love each of us has for one another.
Eventually, Beau pulls back. “Alright,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get pretty boy inside before his nose swells any more.
“I heard that,” Jas mutters.
“Meant ya to.”
Lawson moves to Jasper’s other side. “I don’t need help,” Jasper protests as both men grab him anyway.
“Sure you don’t,” Beau replies.
“Do you want me to punch you?”
“You can barely stand anymore, let alone punch him,” Lawson grumbles.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re limping.”
“I am not.”
Beau shakes his head. “You absolutely are. Now shut the fuck up and let’s go inside.”
Lincoln shakes his head and starts walking toward the house as the three of them continue to bicker on their way up the steps. Regardless of his pain, Jasper takes a second to scratch Lucy’s head as she greets them once they open the door.
I stay behind for a second, watching.
Lincoln slows when he realizes I’m not beside him, before turning and walking back.
Once he stops in front of me, without a word, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. His lips linger for longer than necessary, and I can’t help but feel warmth wash over my body.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“For what?” I ask quietly.
“For staying.”
There’s more in that sentence than he says out loud.
For trusting us.
For choosing us.
For not running when I probably should have.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, my throat tightening.
But he gives me that small, steady look—one that sees more than I want him to—before stepping back.
“Let’s go inside. We’ll get the rest of your stuff in the morning,” he says gently.
And as he leads me to the big house, I go. Willingly.
Jasper complained the entire time Beau reset his nose—rightfully so. He swore he didn’t need ice afterwards. Swore he didn’t need painkillers. Swore he didn’t need help undressing.
Yet, he let us do it anyway.
And when he finally crashed, it was fast and heavy.
Now the guest bedroom is dim, lit only by the small lamp on the nightstand. The bathroom light spills warm and golden against the tile as I lean in front of the mirror, brushing out my damp hair.
Steam still clings to my skin, and the oversized T-shirt I’m wearing hangs loose against my thighs as I stare at myself for a long moment.
It strikes me then, how long it’s been since I’ve had to stand in a mirror and catalogue the way my body looks.
Every cut. Every bruise. Now all that I see when I stare in the mirror is the woman looking back at me and how much I’ve changed.
How much I’ve continued to change.
And it’s all because I had the courage to run.
To ask for help.
To come here and find them.
But most of all, I had the courage to fight. And that’s what I’m going to do… keep fighting. I chased the freedom I was so desperate to have. I’ll be damned if I let someone like Miles Keller take it from me.
Now that I’ve found a place—now that I’ve found people—that make me feel free, all I want is… peace.
As I drag the brush that was already conveniently in here slowly through my hair, I try to ignore the ache in my chest, because despite the scene I made in the driveway, I want somebody here.
After all of my speeches about independence and space and not flip-flopping between them, the last thing I should do is ask one of them to sleep with me.
But… today was a long day.
And as much as I wish it would, independence won’t hold me in the middle of the night like one of them will.
You made your bed, now you gotta lie in it, Abs.
Sighing, I set the brush down and turn off the bathroom light before I can talk myself into tucking tail. But when I open the bathroom door, I stop.
Lawson is there. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Already in nothing but his black briefs, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands loose between his knees.
He looks up at me, and a soft smile curves his lips.
I step toward him slowly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
His eyes move over me once—slow and unhurried. Damp hair. Bare legs. Thin cotton clinging against some of his favorite places.
“I figured,” he says gently, “under all that attitude outside, you’d still want someone with you tonight. It was… it was a long day. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to be in here too,” he adds quietly.
I can practically feel my heart melting.
Taking his hand, I step between his knees before straddling his lap. His hand instinctively moves to my hips. “I want you here too,” I say softly.
I drag my hand along his cheek, letting my fingertips brush over the scruff of his beard. And when they reach the scar along his jaw, I take my time as I memorize every ridge of the raised skin.
He exhales slowly, and his hand slides up my back, over the cotton of my shirt. “Thank you for staying here.”
I inhale deeply and smile. “It’s just because I know you’re so obsessed with me.”
My tone is teasing.
He isn’t.
“It’s because I love you.”
There it is.
My heart slams once, and I lean back just enough to look at him.
“Lawson…” I swallow. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be lucky enough to find a love like this.
Something so strong. So steady. So… pure.
” His hands tighten their hold on me. “I didn’t think people like you existed.
Or this place. Or Griffin. Or Lucy. Or…” My voice trembles faintly. “All of you.”
My thumb brushes along his cheek. “And now I’ve found it more times over than I know what to do with.”
“I love this house. I love the land. I love the chaos and the noise and the way none of you let me carry anything alone anymore.” A breath shudders out of me as I utter the words, “I love you, Lawson Taylor.”
For a second, he just stares at me. And then—despite the stubbornness and the burly exterior—his eyes glass over. Tears pool there, not falling, but close. “You have no idea what that does to me,” he answers roughly.
“I think I do,” I tease faintly, feeling the solid heat of him beneath me.
He huffs a broken laugh before he kisses me.
It’s not soft.
It’s not careful.
It’s deep and claiming and full of everything we’ve been holding on to.
My hips move before I think about it, rolling slowly against him. A low groan vibrates into my mouth, and the sound warms my very core.
God, I could never get over that sound.
“Abigail…” he breathes against my lips.
Lawson stands suddenly, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing, and lays me back against the mattress. The lamp casts golden shadows across his body, highlighting the planes of his chest and the ridges of every muscle as he looks down at me.
And the way he looks at me…
I feel his gaze in the depths of my soul. As if the mere action of him just looking at me can help fix the broken pieces of me that my past created.
His hand wraps gently around one of my ankles before he drags his lips along the inside of my leg, slow and deliberate, kissing upward with reverence instead of urgency.
My breath stutters.
He switches to the other leg, pressing warm, open-mouth kisses along my skin until I’m trembling beneath him.
Every touch feels intentional.
Every glance feels like a promise.
Every sound from his lips feels earned.
And when he finally settles over me again, his mouth finds mine once more, and this time it’s slower. Deeper. Everything.
He moves with me like he’s not trying to take, but give.
Like he’s trying to promise me how deep his love runs without words.
He makes love to me like I’m his choice.
From here on out. Forever his.
Forever theirs.
And he does it again.
And again.
And again.
Until the ache in my chest from the past few days is replaced with warmth, and my eyes grow heavy and my body goes boneless beneath him.
When sleep finally pulls me under, it’s with his arm wrapped around my waist, my cheek pressed to his chest, and his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, reminding me I’m safe.
Reminding me I’m chosen.
Reminding me I’m home.